He was in command of the advance guard of Washington’s army (1780), composed of six battalions of light artillery. These men glittered in the sun. They did not look like Connecticut volunteers. The officers were armed with spontoons and fuses; they wore sabres—French sabres, presented them by Lafayette. Their banners shone. Their horses were proud.
“An’ I fear I have missed my prophet that I calculated him to be,” said Dennis, “and that the cedar folks will all laugh at me. Prophets do not dash about in such finery as this. There he comes, sure, on a spanking horse. I wonder if he would speak to me now.”
The young Frenchman came dashing by in his regalia.
Dennis lifted his hat.
Lafayette halted.
“I came from the cedars—Brother Jonathan’s man, that I am. You remember Ovan-saan-tarche.”
“Yes, yes, my hearty friend,” said the Frenchman, bowing.
“How is his Excellency?”
“Sound in head and heart, and firm in his heels, which he never turns to his country’s enemies.”