"How do you feel, lad?" asked old Barnabas.
"Ready for the fight," was the cool reply.
"But this ain't the battle of Monmouth, lad. There's worse odds ag'in us."
"All the more reason why we should fight the better," declared Nathan. "Monmouth was for our country and this is for our homes."
"Ay, that's proper talk," exclaimed Reuben Atwood. "I'm thinkin' we must all fight to the bitter end, since there's no mercy to be looked for from them fiends over yonder."
Now a sudden excitement spread throughout the lines, and the men straightened up at attention. Colonel Zebulon Butler came riding from right to left, and checking his horse near Captain Whittlesey's company he repeated the brief address he had just made to his followers on the right.
"Men, we are about to attack," he cried. "Yonder is the enemy. Slaughter without mercy is what we must expect if we are defeated. We are here to fight for liberty, for our homes and families, for life itself. Stand firm with the first shock, and the Indians will yield. Let every man remember his duty."
Loud and hearty cheers followed the Colonel as he rode back to his post. Nathan gripped his musket tight, and as he recalled the massacres of the preceding days he resolved to make each shot tell. "Hurrah! we're going!" he shouted.
"Yes, we're at it, lad," cried Barnabas. "Steady, now!"
The signal had been given, and the long line was in forward motion. They drew nearer and nearer, and suddenly the order to fire came from Colonel Zebulon Butler. Crash! crash! the deadly volleys rang out. Still the Americans advanced, firing rapidly and steadily. Crash! Crash! Men began to fall, some dead and some wounded. The bluish powder smoke rolled over the field, mingling with the yellow clouds from the burning fort. Louder and louder blazed the musketry fire. In spite of the pluck of its officers the British line gave way a little. But it quickly rallied, and the enemy stood their ground stubbornly.