The men were given picks and
shovels, and at once bent to their task with feverish energy. Scant four
hours they had before them, when daylight would reveal them and their
position to the enemy, for June's longest days and shortest nights were
near, with daylight at four in the morning. They all labored for their
lives, both officers and men, and toiled without cessation to the end.
The night was dark, but the stars shone bright, and by their light
Colonel Prescott and another officer, Major Brooks, stole down to the
shore to observe the enemy, where they were reassured by the "All's
well" from the British sentries on board the ships off shore.
All was not well--for them--most assuredly; but it was not until the
morning mists rolled away from the rounded summits of the hills in front
that they found it out. Then they might well gaze in wrath and wonder,
beholding that work as if of enchantment going on before them, on that
hill-top within short cannon-shot of their shipping. But they did not
spend much time in rubbing their eyes and in vain speculation, being
well assured at a glance that the "rascally American militia" had stolen
a march upon them in the night and brought all their plans to naught.
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