The next day was the 23d of August.
When the young Lieutenant crept out of the hay of a small barn early in the morning—for he had joined his new command the night before through all the storm—he walked to the brow of a little hill that overlooked the marshes and meadows in the direction of Gravesend. The branches of the trees along the hill were filled with men watching intently something that was going on below. George climbed a short distance up a small oak.
There they were—the British! It seemed to him thousands upon thousands. Their red coats gleamed, and occasionally a musket or a sword flashed in the distance; the different bodies of troops moved like red caterpillars across the meadow and along the beach. Numbers of boats were drawn up on the sand; many more were shuttling back and forth to the vessels in the bay; three large frigates were anchored quite close in shore.
He looked at the men about him. It hardly seemed possible that these lads, many scarcely older than himself, in gray yarn stockings and patched coats, would be able to stand for an instant against that brave array. Oh, if his brother William were only here beside him! and yet he heaved a sigh of relief, for who could tell what was going to happen?
A bugle sounded, and the men ran back to the clearing and formed in line. Their faces were pale, and there was little talking. A feeling of unreality was in George's mind; he could scarcely believe that there was going to be a battle. As yet he had not heard a death-dealing shot fired in all his life, and he did not know that it seemed to have a different sound from that of a gun discharged in practice or in sport.
Soon the regiment was on the move. They drove before them, as they made their way along the ridge of hills, all the cattle and live-stock that could be gathered in from the surrounding farms.
Looking back, they could see columns of smoke rising from the direction of New Utrecht and Gravesend. Some cannon-shots were also heard, and every heart beat quickly with excitement.
At last they reached the spot where the road crossed the Flatbush meadows and wound up the valley. It was known as Central Pass. Here coats were thrown aside, and with spades and improvised picks and shovels a long redoubt was thrown up along the ridge. For three days they toiled incessantly, felling trees and making escarpments of sharpened stakes.
It had rained almost incessantly, and it seemed to George that his new clothes would never get dry again. He had slept each night upon the soaked ground, and his hands and feet were sore and blistered.
It was nine o'clock in the morning. The redoubt had been finished, and the men, after an early parade, were cooking their breakfasts over little smoky fires in the thickets. Suddenly the booming of two guns was heard behind them.