Note 1. Afterwards Sir Andrew Hamond, Bart, and father of the late Admiral Sir Graham Hamond, Admiral of the Fleet, and grandfather of the present Captain Sir Andrew Hamond, Bart.--Editor. CHAPTER FIVE. A BRIGHT MORNING AND A DARK DAY.--ATTACK ON NEW YORK.--MERCER SHOWS HIS SYMPATHY WITH THE AMERICANS.--THE BATTLE RAGES.--FIELD OF BATTLE.-- ASSIST A WOUNDED AMERICAN.--FIRED AT BY OUR FRIENDS.--ANOTHER TRIP ON SHORE.--FALL INTO THE HANDS OF HESSIAN TROOPS.--RESCUED BY GENERAL PIGOT.--SENT WITH DESPATCHES TO LORD HOWE.--MY BOAT'S CREW MUTINY.--NEW YORK ON FIRE.--TREATMENT OF SUPPOSED INCENDIARIES.--REMARKS ON THE WAR.--THE CONDEMNED SPY.--MERCER PLEADS FOR HIM IN VAIN.--HIS EXECUTION. By early dawn on the morning of the 23rd of September, 1776, every one was astir. The sultry atmosphere alone, even under ordinary circumstances, would have made us glad to leave our berths. It had become known that a combined attack by the land and sea forces was to be made on the enemy. The mighty sun rose over Long Island in a blaze of glory, and shot upward into a cloudless sky as the anchor was lifted. Fold after fold of our white canvas was let fall, and the other ships of the squadron following our example, we once more moved onward along the shore of Manhattan Island. The scene was one of great beauty. The rays of the bright luminary fell on the wood-crowned heights of Harlem on one side, and of Morrissania on the other side of the creek, throwing the promontories into bold relief, and the bays and inlets, with which the coast is indented, into deeper shade, while rich fields, and meadows and orchards, as they basked in the soft morning light, gave the whole landscape an appearance of calmness and peace, soon to be broken by the rude realities of fierce, unrelenting warfare. As soon as we weighed anchor the troops of the enemy, who had been watching us under arms since dawn, began to march along the shore close to us, regardless of the danger they ran of destruction, for had we opened our broadsides, we might have played sad havoc among them. They were not quite so fantastically dressed as my friends at Cape Henlopen, but still there was a very great variety of costume, and a lamentable want of discipline among them. If the front rank did not advance fast enough, the rear would give them a shove or a kick to urge them on, all the time making significant and not very complimentary signs to us to come on shore and fight them, while they tried to express their supreme contempt for us by every means in their power, shouting out taunting words, and abusing us in no measured terms. Our men had two days before stood the battering we got with comparative calmness, but the taunts and signs of the foe now enraged them beyond all endurance. "Wait a bit, my lads, and then won't we give it you!" sung out Dick Trunnion, a sturdy topman, and many similar expressions were uttered by others.