Several of us had remained rather late that evening about the cheerful fire in front of myhut,-for the nights were still chilly, although it was May, and the dreadful winter passed,-discussing the improved condition of our troops, the rigid discipline of Baron de Steuben,and speculating on what would probably be attempted now that Sir Henry Clinton hadsucceeded to the command of the forces opposing us. I remember Maxwell joined us,together with Knox of the artillery, each man with a different theory of campaign, but alikeagreeing that, in spite of all we had endured during those months of suffering and privationat Valley Forge, the time to strike once again was near at hand, although our numbers werebarely half that of the enemy.It must have been midnight when I crept into a bunk, and, even then, found sleep absent,my eyes gazing out through the open door to where the embers of the fire glowed red, anda sentinel paced back and forth in regular monotony. Suddenly he halted, and challengedhoarsely, flinging forward his gun. There was an indistinguishable answer, and, as Istraightened up, the figure of a man blotted out the doorway."Major Lawrence?""Yes. What is it?" I swung to the floor, unable to recognize the voice. The man's hand rose tosalute.
