Perhaps the dream was in the wise and prophetic brain of Franklin
or in the great imagination of Jefferson, but there is little to prove
that more than a few were dreaming that way. To everybody, almost, the
people on the east coast of North America were merely the rival outposts
of France and England.
But the army that was starting for the green shores of Andiatarocte bore
with it the fate of mighty nations, and its march, hidden and obscure,
compared with that of many a great army in Europe, was destined to have
a vast influence upon the world.
It was a strange composite force. There were the militiamen from New
England, tall, thin, hardy and shrewd, accustomed to lives of absolute
independence, full of confidence and eager to go against the enemy. Many
of the New Yorkers were of the same type, but the troops of that
province also included the Germans and the Dutch, most of the Germans
still unable to speak the English language. There was the little
Philadelphia troop under Colden, trained now, the wild rangers from the
border, and the fierce Mohawks led by King Hendrik and Daganoweda.
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