“Yes, for us,” I replied. “What will be the next step, Whitestone?”
“The British will retreat soon,” he said. “We will follow without pressing them too hard. No use to waste our men now. In a week the British will be ours.”
Whitestone spoke with such assurance that I was convinced.
CHAPTER XI. THE NIGHT AFTER.
But a dull murmur arose from the two camps, victor and vanquished. Both seemed to sleep for the morrow. I had done so much guard duty of late that I looked for such assignment as a matter of course, and this night was no exception. With Whitestone and some soldiers I was to guard one of the little passes between the hills. We were merely an alarm corps; we could not stop a passage, but there were enough behind us whom we could arouse for the purpose. The British might retreat farther into the interior, but the river and its banks must be closed to them.
We stood in the dark, but we could see the wavering lights of either camp. The murmur as it came to us was very low. The two armies rested as if they were sunk in a lethargy after their strenuous efforts of the day. I did not regret my watch. I did not care to sleep. The fever of the fight yet lingering in my blood, I was not so old to battle that I could lie down and find slumber as soon as the fighting ended.
“Mr. Shelby,” said Whitestone, “is there any rule or regulation against a pipe to-night?”
“I know of none, Whitestone,” I said.