God knows how long this doctor, forgetful of the groans of the sick, would have continued to bully Doc; but fortunately a bugle blew near the middle of the island, and the outraged practitioner felt compelled to depart in the direction of the bugle.

It was blowing for parade; and, knowing there would be less of a crowd at headquarters during parade than at any other time, I bolted a noisome piece of salt pork and set out to report to Wilkinson.

… The mist had burned away, and I had a clear look at four companies that were forming. There was next to nothing left of their uniforms; but from the rags of faded blue and soiled white that hung on them, I knew they were the wreckage of Anthony Wayne’s regiment. I was surprised to see how many men were standing at attention; and even more surprised that they should have the strength to do so, for they were bearded and emaciated, and their eyes had the look of blue smudges in clay-colored faces. The officers looked little better than the men: but they rapped out their commands sharply enough, and the men formed lines that were almost straight.

I could hear the order that was being read—something about the colonel being determined to punish in the severest manner every man who came to parade with a long beard, slovenly dressed or dirty. I wondered how long a beard had to be in order to be considered long, and also what sort of severe punishment Wayne proposed to inflict on men in the present situation. He could take away their salt pork, I knew, but I didn’t see what else he could do that would be considered severe—not unless he buried them alive in the dead pits.

In the midst of the reading, a man in the front row pitched forward to lie with his face in the mud. A sergeant crawled between the ranks, got him by the arms and dragged him back out of sight.

Then the whole front rank wavered; two men in the rear rank stumbled forward and fell with a clatter. Man after man went down in the other three companies, to be dragged out of the way of those still able to stand. But when I moved on, all four companies still stood rigidly at attention, listening to the orders from that wind-bag of a Wayne, and the ground behind them was littered with what looked like dead men. Before the night was over, I had no doubt, some of them would be dead, and well out of this hell-hole of an Isle aux Noix.

… Wilkinson leaned in solemn meditation against a corner of the barn. His jaws were clenched, as I could see from the faint movement of his cheeks. If he was not thinking great and important thoughts, he at least had the air of being thus engaged.