I heard Farrell chuckle grimly to himself as he observed the careless approach of those advance riders.
They were Queen's Rangers, the white facings of their coats conspicuous, their guns swung at the shoulder in reckless confidence.

A slim young lieutenant appeared to be in command, and we counted twenty in the advance body as they slowly passed and disappeared into the denser gloom below.

Following them appeared the wagons, huge Conestogas, heavily laden, creaking dismally in the night silence, and lurching along the rutty road.

These were dragged by mules, horses, and oxen, the drivers blocking the wheels as they struck the sharp descent, a thin guard of Hessians, on foot, streaming along either side, but offering no assistance.

We could hear them growling to each other in German, punctuated by an occasional English oath, as they stumbled forward in the dark.