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drowned out by a deep refrain: Pay us and disband the army! It comes to the thud of rifle butts being stamped against the frozen ground. A thud to the rhythm of a beating drum. Pay us and disband the army! I watch Wayne and Scott, who sit on their horses without moving. Neither does Washington move. His officers crowd round him, but he pushes through them and rides toward the line. Then, close to us, he sits on his horse, motionless. I can see how his face is blue with cold, his lips purple, thin and very tight. I wait for a gun to go off. I can understand how men would kill him now.
    Jacob whispers: “There’s a man. No officer, but a man to lead men.”
    â€œA rare, strange man,” Ely agrees.
    Then the noise dies away. The General’s head drops forward, and his face is twisted with pain.
    â€œA play actor,” Charley murmurs.
    â€œYou are still my men,” he says simply. “I want no more from you than to believe I am still one of you, not your General. We must build houses here—live and endure. We must.”
    Then he rides away. The brigades break. The parade becomes a seething mass of men, a roar of sound. The women flow forward and mingle with the brigades.
    The Pennsylvania men hold some kind of order. Wayne rides down the line and stops in front of our little group. We stand apart.
    â€œYou’re not my men,” he says.
    Ely replies: “We’re the Fourth New York, sir.”
    He takes a little book out of his pocket and thumbs through it. The pages flutter in the wind and try to tear loose. “Disbanded?” he asks Ely.
    â€œThere are eight of us left.”
    â€œI’ll list you with the Fourteenth Pennsylvania. You’ll take orders from Captain Muller.”
    â€œWe’ll not become a Pennsylvania regiment,” Jacob says sullenly.
    â€œYou’ll obey orders!”
    â€œTo hell with your orders!”
    â€œWho’s in command among you?” Wayne says coldly.
    â€œWe have no officers,” I say. “They were killed.”
    â€œYou’ll join the Fourteenth—or you’re under arrest.”
    Jacob raises his musket. Ely tries to hold him back, but Jacob shakes loose. He says to Wayne: “You’re not talking to a German farmer. By God, I’m half-dead already, and I’d be all dead as soon as to crawl for an officer.”
    The Pennsylvanians had gathered round us now. An officer pushed through them, and Wayne said to him: “Captain Muller, have your men cover him, and shoot him if he fires.”
    I felt a single spark like that would set the field on fire. I felt that I was looking then at the finale of the revolution. But Ely put his arms around Jacob and forced the musket down.
    â€œThey’re your men, Captain,” Wayne said. Then he rode away, and I stood there with the rest of them, feeling all sick and hot inside. I felt sick the way I had been sick at Breed’s Hill, and not since then. I pushed close to Jacob.
    The Pennsylvania men were laughing. There were some women there, giggling and making eyes at us.
    â€œI’ll have no mutiny in my ranks,” Muller said. “You’ll take orders, my fine beggars, or you’ll stump along.”
    â€œYou can go to hell, sir,” Ely told him, gently.
    He couldn’t fight Ely’s eyes. He turned around, bawling for them to form their ranks.
    We form to march back. Jacob is still trembling, and his face is black. Ely holds onto his arm. Kenton has his arm round a tall, thin woman, whose face is a mockery of any decent woman’s face. A Pennsylvanian pushes through and claims the woman.
    â€œShe’s my wife,” he said.
    â€œShe’s a slut and I’m paying her,” Kenton says.
    â€œShe’s my wife——”
    The other women are laughing. Kenton’s wench spits in her husband’s face. A deep roar of laughter goes up.
    â€œA rare lot of women these Pennsylvanians have,”