Our rapid ride was bringing us near the outskirts of the city, where the British intrenchments and fortifications lay, and I imagined that it was Sir William's plan to establish first a thorough picket line, and then to search every house in Philadelphia for Wildfoot and his comrades. But, turning my eyes to the southward, I saw a sudden rosy glow under the dark horizon which deepened in a moment into pink and then into red, rising in a lofty pyramid. Sparks shot from it. I pointed it out to Sir William at once. He paused, perplexed.
"It is a fire, clearly enough," he said; "but I wonder what it can be!"
His doubt lasted only a moment. An aide, much excited, galloped up and informed us that the cantonments of the troops to the southward had been set on fire, and were now burning fiercely.
"An accident?" asked Sir William, deeply annoyed.
"The men are sure that it was caused by the rebels," replied the aide.
"There is nothing to be done but to put it out as best you can," replied Sir William, and he began to give instructions; but even as he spoke the report of rifle-shots came from a point a little farther to the north, distant yet distinct, sounding so far away like the popping of a hickory log under the flames. There were red sparks too, no bigger than fire-flies, and both the cracking noises and the sparks increased. Sir William stopped his horse and gazed anxiously at the little red flashes.
"An attack by the rebels, and at this of all times," he said in tones of great annoyance, but to himself rather than to us. It was not likely that our ragged little army could storm fortified Philadelphia and defeat the powerful and far more numerous force that defended it; but Sir William was so much engrossed with the pursuit of Wildfoot that he resented any interference demanding his attention. He swore again in his wrath.
"Catron," he said, "you must go at once to that point. If the force there is not sufficient, hurry forward these."
He began to name regiments that would be available.