A moment later our conch-horn boomed out its thrilling and melodious warning.

Far in the rear I heard the drums and bugle-horns of the light infantry sounding the general.
As we went forward in the early daylight, the nature of the ambuscade prepared for us became very plain to me; and I pointed out to Major Parr where the unseen enemy rested, his right flank protected by the river, his left extending north along the hog-bank, so that his lines enveloped the trail on which we marched, threatening our entire army in a most cunning and evil manner.

Truly there was no fox like Butler in the Northland! All was very still about us as we marched; the river mist hung along the woods; a few birds sang; the tops of the Indian corn rustled.
Toward eight o'clock the conch-horn blew; our riflemen halted and deployed in perfect silence, facing the unseen works on the wooded ridge ahead.

Another division of troops swung to the left, continuing the movement to the river in splendid order, where they also halted and formed a line of battle, facing north.

And still the unseen enemy gave no sign; birds sang; the mist drifted up through the trees.
From where we lay we could see our artillery horses straining, plunging, stumbling up a high knoll in the centre of our line, while Maxwell's division halted and extended behind our riflemen to support the artillery, and Clinton's four splendid New York regiments hurried forward on a double, regiment after regiment dropping their packs behind our lines and running north through the open woods, their officers all finely mounted and cantering ahead, swords drawn.
A few moments later, General Sullivan passed along our front on horseback, and drew bridle for a moment where Boyd and I were standing at salute.
"Now is your opportunity, young gentlemen," he said in a low voice.