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.