The rain had changed to hail and sleet as we waited our turn to cross. The march, which should have taken little more than an hour had taken four. And now we wait. Standing in the cold and mud. We waited in marching formation, while the officers went into the tavern, for “orders”. No doubt warming their backsides by the fire while we froze, wet and tired. Not even allowed to sit or lay down without their permission. Rank hath its’ privileges so we’re told.

I saw his Excellency, Gen. Washington his self. He rode up with one of his aides and said, “What is the hour Mr. Hamilton?” Twas nearby ten I heard him tell. He looked at us, standing there, and you could see his eyes. I don’t rightly know how to describe ‘em. But they became hard and set. He turned and entered the tavern.

About two minutes later a whole flock of officers came tumbling out, and soon we were marching again. Not very far, and once again we were waiting as the sleet fell. But our officers were with us.