Godfrey, a stark, fierce figure in his blackened buckskins, went out in front of our single rank and called to the malcontents: "Pull foot, you swine, or I'll mark you!" And, "Pull foot!" shouted Nick Stoner, "and be damned to you! Why do you loiter! Do you wait for a volley in your guts!" At that, Balty Weed turned and ran toward the woods; but the others moved more slowly and sullenly, not exactly menacing us with their rifles, but carrying them conveniently across the hollow of their left arms. In the increasing darkness I heard somebody sob, and saw Joe Scott standing with one hand across his eyes, as though to close from his sight such a scene of deep disgrace. Then I went to him. I was trembling and could scarce command my voice, but gave him a salute and stood at attention until he finally noticed me. "Well, John," said he, "this is like to be the death of me." "Sir; will you order the drums to beat a march?" "Do you think the men will march?" "Yes, sir--what remains of them." He came slowly back, motioning what was left of the company to close up. I could not hear what he said, but the men began to count off, and their voices were resolute enough to hearten all. So presently Nick Stoner, who acted as fife-major, blew lustily into his fife, playing the marching tune, which is called "The Little Red Foot"; and the drums beat it; and we marched in column of fours to take Sir John at his ancestral Hall, if it chanced to be God's will. CHAPTER IX STOLE AWAY Johnson Hall was a blaze of light with candles in every window, and great lanterns flaring from both stone forts which flanked the Hall, and along the new palisades which Sir John had built recently for his defense. All gates and doors stood wide open, and officers in Continental uniform and in the uniform of the Palatine Regiment, were passing in and out with a great clanking of swords and spurs. Everywhere companies of regular infantry from Colonel Dayton's regiment of the New York Line were making camp, and I saw their baggage waggons drive up from the town below and go into park to the east of the Hall, where cattle were lying in the new grass. An officer of the Palatine Regiment carrying a torch came up to Joe Scott, where our little company stood at ease along the hedge fence. "What troops are these, sir?" he inquired, indicating us with a nervous gesture. And when he was informed: "Oho!" said he, "there should be material for rangers among your farmer-militia. Pick me two men for Colonel Dayton who live by rifle and trap and who know the wilderness from Albany to the Lakes." So our captain told off Nick Stoner and me, and we stepped out of the ranks into the red torch-glow. "Thank you, sir," said the Palatine officer to our Captain. And to us: "Follow me, lads." He was a brisk, handsome and smartly uniformed officer of militia; and his cheerful demeanor heartened me who had lately witnessed such humiliations and disgrace.