The Boy Scouts at the Battle of Saratoga; or, The Story of General Burgoyne's Defeat

The sunset had brought to a close the hottest day of the season (June, 1777). With the fading of the light a cool breeze came in from Lake Champlain, sweeping across the big promontory, near the foot of which a single tent was pitched. As the wind rustled in the tree tops above the canvas shelter, its occupants arose from the rude beds of fir boughs, and sought the outer air. This act revealed their number and character—three lads, not far from eighteen years of age, whose rugged faces, brawny muscles and rude clothing suggested, as was the fact, that they had been bred to a frontier life. "I say, Dan," the tallest of the group remarked as he yawned and stretched himself to his full height, "ain't it 'bout time that feller we are waitin' for hove in sight?"