the river had taken refuge.

Colonel Zebulon Butler, upon receiving the summons, called a
council of war. This was on the 3rd of July. The officers believed
that a little delay would be best, in the hope of the arrival of
reinforcements; but nearly all the men were so clamorous to march
out and give the invaders battle, that it was decided to do so.

"You are going into great danger," remarked the leader, as he
mounted his horse and placed himself at the head of the patriots,
"but I will go as far as any of you."

At three o'clock in the afternoon the column, numbering about
three hundred, marched from the fort with drums beating and colors
flying. They moved up the valley, with the river on the right and
a marsh on the left, until they arrived at Fort Wintermoot, which
had been set on fire by the enemy to give the impression they were
withdrawing from the neighborhood.

As you may well believe, the movements of the patriots were watched
with deep interest by those left behind. The women and children
clustered along the river bank and strained their eyes in the
direction of Fort Wintermoot, the black smoke from which rolled
down the valley and helped to shut out their view.

There was hardly one among the spectators that had not a loved
relative with the defenders. It might be a tottering grandfather,
a sturdy son, who, though a boy, was inspired with the deepest
fervor, and eager to risk his life for the sake of his mother or
sister, whose hearts almost stopped beating in the painful suspense