My mind pictured the field of action, reviewed the events leading up to this hour, and, as surely, reverted to Claire Mortimer. She would have been left behind in Philadelphia, which ere this was doubtless occupied by our troops under Arnold. I had understood at the Ferry those were his orders, to march in the moment Clinton evacuated. She would be safe enough then, unless--unless she had again returned to Elmhurst. Yet if Eric was well there would be no occasion for the girl assuming such a risk, as the Mortimer plantation must have been in the very track of the retreating army. Perhaps she was with them--but no; I recalled the rumor about our camps that the officers' wives and the loyalist ladies were to be transported to New York by water. Arnold would permit that, and no doubt this daughter of a colonel would be among them. I had almost forgotten the sturdy downpour so intensely was I thinking, when a courier came spurring forward, blinded by the storm, yet riding recklessly. He must have seen the group of men huddled at the edge of the grove, for he drew up his horse, calling my name. "Major Lawrence, I come from General Maxwell," he shouted between the crashes of thunder. "You are given command of the right of the line, and will press on regardless of the storm until the enemy is met in force. Dragoons have been seen two miles east. You understand, sir?" "Yes," leading forth my horse. "Come on, lads, it's the top of the hill! What about the artillery?" "We may not be able to move the guns," he answered, "but you are to keep your powder as dry as possible and hold Clinton to the road. Dry powder will be sent as soon as the storm breaks. That's all, sir." I could scarce see the fellow as his horse whirled, and went splashing down the slope. Through the mist of rain the men gathered about were mere blotches. "All right, you water-rats, come on!" I sang out cheerfully. "We'll give the Red-coats the butts of our guns anyhow." There was a faint cheer as the drenched figures sprang forward racing after me. Half of them had flung away their coats in the fierce heat, and their shirts clung soaked and dripping. Swinging them into some semblance of line, each man barely within sight of his neighbor, and picking up others as we advanced, we made the crest of the hill, and entered the open country beyond. Looking back, as the clouds broke, we could see the long lines of infantry forming in the valley below, with black specks here and there as staff officers rode with orders. Twice we ran up against small parties of horsemen, exchanging shots, but these fell back, leaving the road clear. By dark we were at Englishtown, hungry and thoroughly worn out, and there were halted, sleeping upon our arms. All I had in my haversack was a single hard biscuit, after munching which I lay down upon the ground and fell instantly asleep. CHAPTER XXVII THE FIGHT AT MONMOUTH