The blow to be delivered twenty
miles north of us will settle any questions of land confiscation. No,
Sir Lupus, I shall not be on your hands, but ... you may be on mine if
you turn Tory!"
"You impudent rogue!" he cried, struggling to his feet; then, still
clutching pipe and pewter, he embraced me, and choked and chuckled,
laying his fat head on my shoulder. "Be a son to me, George," he
whimpered, sentimentally; "if you won't, you're a damned
ungrateful pup!"
And he took himself off, sniffing, and sucking at his long clay, which
had gone out.
I turned to the window, drawing in deep breaths of sweet, pure morning
air. Troops were still passing in solid column, grim, dirty soldiers in
heavy cowhide knapsacks, leather gaiters, and blue great-coats buttoned
back at the skirts; and I heard the militia at the quarters calling
across the stable-yard that these grimy battalions were some of
Washington's veterans, hurried north from West Point by his Excellency
to stiffen the backbone of Lincoln's militia, who prowled, growling and
snarling, around Burgoyne's right flank.
They were a gaunt, hard-eyed, firm-jawed lot, marching with a peculiar
cadence and swing which set all their muskets and buckles glittering at
one moment, as though a thousand tiny mirrors had been turned to the
light, then turned away.
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