e the Lord,
For the clang of His call and the flash of His sword.
Tralara! Tralara! now forward to die;
For the banner, hurrah! and for sweethearts, good-bye!

JOHN WILLIAMSON PALMER.

It was on the 22d day of August that the rumour flew through the camp
that the enemy had landed and was preparing to attack. But the hours
flew by, and still no orders came, until the Line became restless, and
the fear grew that the fight would begin before we could reach the
field of battle. The sun began to sink over the Heights of Harlem
when an aide rode into our lines. It was Tench Tilghman, who swung his
hat and shouted as he went by: "You will have warm work in a day or
two, boys!"

We gave him a yell in reply, and started with renewed interest the
preparations for the coming fight. A few minutes later came the orders
that we were to march at dawn. The men received the news joyfully, and
it was wonderful to see the change in their bearing; for while the
doubt hung over them, they were restless and murmuring was heard all
through the camp; but now all was laughter and gaiety. They prepared
for the fight as one would prepare for the next county ball or a
fox-hunt on the morrow.

The stirring notes of the bugle ringing over the camp brought me to my
feet with a bound, and I looked out of the tent to see a heavy mist
over everything, and hear the sound of men's voices coming through it
all around me. It does not take a soldier long to don his uniform, and
I was soon out attending to my duties. At seven o'clock we were on our
march to the ferry, crossing the East River at the foot of the main
street of the small town of Brooklyn; then we took a road leading over
a creek called Gowanus, and knew that we were marching to guard the
right of the American line. Low-lying hills, heavily wooded, lay
before us; it was in these woods that our line was called to a halt,
and we took up our position for the battle. We lay there several days,
with constant rumours flying through the camp of the enemy's advance,
but yet they would not come.

It was on the morning of the 27th of August that the great battle of
Long Island, so disastrous for the patriot forces, broke upon us. The
scattering shots of the skirmishers first made us spring to arms; then
the sharp rattle of the musketry of Atlee's men and the boom of
Carpenter's cannon on our immediate right told that the enemy was
pushing them hard. Then through the for