CHAPTER V. "Weave we the woof. The thread is spun. THE hostile armies, who lay in the wilds of the Horican, passed the night of the ninth of August, 1757, much in the manner that would have prevailed, had they encountered on the fairest field of Europe. While the conquered were still, sullen, and dejected, the victors triumphed. But there are limits alike to grief and joy; and long before the dead watches of the morning came, the stillness of those boundless woods was only broken by a gay call from some exulting young Frenchman of the advanced piquets, or a menacing challenge from the fort, which sternly forbade the approach of any hostile footsteps before |