ad
throbbing from the awful heat of the early morning. I sat down in the mud
and water; my arm through the bridle rein, my head against the trunk of a
tree, which partially protected my face from the beating rain. But there
was no sleep possible.

My mind pictured the field of action, reviewed the events leading up to
this hour, and, as surely, reverted to Claire Mortimer. She would have
been left behind in Philadelphia, which ere this was doubtless occupied
by our troops under Arnold. I had understood at the Ferry those were his
orders, to march in the moment Clinton evacuated. She would be safe
enough then, unless--unless she had again returned to Elmhurst. Yet if
Eric was well there would be no occasion for the girl assuming such a
risk, as the Mortimer plantation must have been in the very track of the
retreating army. Perhaps she was with them--but no; I recalled the rumor
about our camps that the officers' wives and the loyalist ladies were to
be transported to New York by water. Arnold would permit that, and no
doubt this daughter of a colonel would be among them.

I had almost forgotten the sturdy downpour so intensely was I thinking,
when a courier came spurring forward, blinded by the storm, yet riding
recklessly. He must have seen the group of men huddled at the edge of the
grove, for he drew up his horse, calling my name.

"Major Lawrence, I come from General Maxwell," he shouted between the
crashes of thunder. "You are given command of the right of the line, and
will press on regardless of the storm until the enemy is met in force.
Dragoons have been seen two miles east. You understand, sir?"

"Yes," leading forth my horse. "Come on, lads, it's the top of the hill!
What about the artillery?"

"We may not be able to move the guns," he answered, "but you are to keep
your powder as dry as possible and hold Clinton to the road. Dry powder
will be sent as soon as the storm breaks. That's all, sir."

I could scarce see the fellow as his horse whirled, and went splashing
down the slope. Through the mist of rain the men gathered about were mere
blotches.

"All right, you water-rats, come on!" I sang out cheerfully. "We'll give
the Red-coats the butts of our guns anyhow."

There was a faint cheer as the drenched figures sprang forward racing
after me. Half of them had flung away their coats in the fierce heat, and
their shirts clung soaked and dripping. Swinging them into some semblance
of line, each man ba