foot regiment, the 3rd New Hampshire Line, one of their six Ensigns, Bradbury Richards, recognized me and came across the road to shake my hand, and to inform me that a small scout was to go out to reconnoitre the Indian town of Chemung; and that we would doubtless march thither on the morrow.

With Richards came also my old friend Ezra Buell, lately lieutenant in my own regiment, but now a captain in the 3rd New York Continentals, and a nephew of that Ezra Buell who ran the Stanwix survey in ‘69 and married a pretty Esaurora girl while marking the Treaty Line.

“Well!” says Ezra, shaking my hand, and: “How are you lazy people up the river, and what are you doing there?”

“Damming the lake,” said I, “whilst you damn us for making you wait.”