eral Washington will pat you on the shoulder and say, 'My trusty fellow,' just as he did to me. It's worth it all, Nero, if we can only help him a bit, now is n't it?'
Despite his weariness it was a relief to young Robert Dorlon to speak aloud, although his faithful little steed could not make any response. For two days now he had been on his way from the hills of Jersey, where he had left Washington and his army facing the forces which Howe had sent in the early summer of 1777 to try to draw "the rebel" from his stronghold down into the plains, and give the redcoats battle. Of the issue of such a contest Howe and Cornwallis had never a question, and it is a natural inference that their wily foe had none either, for he steadily refused the challenge. Into the hills the redcoats had no mind to go, for the memory of Bunker Hill was still keen among them. However much they were inclined to belittle the courage and skill of the untrained farmers and farmers' boys in the ranks of the defenders of the colonies when they met them, as they did in the battle of Long Island in the preceding summer, it was an altogether different affair when they tried, even with bayonets, to drive them from some stronghold.
