“What time o’ day is it?” asked Whitestone.
“I don’t know,” I replied, “but it’s early.”
“I never answer such questions before sundown,” said Whitestone.
Content with his impolite but wise reply, I asked no more, noticing at times the red squares of the British, and at other times the dazzling circle of the red sun.
Suddenly the British began to move. They came on in most steady manner, their fine order maintained.
“Good!” said Whitestone. “They mean to turn our left.”
We were on the left, which might be good or bad. Be that as it may, I perceived that our waiting was over. I do not think we felt any apprehension. We were in strong force, and we New Yorkers were on the left, and beside us our brethren of New England, very strenuous men. We did not fear the British bayonet of which our enemies boast so much. While we watched their advance, I said to Whitestone:
“I will not ask that question again before sundown.”