On September 15, a group of horsemen, occupying a slight eminence of ground on the island of Manhattan, were gazing eastward. Below and nearer the water were spread lines of’ soldiers behind intrenchments, while from three men-of-war lying in the river came a heavy cannonade that swept the shore line and spread over the water a pall of smoke which, as it drifted to leeward, obscured the Long Island shore from view.

“’T is evidently a feint, your Excellency,” presently asserted one of the observers, “to cover a genuine attack elsewhere —most likely above the Haarlem.”

The person addressed—a man with an anxious, careworn face that made him look fifty at least—lowered his glass, but did not reply for some moments. “You may be right, sir,” he remarked, “though to me it has the air of an intended attack. What think you, Reed?”

“I agree with Mifflin. The attack will be higher up. Hah! Look there!”

A rift had come in the smoke, and a column of boats, moving with well-timed oars, could for a moment be seen as it came forward.

“They intend a landing at Kip’s Bay, as I surmised,” exclaimed the general. “Gentlemen, we shall be needed below.” He turned to Reed and gave him an order concerning reinforcements, then wheeled and, followed by the rest, trotted over the ploughed field. Once on the highway, he spurred his horse, putting him to a sharp canter.

“What troops hold the works on the bay, Muffin?” asked one of the riders.

“Fellows’ and Parsons’ brigades, Brereton.”

“If they are as good at fighting as at thieving, they’ll distinguish themselves.”

“Ay,” laughed Muffin. “If the red coats were but chickens or cattle, the New England militia would have had them all captured ere now.”

“They’ll be hearn from to-day,” said a third officer. “They’ve earthworks to git behind, and they’ll give the British anuther Bunker Hill.”

“Then you ought to be quick, General Putnam,” said Brereton, “for that ’s the fighting you like.”

The road lay in the hollow of the land, and not till the party reached a slight rise were they able once more to get a glimpse of the shores of the bay. Then it was to find the flotilla well in toward its intended landing-place, and the American troops retreating in great disorder from their breastworks.

Exclamations of surprise and dismay sprang from the lips of the riders, and their leader, turning his horse, jumped the fence and galloped across the fields to intercept the fugitives. Five minutes brought them up to the runaways, who, out of breath with the sharpness of their pace, had come to a halt, and were being formed by their officers into a little less disorder.

“General Fellows, what was the reason for this shameful retreat?” demanded the general, when within speaking distance.

“The men were seized with a panic on the approach of the boats, your Excellency, and could not be held in the lines.”

Washington faced the regiments, his face blazing with scorn. “You ran before a shot had been fired! Before you lost a man, you deserted works that have taken weeks to build, and which could be held against any such force.” He paused for a moment, and then, drawing his sword, he called with spirit: “Who’s for recovering them?”

A faint cheer passed down the lines; but almost as it sounded, the red coats of fifty or sixty light infantry came into view on the road, a skirmishing party thrown forward from the landing to reconnoitre. Had they been Howe’s whole army, however, they could not have proved more effective, for instantly the two brigades broke and dissolved once more into squads of flying men.

At such cowardice, Washington lost all control of himself, and, dashing in among the fugitives, he passionately struck right and left with the flat of his sword, thundering curses at them; while Putnam and Muffin, as well as the aides, followed his example. It was hopeless, however, to stay the rush; the men took the blows and the curses unheeding, while throwing away their guns and scattering in every direction.

Made frantic by such conduct, Washington wheeled his horse. “Charge!” he cried, and rode toward the enemy, waving his sword.

If the commander-in-chief had hoped to put some of his own courage into the troops by his example, he failed. Not a man of the runaways ceased fleeing. None the less, as if regardless of consequences in his desperation, Washington rode on, until one of the aides dashed his spurs into his horse and came up beside his general at a mad gallop.

“Your Excellency!” he cried, “’t is but hopeless and will but end in—” Then, as his superior did not heed him, he seized the left rein of his horse’s bridle and, pulling on it, swung him about in a large circle, letting go his hold only when they were riding away from the enemy.

Washington offered no resistance, and rode the hundred yards to where the rest of his staff were standing, with bowed head. Nothing was said as he rejoined the group, and Blueskin, disappointed in the charge for which he had shown as much eagerness as his rider, let his mind recur to thoughts of oats; finding no control in the hand that held his bridle, he set out at an easy trot toward headquarters.

They had not ridden many yards ere Washington lifted his head, the expression of hopelessness, which had taken the place of that of animation, in turn succeeded by one of stern repose. He issued three orders to as many of the riders, showing that his mind had not been dwelling idly on the disaster, slipped his sword into its scabbard, and gathered up his reins again.

“There!” thought Blueskin, as a new direction was indicated by his bit, “I’m going to have another spell of it riding all ways of a Sunday, just as we did last night. And it ’s coming on to rain.”

