“We were too busy ourselves that day, Master Morris, to know much about what went on excepting directly in front of us,” Prentice continued, with a smile. “But now that the matter is history, for history is being made rapidly these days, we can get at the truth pretty easily. Colonel Cadwalader, who, by the way, has gone to Philadelphia to look out for his private interests, and several other officers, were discussing the Brandywine engagement yesterday. The colonel, naturally, is a strong opponent of Sullivan and a warm adherent of General Wayne, for the former has too many political friends, and the latter is a plain, out-and-out fighter. Wayne is a Pennsylvania man, you know; has been a farmer over near Easton ’most all his life--though they do say he traveled north once, surveying land. He is somewhere about thirty-three years old now. “He brought his own regiment into the army--the Fourth Pennsylvania,” continued the captain, getting away from the real matter under discussion, but holding Hadley’s attention, nevertheless, “and he has been advanced to brigadier-general for conspicuous gallantry. They call him ‘Mad Anthony’ and claim he is reckless and thoughtless; but it’s a pity we haven’t more such mad men in the army. You have seen to-day how the troops love him and what they will do for him. This handful of muddy, half-starved creatures would charge the whole of Howe’s army if Anthony Wayne were at their head! Did you get a glimpse of him to-day, Morris?” “Yes, sir. And I think him a fine figure of a man,” declared the boy, enthusiastically. “He is that, indeed. A man of more forceful facial expression I never saw, and his dark eyes are always sparkling--either in fun or with earnestness. Anthony Wayne is an ‘all or nothing’ man--he is never lukewarm, as are some of these fellows who have obtained their commissions from Congress. What if he does brag? Why, Morris, if we’d done what he has, and were masters of the science of war as he is, we’d brag ourselves!” “But why do they try to drag him into the trouble over the Brandywine defeat?” queried the boy. “Why? Ask me why a mangy, homeless cur always snarls at the heels of a dog that is well bred. ’Tis always so. Jealousy is at the bottom of all these cabals and plots with which the army is troubled. Even His Excellency is not free from the arrows of their hate. And, as I tell you, Sullivan has too many political friends. They wish to attract attention from his mistakes to somebody else, and they fall upon General Wayne and call him reckless. Reckless, forsooth! His fighting that day when he faced those Hessians was marvelous.