And they call us the grand army!" "Well, as you say," went on another, recklessly, "we can't get into anything worse, so hurrah for the next move, say I." "Three days' rations and light marching order, meaning, I suppose, that we are to leave our heavy overcoats and blankets and foot stoves and such other luxuries behind; that rather indicates that we are going to do something besides retreat; and I should like to get a whack at those mercenary Dutchmen before I freeze or starve," was the reply.
"Bully for you!" "I'm with you, old man." "I, too." "And I," came from the group of undaunted men surrounding the speaker.
"And to think," said another, "of its being Christmas day, and all those little children at home--oh, well," turning away and wiping his eyes, "marching and fighting may make us forget, boys.

I wouldn't mind suffering for liberty, if we could only do something, have something to show for it but a bloody trail and a story of defeat.

I 'm tired of it," he continued desperately.

"I 'd fight the whole British army if they would only let me get a chance at them." "We're all with you there, man, and I guess this time we get a chance," replied one of the speakers, amid a chorus of approval which showed the spirit of the men.
While the men were talking among themselves thus, the four riders on the tired horses had ridden up to the farmhouse.

A soldier dressed no better than the rest stood before the door.
"Halt! Who are you ?" he cried, presenting his musket.
"Friends.