He was satisfied, and lighted his pipe, which increased his satisfaction. I strolled about a little, watching the lights and meditating upon the events of the day. The camps stood higher than I, and they looked like huge black clouds shot through here and there with bits of flame. I believed Whitestone’s assurance that Burgoyne would retreat on the morrow; but I wondered what he would attempt after that. Clinton’s arrival might save him, but it seemed to me that the possibility of such an event was fast lessening. In this fashion I passed an hour or two; then it occurred to me to approach the British camp a little more closely and see what movements there might be on the outskirts, if any. Telling Whitestone of my intent, I advanced some forty or fifty yards. From that point, though still beyond rifle shot, I could see figures in the British camp when they passed between me and the firelight.
There was one light larger than the others—near the center of the camp it seemed to be—and figures passed and repassed in front of it like a procession. Presently I noticed that these shapes passed in fours, and they were carrying something. It seemed a curious thing, and I watched it a little; then I understood what they were doing: they were burying the dead.
I could easily have crept nearer and fired some bullets into the British camp, but I had no such intent. That was the business of others, and even then I could hear the far-away shots of the sharpshooters.
The sights of this stricken camp interested me. The ground was favorable for concealment, and I crept nearer. Lying among some weeds I could obtain a good view. The figures before indistinct and shapeless now took form and outline. I could tell which were officers and which were soldiers.
Some men were digging in the hillside. They soon ceased, and four others lifted a body from the grass and put it in the grave. A woman came forward and read from a little book. My heart thrilled when I recognized the straight figure and earnest face of Kate Van Auken. Yet there was no need for me to be surprised at the sight of her. It was like her to give help on such a night.
I could not hear the words, but I knew they were a prayer, and I bowed my head. When she finished the prayer and they began to throw in the earth, she walked away and I lost sight of her; but I guessed that she went on to other and similar duties. I turned about to retreat, and stumbled over a body.
A feeble voice bade me be more careful, and not run over a gentleman who was not bothering me but attending to his own business. A British officer, very pale and weak—I could see that even in the obscurity—sat up and looked reproachfully at me.
“Aren’t you rebels satisfied with beating us?” he asked in a faint voice scarce above a whisper. “Do you want to trample on us too?”
“I beg your pardon,” I said. “I did not see you.”