and many of them had little for the tyranny with
which they were treated when at home in Germany. When they read these
offers, printed in German, of money and land, they were sorely tempted
to change masters, especially if they did not happen to be of those
who loved fighting for the privilege it gave them to loot and ravage.

How the country people, all the Americans, indeed, except the Tories,
despised and dreaded the Hessian! In fact he was no more brutal than
many of the British, but he was trained to loot and thus was held in
disrepute. On several occasions he had bayoneted the American soldier
after the latter had surrendered.

"Why didn't our men serve 'em a like turn at Trenton?" was a question
some had asked.

Zeb well expressed the matter once when the subject was being
discussed around the camp-fire.

"I reckon that job at Trenton was most complete. Thar's nothing about
it to be ashamed of, an' everything to be proud of. If we'd butchered
the pig-stickers when they were whinin' on their knees it wouldn't hev
looked well in history."

"There comes a detachment of 'em now!" exclaimed Rodney, the
following morning. He and Zeb were doing picket duty. The latter gave
the call, and several Rangers ran up. A half mile down the road the
Hessians came marching on in close order till they arrived at some
farm buildings when they were seen to break ranks.

"Let 'em have it!" cried Zeb, bringing his long rifle to his shoulder.
Then, loading as he ran, he called, "Come on, boys, let's get to
closer range."

Other Rangers, hearing the firing, came running after them. In doing
this they not only obeyed orders, but most of them gratified their own
desire to get into a skirmish with the enemy at every opportunity.

Soon the bullets were singing anything but a cheerful song about the
ears of the Hessians, who began to reform their ranks and returned the
fire. After several of them had fallen in their tracks, the remainder
retreated, bearing off their dead and wounded, pursued by the Rangers
clear to the enemy's lines, when they, too, were compelled by
overwhelming numbers to retreat.

As they passed the farm on the way back, "Do-as-much Bunster," a
Pennsylvania Dutchman, exclaimed, "Dey vas not alretty till Christmas
for roast pig to vait, I tink."

"Reckon your thinker is workin' this mornin'," was Zeb's reply as he
turned aside to look over into a pen beside the road where a fine
litter of white pigs lay cuddle