“It’s lucky that so many of us should have such a fine day for leaving the world,” said Whitestone.
The battle, the final struggle for which we had been looking so long, was at hand. I had not mistaken the preparations in the British camp the night before.
I have had my share, more or less humble, in various campaigns and combats, but I have not seen any other battle begun with so much deliberation as on that morning. In truth all whom I could see appeared to be calm. A man is sometimes very brave and sometimes much afraid—I do not know why—but that day the braver part of me was master.
We were ready and waiting to see what the British would do, when Burgoyne, with his picked veterans, came out of his intrenchments and challenged us to battle, much as the knights of the old time used to invite one another to combat.
They were not so many as we—we have never made that claim; but they made a most gallant show, all armed in the noble style with which Britain equips her troops, particularly the bayonets, of which we have had but few in the best of times, and none, most often.
They sat down in close rank on the hillside, as if they were quite content with what we might do or try to do, whatever it might be. I have heard many say it was this vaunting over us that chiefly caused the war.
The meaning of the British was evident to us all. If this picked force could hold its own against our attack, the remainder of their army would be brought up and an attempt to inflict a crushing defeat upon us would be made; if it could not hold its own, it would retreat into the intrenchments, where the whole British army would defend itself at vantage.
Farther back in the breastworks I could see the British gazing out at their chosen force and at us. I even imagined that I could see women looking over, and that perhaps Kate Van Auken was one of them. I say again, how like it was in preparation and manner to one of the old tournaments! Perhaps it was but my fancy.
There was no movement in our lines. So far as we could judge just then, we were merely looking on, as if it were no affair of ours. In the British force some one played a tune on a fife which sounded to me like “Won’t you dare?”
“Why did we take so much care to hem them in and then refuse to fight them?” asked I impatiently of Whitestone.