Five minutes later, and the troops were silently drawn up in front of the enemy.  A long line of fires marked the extent of the encampment, from which, even then, the “all’s well” of the sentinels could be occasionally heard.  Except these, all profoundly slept, nor was there anything to indicate they had the slightest suspicion of an enemy being within twenty miles of them—­not a picket had been thrown out, not an outpost established.  It was evident the Americans were yet young in the art of self defence.

“What glorious bayonet work we shall have presently,” whispered Villiers to Cranstoun, as they were brought together by their stations at the adjacent extremities of their respective division.  “Only mark how the fellows sleep.”

“The deevil a beet,” responded Cranstoun, “a joost noo heerd Coolonel St Julian propoose and even enseest upoon it.  But the Geeneral seems to theenk that coold steel and a coold froosty morning do not asseemelate togeether.”

“What! does he not mean to attack them with the bayonet, when two minutes would suffice to bring us into the very heart of the encampment, and that before they could well have time to arm themselves?”

“Hoot mon” coolly pursued the Grenadier, with something very like satire in his expression.  “Would ye ha’ the Geeneral so uncheevalrous as to poonce upoon a set of poor unarmed and unprepared creeturs.  Depeend upon it he would na sleep coomfortably on his peelow, after having put coold steel into the geezzard of each of yon sleeping loons.”

“The devil take his consideration,” muttered Villiers; “but you are right, for see, there go the guns to the front—­hark there is a shot; the sentinels have discovered us at last; and now the sluggards are starting from before their fires, and hastening to snatch their arms.

“True enoof, Veelliers, and pleenty o’ brooken heeds they will gi’ us soon, in retoorn for sparing their goots.  There oopen too those stooped leetle three poonders.  Tha might joost as weel be used for brass warming pons, to tak the cheel off the damp beeds some of us will be pressing preesently.”

Whist, whist, whist, flew three balls successively between their heads.  “Ha, here they begin to talk to us in earnest, and now to our duty.”

The next moment all was roar, and bustle, and confusion, and death.

We will not stop to inquire why the British General, Proctor, lost an advantage which had made itself apparent to the meanest soldier of his army, by opening a desultory and aimless fire of his light guns upon an enemy to whom he thus afforded every possible opportunity for preparation and defence; when, like Colonel, (now Sir John) Harvey, not long subsequently at Stoney Creek, he might have annihilated that enemy with the bayonet, and with little comparative loss to himself.  We will merely observe that having failed to do so, nothing but the determination and courage of his troops brought him through the difficulties he himself had created, and to the final attainment of the general order, complimenting him on the highly judicious arrangements he had made on the occasion; although, (as Cranstoun had predicted) not before a damp bed had been pressed for the last time by more than one of those who had so gallantly followed—­or, more strictly, preceded him.