“Watch out for my uncle and for Glen Drake,” Don said to Jud as the two boys stood on a crowded street corner waiting for the head of the column to appear.
“Yes, and you keep your eyes open for my father and for my brothers.”
From far off came the sound of drums and fifes. The crowd at the corner, mostly boys and women, moved uneasily. “It’s Yankee Doodle they’re playing,” whispered Jud. “Say, doesn’t that sound good!”
“It surely does!” agreed Don.
In a few minutes the regular tramp, tramp of marching feet reached the ears of the eager little group.
“Here they are!”
A cavalcade of horses, white, black and chestnut, had turned a corner. Behind them came the foot soldiers, resplendent in buff and blue, ruddy of face, keen of eye.
“Hurrah! Hurrah!” Don and Jud swung their caps high into the air. “Hurrah!” cried the rest of the little group.
But for the most part the main body of Continentals were greeted with few cheers. The people of the besieged town had suffered too much under Howe and the British; most of the inhabitants remained at doors and windows and were content to wave their hands.
“There he is!” cried Jud.