And sank his voice to an angry hiss—
“Such shafts,” he cried, “my honor miss.
“March on! but if I judge aright,
You’ll find, when comes our foe in sight,
The loudest boaster first in flight.”
And so they were marching through a glen
Not far from the mouth of Oriskany, when
I overtook their hindmost men.
I saw Dirck Bergen’s honest face
Among the rest; he had reached the place