of the Delaware and take up its cumbersome march across the
Jersey plains.

With it marched the whole force of the British army of seventeen
thousand men, who did their duty so well that we longed for an opening
in vain.

All through those blazing hot days of June we marched through the
sands of Jersey, ankle deep as we trudged along, and it seemed as if
the time for a trial of strength would never come. All to the east and
south of us the great train of their wagons crawled along through the
heat and the dust, and the sun glinted and gleamed on the points of
the bayonets as the mass of their troops marched on.

Slowly they crawled through the dusty roads of Jersey, and slowly they
were crawling beyond the reach of our arms into the haven of safety.

At last, on the 27th of the month, they reached the heights of
Monmouth, within a day's march of their journey's end, while we lay
five miles away at Englishtown, swearing low and earnestly at our
luck.

That night there came news to the camp that put new life in the men,
and made them forget the heat and the toil of the march; the news that
the great General had decided to risk a throw in the morning, and that
our regiment was to be with the advance.

And so, when Lee rode up to take command, we gave him a cheer, for
though we disliked and distrusted the man, yet his coming meant a
fight in the morning.

Then there was a great stir in the camp; the men saw to their muskets,
and the signs everywhere told of their eager preparations for the
deadly struggle in the morning, while the cheery laugh and the
snatches of song spoke well for the spirits of the men after the long,
toilsome march of the day.

The sun comes up out of the ocean early in Jersey, but even before its
rays had cleared the pine tops our camp was stirring with life, the
men preparing for the advance.

But there seemed to be a fatality about it all; a hand, as it were,
covered us and held us back, paralyzing the spirit of the men. Delay
followed delay, and when at last the regiments took up the line of
march, ours was held back until almost the last. The New Jersey
volunteers had the post of honour, as they longed to revenge their
ruined homesteads and devastated farms, and then our turn came.

We marched out of Englishtown into the dreary country beyond. On every
side sand dunes, former barriers of the ocean, raised their crests,
covered with a straggling forest of stunted pines and scrub trees,