And so, rather unexpectedly, Hadley found himself marching with the patriot forces toward Wilmington. Captain Prentice secured him a gun, and he shared the rations of the good-natured fellows about him. The youth was very tired after his long ride, but walking was better than riding, and there were times when the ranks rested. The next day, however, the army reached the Delaware town, only to learn through the scouts that the British had landed at the head of the Elk River, fifty miles or more from Philadelphia. The news spread, too, how greatly the Redcoats outnumbered the Americans. There were 18,000 of the former, and the faces of even the rank and file grew grave. The Americans marched to Red Clay Creek, beyond Wilmington, and for several days there were smart skirmishes between portions of the two armies. But there was no decisive engagement, and finally Washington outgeneraled Howe and fell back upon the Brandywine, which he crossed at Chadd’s Ford, posting his army on the hills to the east. Meanwhile Captain Prentice’s command had seen little fighting, and both the young officer and Hadley Morris were anxious to get closer to the firing line than they had been thus far. Hadley had forgotten his original expectation of returning at once to the Three Oaks Inn, after having delivered his message to Colonel Cadwalader; and it looked as though the Colonel had forgotten him. But he was so excited by the prospect of a battle that he was not chafing over the delay of his return journey. Without doubt a fight was imminent, the commanders of the opposing forces maneuvering for the best positions for their line of battle. Thus August slipped away, September came, and the fateful eleventh day approached. CHAPTER XI A MESSENGER OF DEFEAT In the excitement of those September days, when the two armies overran the Pennsylvania hills to the west and south of Philadelphia, Hadley came near forgetting his Uncle Ephraim and the promise he had made his mother regarding the old man. Miser Morris had so repelled his nephew’s kindly efforts to help him, that the boy felt he was no more able to do him any good while at the Three Oaks than he was miles away from the Morris farm in the lines of the Continental troops. And then, the glamour of the life--the drilling, the marching, the uncertainty, the danger--all fed his imagination and inspired him with actual delight. Prentice declared almost hourly that Hadley was “spoiling a good officer by hanging about a country inn.” “I don’t feel that I could regularly enlist,” the boy said to him, “so I am not likely to be an officer yet awhile. I am here only as a volunteer, and my conscience troubles me, too, at that.”