We lay gasping under the apple-trees. The hottest sun that ever I felt
or saw, was dissolving our muscles and pinning us to the earth, mere
flaccid lumps. The heat quivered in the air, and the grass turned dry
blades to the brown soil. I ran my finger along the bare edge of my
sword, and the skin was scorched. My throat burned.
"What a day to fight!" said Marcel. "The red coats that the British over
yonder wear blaze like fire, and I dare say are as hot. I wish I were a
private and not an officer. Then I could strip myself."
He looked longingly at a huge soldier who had taken off coat and shirt,
and was lying on the grass, naked to the waist, his rifle ready in his
hands.
"Leave old Father Sun alone," I said: "I believe he will settle the
business for both armies. At least he seems to be bent upon doing it."
I tried to look up at the sun, but His Majesty met me with so fierce a
stare that I was glad to turn my eyes again, blinking, to the earth.
When they recovered from the dimness, I looked along the line of panting
soldiers, and saw one who had dropped his rifle on the grass and flung
his arms out at ease.
"Stir up that man, there," I said; "he must keep his rifle in hand and
ready."
"If you please, sir," said the bare-waisted soldier, "he won't be
stirred up."
"Won't be stirred up?" I said, with natural impatience; "why won't he?"
"Because he can't be," said the soldier.
"Can't be?" I said, not understanding such obstinacy. "What do you
mean?"
"He can't be stirred up," replied the soldier; "because he's dead, sir."
I examined the man, and found that it was true. We had marched long and
hard in the stifling heat before we lay down in the orchard, and the
man, overpowered by it, had died so gently that his death was not known
to us. We let him lie there, the dead man in the ranks with the quick.
"Doesn't the concussion of cannon and muskets cause rain sometimes?"
asked Marcel.
"I have heard so," I replied. "Why?"
"Because, if it does," said Marcel, "I hope the battle will be brought
on at once, and that it will be a most ferocious contention. Then it may
cause a shower heavy enough to cool us off."
"Whether it brings rain or not," I said, "I think the battle will soon
be upon us."
Up went the sun, redder and fiercer than ever. The heavens blazed with
his light. The men panted like dogs, and their tongues hung out. The red
coats of the British opposite us looked so bright that they dazzled my
eyes. The leaves of the apple-trees cracked and twisted up.
"It would be funny," said Marcel, "if the British were to charge upon us
and find us all lying here in a placid row, dead, killed by the sun."
"Yes," said I, "it would be very funny."
"But not impossible," said the persistent Marcel.
We lay near the little town of Freehold in the Jersey fields, where we
had overtaken the retreating British, and intended to force a battle,
although we were much inferior in numbers and equipment.
I can say with truth that the men were eager for the fight. They had
starved long at Valley Forge, and now with full stomachs they had come
upon the heels of a flying enemy. Moreover, we had been raised up
mightily by the French alliance. We did not know then how much the
French were to disappoint us, and how little aid they were to give us
until the final glorious campaign.
"Listen!" exclaimed a soldier near me.
"What is it, Alloway?" I asked.
"The battle! It's begun!" he replied.
The sound of a rifle-shot came through the hot air across the fields,
and then many more sang together. A half mile away, under the low lines
of trees, a cloud of smoke was rising, and the base of it was red with
flashes. Presently a cannon boomed its deeper note, and the echo of
shouts came faintly. At last the battle had begun, and our men, panting
already in the heat, grew hotter with impatience. It was hard to lie
there under the burning sun while the battle swelled, without us. But we
had no choice, and we pulled at the dry grass, while we watched the
growing combat.