Sometimes the galleys of the two navies would lie within a boat’s hook of each other and the sailors, not liking such close quarters, would rise from the sweeps, ready to spring into the water. It was close and hot--this little naval battle--but gradually, as the guns were injured, the cannonading ceased. Morgan and Captain Dulaney galloped from place to place for a better view, the old horse prancing at the terrific sound of the firing, never having seemed so full of spirit; constantly he raised his head to sniff the smoke of battle-as if it were a call from his kins-steeds. The clatter of his own hoofs beat loud in his ears; his heart was like to burst with patriotic ardor at the flying flags, the quick orders of the officers, the martial noises, and the sense of peril. He was mad with excitement. Suddenly from the men on shore burst a cheer, loud and high in exultation; the feeling of pride ran hot in Morgan’s veins, he tasted all the sweets of conquest, and raising his head high, added his voice to theirs in a great cry of triumph. And this was Victory! It was worth--that one moment--his whole long life of hard work and painful partings! CHAPTER XXI. DOWN HILL. For days after the naval battle Morgan seemed rejuvenated, ready to begin life all over; life, with its changes of owners, its partings, its hard work--but withal, its friendships, its moments of supreme joy and exaltation. It might be well to end the story of old Justin Morgan as he stood there--so fine in his spirit and ambition--watching the fight from the hill commanding the lake; but one or two more incidents remain to be related which will show still greater powers of endurance and patience in his long, hard, but nevertheless, noble life. On the heels of the American victory came the news that the Dulaneys had been ordered back to West Point, and would not take Morgan with them. It was a bitter parting for the old horse and need not be dwelt upon. All three realized fully, they should never meet again. * * * * * From Burlington Morgan was sold to Joel Goss and Joseph Rogers, and taken to Claremont, New Hampshire. Here his stable was at the ferry, on the Connecticut River, and the sight of the stream recalled his youth. He dreamed sweet dreams of colthood; visions of his mother, of Caesar, of Black Baby, came to him and he was content. But, alas, this pleasant, peaceful life ended full soon, and, in 1816 he was sold to a man by the name of Langmaid, who drove the freight-stage from Windsor to Chelsea, a distance of nearly two hundred miles. Thus the brave old animal, at twenty-seven years of age, was ignominiously thrust into harness company with five other lazy, ill-bred brutes, who dawdled along the road with slack tugs and made the patient Morgan do most of the pulling.