Colonel
Clark looked into my upturned face.
"Davy, do you know what day this is?" he asked.
"No, sir," I answered.
"Two years have gone since the bells pealed for the birth of a new
nation--your nation, Davy, and mine--the nation that is to be the refuge
of the oppressed of this earth--the nation which is to be made of all
peoples, out of all time. And this land for which you and I shall fight
to-night will belong to it, and the lands beyond," he pointed to the
west, "until the sun sets on the sea again." He put his hand on my head.
"You will remember this when I am dead and gone," he said.
I was silent, awed by the power of his words.
Darkness fell, and still we waited, impatient for the order. And when at
last it came the men bustled hither and thither to find their commands,
and we picked our way on the unseen road that led down the bluff, our
hearts thumping. The lights of the village twinkled at our feet, and now
and then a voice from below was caught and borne upward to us. Once
another noise startled us, followed by an exclamation, "Donnerblitzen"
and a volley of low curses from the company. Poor Swein Poulsson had
loosed a stone, which had taken a reverberating flight riverward.
We reached the bottom, and the long file turned and hurried silently
northward, searching for a crossing.
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