Rain it did very quickly; but from post to post the horsemen passed, the sternly silent commander speaking only when giving the necessary orders to remedy so far as possible the disaster of the afternoon. Not till eleven, and then in a thoroughly drenched condition, did they reach the Morris House on Haarlem Heights. It was to no rest, however, that the general arrived; for, as he dismounted, Major Gibbs of his life guards informed him that the council of war he had called was gathered and only awaited his attendance.

“Get you some supper, gentlemen,” he ordered, to such of his aides as were still of the party, “for ’t is likely that you will have more riding when the council have deliberated.”

“’T is advice he might take himself to proper advantage,” said one of the juniors, while they were stripping off their wet coverings in a side room.

“Ay,” asserted Brereton. “The general uses us hard, Tilghman, but he uses himself harder.” Then aloud he called, “Billy!”

"Yis, sah!"

“Make a glass of rum punch and take it in to his Excellency."

“Foh de Lord, sah, I doan dar go in, an’ yar know marse neber drink no spirits till de day’s work dun.”

“Make a dish of tea, then, you old coward, and I’ll take it to him so soon as I get these slops off me. ’Fore George! How small-clothes stick when they ’re wet!”

“You mean when a man ’s so foppish that he will have them made tight enough to display the goodness of his thighs,” rejoined Gibbs, who, being dry, was enjoying the plight of the rest. “Make yourselves smart, gentlemen, there are ladies at quarters to-night.”

“You don’t puff that take-in on us, sirrah,” retorted Tilghman.

“’Pon honour. They arrived a six hours ago, and have been waiting to see the general.”

“You may be bound they are old and plain,” prophesied Brereton, “or Gibbs would be squiring them, ’stead of wasting time on us.”

“There you ’re cast,” rejoined the major, “I caught but a glimpse, yet ’t was enough to prove to me that all astronomers lie.”

“How so?”

“In saying that but twice in a century is there a transit of Venus.”

“Then why bide you here, man?”

“That’s the disgustful rub. They were with a man under suspicion, and orders were that none should hold converse with him before the general examined into it. A plague on’t!”

Discussion of Venus was here broken by the announcement of supper, and the make-shift meal was still unfinished when the general’s body-servant appeared with the tea. Taking it, Brereton marched boldly to the council door, and, giving a knock, he went in without awaiting a reply.

The group of anxious-faced men about the table looked up, and Washington, with a frown, demanded, “For what do you interrupt us, sir?”

The young officer put the tea down on the map lying in front of the general. “Billy didn’t dare take this to your Excellency, so I made bold to e’en bring it myself.”

“This is no time for tea, Colonel Brereton.”

“’T is no time for the army to lose their general,” replied the aide. “I pray you drink it, sir, for our sake if you won’t for your own.”

A kindly look supplanted the sternness of the previous moment on the general’s face. “I thank you for your thoughtfulness, Brereton,” he said, raising the cup and pouring some of the steaming drink into the saucer. Then as the officer started to go, he added, “Hold!” Picking up a small bundle of papers which lay on the table, he continued: “Harrison tells me that there is a prisoner under guard for my examination. I shall scarce be able to attend to it this evening, and to-morrow is like to be a busy day. Take charge of the matter, and report to me the moment the council breaks up. Here are the papers.”

Standing in the dim light of the hallway, the aide opened the papers and read them hastily. Either the strain on the eyes, or some emotion, put a frown on his face, and it was still there as he walked to the door before which stood a sentry, and passed into a badly lighted room.

“Powerful proud ter meet yer Excellency,” was his greeting from a man in civilian shorts and a military coat, who held out his hand. “Captain Bagby desired his compliments ter yer, an’ ter say that legislative dooties pervented his attindin’ ter the matter hisself.”

Paying no heed to either outstretched hand or words, the officer looked first at a man standing beside the fireplace and then at the two women, who had risen as he entered. He waited a moment, glancing from one to the other, as if expecting each of them to speak; but when they did not, he asked gruffly of the guard, though still with his eyes on the prisoners: “And for what were the ladies brought?”

“Becuz they wud n’t be left behind on no accaount. Yer see, yer Excellency, things hez been kinder onsettled in Middlesex Caounty, an’ it hain’t been a joyful time to them as wuz Tories; so when orders cum ter bring old Meredith ter York Island, his wife an’ gal wuz so scar’t nothin’ would do but they must come along.”

“Ay,” spoke up the man by the fireplace, bitterly. “A nice pass ye’ve brought things to, that women dare not tarry in their own homes for fear of insult.”

“You may go,” said the officer to the captor, pointing at the door.

“Ain’t I ter hear the ’zamination, yer Excellency?” demanded the man, regretfully. “The hull caounty is sot on known’ ther fac’s.” But as the hand still pointed to the entrance, the man passed reluctantly through it.

