Sir Francis Clark started when he heard the sound, and when a second report came booming through the woods, he gathered up his reins, turned to Butler hastily, and said:
“Excuse me, colonel. Bring on the party as slowly as you like. My duty takes me to the General.”
Then waving his hand, he struck spurs into his thoroughbred, and galloped off down the road, at full speed, toward the sound of the distant firing.
Butler hardly seemed to notice his departure or the firing. The whole air of the man was that of gloomy depression, with a certain expectant apprehensive look, as if fearing coming evil. He rode slowly on, while the sound of the cannon became more frequent, sounding dull and hollow behind the encircling woods.
The men behind him conversed together in whispers. They did not seem to have the eagerness of Sir Francis Clark to go into the battle. Old soldiers seldom do. They know too well what is coming. The German dragoons that followed Butler were all veterans, and though they would go into any danger unmurmuringly, there was a kind of stolid caution about them that prevented any eagerness.
Besides, the gradual approach, at a slow pace, to a battle, that one hears, but cannot see, especially if the prospect is limited by woods in all directions, is peculiarly depressing to the boldest spirits, and causes unwonted silence to most men, who would march gayly on, in an open country.
Thus the dragoons following Butler ceased to converse at all, and pressed silently on behind their dogged leader, who took his way forward on the narrow, dusty road, the boom of guns growing more and more frequent, and answered by the more distant reports of the cannon from the intrenchments of Gates.
At last, an opening appeared in the trees ahead, and a white cloud of smoke was visible, hanging in the air over a stubble field, beyond which a little brown house nestled in the corner of a wood.
The sight seemed to have an effect on Butler which hearing had failed to produce. Instinctively he gathered up his reins and quickened his pace, while his eye roamed over the battle-field with a practiced glance. It was evident, to a soldier, that no serious fighting had yet begun, for the guns were firing at regular intervals, and the scarlet lines of the grenadiers stood behind them, while the dark green masses of the Hessians were scattered over the ground to the left, near the glaring stacks of arms.
On the American side, all was quiet. No motion could be perceived behind the dark curtain of the woods, flecked with gold and crimson as it was, in the tints of Indian summer.