look at this little clause in this paper, Sir. The excitement you speak
of will come ere long, and that at a rate less ruinous than this whole
army's loss. There's a line--there's a line, Sir, that will make null
and void, very soon, if not on the instant, all the evil of these golden
promises. There'll be excitement enough ere long; but better blood than
that shed in battle fields must flow to waken it.

_Arnold_. I hardly understand you, Sir. Is it this threat you point at?

_Leslie_. Can't you see?--They have let loose these hell-hounds upon us,
and butchery must be sent into our soft and innocent homes;--beings that
we have sheltered from the air of heaven, brows that have grown pale at
the breath of an ungentle word, must meet the red knife of the Indian
now. Oh God, this is war!

_Arnold_. I understand you, Colonel Leslie. There was a crisis like this
in New Jersey last winter, I know, when our people were flocking to the
royal standard, as they are now, and a few fiendish outrages on the part
of the foe changed the whole current in our favor. It may be so now, but
meanwhile--

_Leslie_. Meanwhile, this army is the hope of the nation, and must be
preserved. We are wronged, Sir. Have we not done all that men could do?
What were twenty pitched battles to such an enemy, with a force like
ours, compared with the harm we have done them? Have we not kept them
loitering here among these hills, wasting the strength that was meant to
tell in the quivering fibres of men, on senseless trees and stones,
paralyzing them with famine, wearying them with unexciting, inglorious
toil, until, divided and dispirited, at last we can measure our power
with theirs, and fight, not in vain? Why, even now the division is