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Jacob's creek

The road became muddier, but much more flat, and we had an easier time marching than on the climb uphill. We knew the delays thus far had cost us our chance to attack before dawn. We pressed on.

A creek cut across the road and we had to scramble down its embankment. Cold wet mud and the passage of several thousand men does not make for an easy crossing. The water, cold as Hades, felt like a thousand knives against our legs, and more than one man slipped and fell headlong into the torrent. The haversack I was carrying slid and was drenched in that rushing water. We climbed up the opposite bank and continued on the march.

What with the rain, the snow and that creek, I haven’t a dry cartridge for my musket.

“I don’t think anyone has any”, William said. “Do you think the Hessians will have the same trouble?”

“They spent all day, and half the night drinking and celebrating Christmas. They’ve been snug in their houses and barracks. Their powder will be dry.”

So what do we do?

I didn’t want to think about it.

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