The Young Continentals at Trenton

Next morning George Prentiss made his way to General Putnam’s headquarters at the foot of Broadway; and, as he went, there was at first some doubt in his mind as to the kind of a report he should make.

He had undertaken readily enough the enterprise upon which he had ridden the day before. The conspiring Tories were enemies to the cause of liberty, and he felt no qualms in matching them in their own style of work. But he had not reckoned on what had taken place. He had not expected to find his cousin concerned in it. True, a soldier of the colonies, who was so base as to betray the cause in order that he might profit thereby, was infinitely worse than any Tory.

“He should receive no mercy,” George told himself with indignation. “And any one having the cause at heart should be only too glad to hunt him out and see him punished.”

But for all his realization of this, he felt no desire to pursue and expose Herbert Camp.

However, he knew which way his duty lay; and so he determinedly tramped into headquarters and asked to see General Putnam.

“Why,” cried the hearty old officer, “what now! I had no idea that I’d see you for days.” Then noting an expression in the young man’s face that was not easily read, he added: “Something has happened.”

“Quite a deal has happened,” returned George, “and I thought it best that I make a report to you at once.”

“Out with it,” invited Putnam. “I can see that it is a matter of interest; so lose no time.”

Thereupon George related his adventures of the night before; not a detail escaped the telling, and the general listened with the greatest interest.

“Why,” cried Putnam, when George had finally finished, “here’s a surprising circumstance, indeed. And it would seem that the situation is made to fit you as the coat upon your back. There is nothing for you to do but to take up the scent that is plain before you; and within a week, I warrant you, the solution of it all will be in your hands.”

But George shook his head.

“I’m afraid,” said he, slowly, “that I have no keenness for the work. I felt bound in duty to report what I had seen and heard; but now I ask to be relieved of the matter.”

The general stared at him for a moment in wide amazement. Then the habitually jolly look upon his face died out, and one of coldness replaced it.

“When once a soldier volunteers, it is considered that he is willing to go on until he is directed to halt,” said he.

George lifted his head proudly.

“I, too, am perfectly willing to do that, general, if commanded. But I felt that you were not only my officer but my friend; and that if I told you there was something which made the duty personally distasteful, you would release me from it.”

General Putnam regarded him earnestly for a moment; his face gradually softened.

“You are right, my lad,” spoke he, “I am your friend. This duty, which you have so far carried out smoothly and well, shows itself to be of great importance; and it would be well for us if you could continue it. To be sure, we could arrest young Camp and the merchant Dana at once if need be; but there is still little or no convincing evidence, and a thousand loopholes by which they might escape. The proof necessary could be best secured by you; but if you feel a real repulsion to the work—one that you cannot readily overcome—you may have your wish.”

“Thank you,” said George. “Anything else, general, and you may command me to any length; but not in this.”

Again the general studied him; and then a light crossed his face.

“I think I see,” he said. “This young officer Camp—and his sister—are somehow responsible for your change of front.”

“Yes,” replied George. “They are my cousins—son and daughter of my mother’s sister.”

“I see, I see. And your desire to have no further hand in the thing is perfectly natural. Ah, well, well—the world is a queer place, indeed—a jumble of causes and desires—of hopes and dreads. But,” with a wave of the hand, “that will be all now. I will replace you in this; however, keep in touch with me—there may be something else in which you may prove more ready.”

Again George saluted; and as he left headquarters he encountered Major Hyde upon the sidewalk. Henderson bore him company; and from the attitude of the two they were awaiting him.

“Well met, sir,” spoke Henderson with a friendly wave of the hand.

“This is my crony, Captain Henderson of Lowney’s City troops,” said Major Hyde, indicating the fop.

“I have met the gentleman before,” answered George, coldly.

Hyde laughed, and exhibited more geniality of manner than George would have given him credit for.

“Oh, come now,” said he. “Don’t bear any hard feelings. Give us both a hand, and let us make a fresh beginning.”

“’Pon my soul!” ejaculated the dragoon. “I no more took you the other day for what you are, than I’d have taken you for the man in the moon.” He grasped the young New Englander’s reluctant hand and shook it effusively. “I’m delighted to meet you.”

Hyde also shook his hand, but with more moderation.

“General Putnam gave us some hint of your service,” said he, “and I beg your pardon for any shortness of manner that I may have used toward you. You see, every day there are persons introducing themselves at headquarters who have nothing but presumption to back them up.”

“And,” said George, nettled, “you took me for one of those, then. Why, thank you,” with a bow; “it was extremely good of you.”

Hyde laughed and clapped him upon the back.

George resented the slap upon the back; he was not the sort who took kindly to any form of familiarity upon short acquaintance. But these men were enlisted in the same cause; and he felt it his place to be on a good footing with them. So the only way his anger manifested itself was in his stepping out of reach of both, and drawing himself stiffly erect.

But Hyde did not appear to notice his manner. “You are quartered at the ‘King’s Arms’ still, I think,” said he.

George nodded.

“It’s a very good place, as such places go,” said Hyde. “But it is apt to stale after a little time spent in it.” He regarded the young New Englander in a most kindly fashion. “Do you intend making any stay in New York?”

“My orders were to put myself under the directions of General Putnam until such time as the commander-in-chief arrived.”

Hyde seemed quite delighted at this. As for Henderson, he slapped his thigh.

“Now, there is luck!” cried he. “I told you, major, that something of the kind must be so. And he’ll be just the fellow for us.”

But Major Hyde motioned for him to be quiet.

“Don’t be quite so ready,” said he. “Perhaps Mr. Prentiss has plans of his own.”

He then turned to George once more.

“You see,” said he, “some of us have grown tired of tavern fare and tavern company; and we have engaged a house in Wall Street, ready furnished and with a black fellow as cook——”

“And such talent!” interrupted the young dragoon, who evidently loved fine food almost as well as he did fine clothes. “Never was there such a cook before. In his hands even so common an article as a joint of beef becomes a thing almost ethereal.”

“I will not go quite so far as that,” laughed the major, “but I will say that we are circumstanced most comfortably. There are four of us, and there is room for one more. Henderson and I have discussed the matter and made up our minds that we owe you something to make amends for a rather boorish greeting the other day. We’d be pleased to have you join us in this venture, and can assure you of greater convenience than you’ll get at an inn.”

But George shook his head.

“It will be but a few days, now,” said he, “before the main body of the army arrives; and my employment will then be such that I’ll not know from one day to another where I shall be. Another thing, I have some close friends with the Massachusetts troops; and shall quarter with them at such times as I shall be disengaged.”

“Oh, see here now,” said the foppish dragoon, “this is most unforgiving of you, ’pon my soul it is.”

“I’m very sorry,” said Hyde, whose disappointment was better tempered, but equally keen. “We had all but counted upon you.” He studied George for a moment, and then added: “But you can come and dine with us now and then, can you not? We shall be pleased to see you at any time.”

At any other time George might have consented to accept their hospitality out of sheer good nature. But now he somehow instinctively drew back. It may have been that his first impression of the two men was still strong upon him; or it may have been something else. He did not, however, pause to work it out; but with a bow and a polite wave of the hand, he said:

“You are very kind. Some other time, perhaps; but not to-night.”

And with that he swung along up Broadway, leaving them standing gazing after him.