Taking a seat shadowed from the dim light of the solitary candle, the officer asked: “You are aware, Mr. Meredith, on what charge you are in military custody?”

“Not I,” growled the master of Greenwood. “For more than a year gone I’ve taken no part in affairs, but ’t is all of a piece with ye Whigs that—to trump up a charge against—”

“This is no trumpery accusation,” interrupted the officer. “I hold here a letter to Sir William Howe, found after our army took possession of Boston, signed by one Clowes, and conveying vastly important information as to our lack of powder, which he states he obtained through you.”

“Now a pox on the villain!” cried the squire. “Has he not tried to do me enough harm in other ways, but he must add this to it? Janice, see the evil ye’ve wrought.”

“Oh, dadda,” cried the girl, desperately, “I know I was— was a wicked creature, but I’ve been sorry, and suffered for it, and I don’t think ’t is fair to blame me for this. ’T was not I who brought him—”

“Silence, miss!” interrupted her mother. “Wouldst sauce thy father in his trouble?”

“I presume you obtained the knowledge Clowes transmitted from your daughter?” surmised the officer.

“My daughter? Not I! How could a chit of a girl know aught of such things? Clowes got it from young Hennion, and devil a thing had I really to do with it, write what he pleases.”

“Pray take chairs, ladies,” suggested the aide, with more politeness. “Now, sir, unravel this matter, so far as ’t is known to you.”

When the squire’s brief tale of how the information was obtained and forwarded to Boston was told, the officer was silent for some moments. Then he asked: “Hast had word of Clowes since then?”

“Not sight or word since the night the—”

“Oh, dadda,” moaned Janice, “please don’t!”

“Since he attempted to steal my girl from me. And if e’er I meet him I trust I’ll have my horsewhip handy.”

“Is Hennion where we can lay hold upon him?”

“Not he. ’T was impossible for him to get out of Boston, try his best, and the last word we had of him—wrote to his rascally father—was that he’d ’listed in Ruggles’ loyalists.”

“Then the only man we can bring to heel is this bond-servant of thine.”

“Not even he. The scamp took French leave, and if ye want him ye must search your own army.

"Canst aid us to find him?”

“I know naught of him, or his doings, save that last June I received the price I paid for his bond, through Parson McClave, who perhaps can give ye word of him.”

The officer rose, saying: “Mr. Meredith, I shall report on your case to the general, so soon as he is free, and have small doubt that you will be acquitted of blame and released. I fear me you will find headquarters’ hospitality somewhat wanting in comfort, for we’re o’ercrowded, and you arrive in times of difficulty. But I’ll try to see that the ladies get a room, and, whatever comes, ’t will be better than the guard-house.” He went to the hall door and called, “Grayson!”

“Well?” shouted back some one.

“There are two ladies to be lodged here for the night. May I offer them our room?”

“Ay. And my compliments to them, and say they may have my company along with it, if they be youngish.”

“Tut, man,” answered Brereton, reprovingly. “None of your Virginian freeness, for they can hear you.” He turned and said: “You must be content with a deal feather-bed on the floor here, Mr. Meredith, but if the ladies will follow me I will see that they are bestowed in more comfortable quarters;” and he led the way upstairs, where, lighting a candle, he showed them to a small room, very much cluttered by military clothes and weapons, thrown about in every direction. “I apologise, ladies,” he remarked; “but for days it ’s been ride and fight, till when sleeping hours came ’t was bad enough to get one’s clothes off, let alone put them tidy.”

“And indeed, sir, there is no need of apology,” responded Mrs. Meredith, warmly, “save for us, for robbing you of the little comfort you possess.”

“’T is a pleasure amid all the strife we live in to be able to do a service,” replied the officer, gallantly, as he bowed low over Mrs. Meredith’s hand and then kissed it. He turned to the girl and did the same. “May you rest well,” he added, and left the room.

“Oh, mommy!” exclaimed Janice, “didst ever see a more distinguished or finer-shaped man? And his dress and manners are—”

“Janice Meredith! Wilt never give thy thoughts to something else than men?”

“Well, Brereton,” asked Tilghman as the aide joined his fellow-soldiers, “how did his Excellency take your boldness?”

“As punishment he sent me to examine Gibbs’ Venus.”

“Devil take your luck!” swore Gibbs. “I’ll be bound ye made it none too short. Gaze at the smug look on the dandy’s face.”

Brereton laughed gleefully as he stripped off his coat and rolled it up into a pillow. “I’ve just kissed mamma’s hand,” he remarked.

“I can’t say much for thy taste!”

“In order,” coolly went on Brereton, as he stretched himself flat on the floor, “that I might then kiss that of Venus— and over hers I did not hurry, lads. Therefore, gentlemen, my present taste is, despite Gibbs’ slur, most excellent, and I expect sweet dreams till his Excellency wants me. Silence in the ranks.”