So well was the night spent that when morning dawned the British found a long line of new earthworks stretched along their front; and though instantly their guns began cannonading them, the men were now protected and could dig on, unheeding of the fire. Indeed, such was the enthusiasm that when at six o’clock the order came for the regiments to fall in, and it was found that they were to be replaced by fresh troops, there was open grumbling. “’T is we did the work,” complained a sergeant, “and now them fellows who slept all night will steal the glory.”
“Not a bit of it, boys,” denied Brereton, as he was passing down the lines preparatory to giving the order of march. “There are still redoubts to be made and the guns are not up yet. ’T will come our turn in the trenches again before they are.”
Their commander spoke wittingly, for two days it took to get the trenches, and the redoubts thrown out in advance of them, completed, and the heavy siege-guns were not moved forward until after dark on the 8th. All night long and the most of the following morning the men toiled, placing them in position, paying no attention to the unceasing thunder of the British guns, unless to stop momentarily and gaze with admiration at the shells, each with its tail of fire, as they curved through the air, or to crack a joke over some one which flew especially near.
“Bark away,” laughed one, as he affectionately patted a twenty-four pounder just moved into its position, while shaking his other fist toward Yorktown. “Scold while ye kin, for ’t is yer last chance. Like men, we’ve sat silent for nine days, an’ let ye, like women, do the talkin’, but it ’s to-morrow mornin’ ye’ll find that, if we’ve kept still, it ’s not been for want of a tongue.”
It was noon when Brereton came hurrying into the battery to find the men sleeping among the guns, where they had dropped after their hard labour.
“How is it, Jack?” questioned the officer in command.
“General du Portail has reported the battery completed, and he tells me we’ve beat the French by at least two hours.”
A wild yell of joy broke from one of the apparently unconscious men, bringing most of the sleepers scrambling to their feet and grasping for their weapons. “I said they could never dig in them clothes!” he cried.
“’T is however to be another ‘Gentlemen of the guards, fire first,’” went on Brereton. “General Washington, as a compliment to the French, has decided that their guns shall fire the first shot.”
A growl came from the captain of the nearest cannon. “I promised the old gal,” he muttered discontentedly, his hand on his thirty-two pounder, “that she should begin it, an’ she’s sighted to knock over that twelve pounder that ’s been teasin’ us, or may I never fire gun agin.”