The wounded removed, I had nothing more to do but to wait. Only then did I remember to be thankful that I was unhurt. I had much smoke grime upon my face, and I dare say I was not fine to look at, but I thought little of those things. Whitestone, who also was free from active duty, joined me, and I was glad. He drew his long pipe from the interior of his waistcoat, filled it with tobacco, lighted it and became happy. “It has been a good day’s work,” he said at length. “Yes, for us,” I replied. “What will be the next step, Whitestone?” “The British will retreat soon,” he said. “We will follow without pressing them too hard. No use to waste our men now. In a week the British will be ours.” Whitestone spoke with such assurance that I was convinced. CHAPTER XI. THE NIGHT AFTER. But a dull murmur arose from the two camps, victor and vanquished. Both seemed to sleep for the morrow. I had done so much guard duty of late that I looked for such assignment as a matter of course, and this night was no exception. With Whitestone and some soldiers I was to guard one of the little passes between the hills. We were merely an alarm corps; we could not stop a passage, but there were enough behind us whom we could arouse for the purpose. The British might retreat farther into the interior, but the river and its banks must be closed to them. We stood in the dark, but we could see the wavering lights of either camp. The murmur as it came to us was very low. The two armies rested as if they were sunk in a lethargy after their strenuous efforts of the day. I did not regret my watch. I did not care to sleep. The fever of the fight yet lingering in my blood, I was not so old to battle that I could lie down and find slumber as soon as the fighting ended. “Mr. Shelby,” said Whitestone, “is there any rule or regulation against a pipe to-night?” “I know of none, Whitestone,” I said. He was satisfied, and lighted his pipe, which increased his satisfaction. I strolled about a little, watching the lights and meditating upon the events of the day. The camps stood higher than I, and they looked like huge black clouds shot through here and there with bits of flame. I believed Whitestone’s assurance that Burgoyne would retreat on the morrow; but I wondered what he would attempt after that. Clinton’s arrival might save him, but it seemed to me that the possibility of such an event was fast lessening. In this fashion I passed an hour or two; then it occurred to me to approach the British camp a little more closely and see what movements there might be on the outskirts, if any. Telling Whitestone of my intent, I advanced some forty or fifty yards. From that point, though still beyond rifle shot, I could see figures in the British camp when they passed between me and the firelight.