“Good Lord! is it you, Mr. Shelby?” exclaimed Whitestone, in surprise and genuine gladness.
“Yes, it is I,” I replied, “and in pretty sound condition too, when you consider the fact that all the British and American soldiers in the province of New York have been firing point-blank at me for the last two hours.”
Then I described my tribulations, and Whitestone, saying I should deem myself lucky to have fared so well, went with me to our camp.
CHAPTER X. THE SUN OF SARATOGA.
Dangers and troubles past have never prevented me from sleeping well, and when I awoke the next morning it was with Whitestone pulling at my shoulder.
“This is the third shake,” said he.
“But the last,” said I, getting up and rubbing my eyes.
I have seldom seen a finer morning. The fresh crispness of early October ran through the brilliant sunshine. The earth was bathed in light. It was such a sun as I have heard rose on the morning of the great battle of Austerlitz, fought but recently. A light wind blew from the west. The blood bubbled in my veins.