midnight
Several of us had remained rather late that evening about the cheerful fire in front of my hut , -- for the nights were still chilly , although it was May , and the dreadful winter passed , -- discussing the improved condition of our troops , the rigid discipline of Baron de Steuben , and speculating on what would probably be attempted now that Sir Henry Clinton had succeeded to the command of the forces opposing us . I remember Maxwell joined us , together with Knox of the artillery , each man with a different theory of campaign , but alike agreeing that , in spite of all we had endured during those months of suffering and privation at Valley Forge , the time to strike once again was near at hand , although our numbers were barely half that of the enemy . It must have been midnight when I crept into a bunk , and , even then , found sleep absent , my eyes gazing out through the open door to where the embers of the fire glowed red , and a sentinel paced back and forth in regular monotony . Suddenly he halted , and challenged hoarsely , flinging forward his gun . There was an indistinguishable answer , and , as I straightened up , the figure of a man blotted out the doorway . `` Major Lawrence ? ''