On a broiling August day in the year 1781, an officer rode along the Raritan between Middle-Brook and Brunswick. As he approached the entrance of Greenwood, he slowed his horse, and after a moment’s apparent hesitation, finally turned him through the gateway. Once at the porch he drew rein and looked for a time at the paintless clap-boards, broken window-panes, and tangle of vines and weeds, all of which told so plainly the story of neglect and desertion. Starting his steed, he passed around to the kitchen door, and rapped thrice with the butt of a pistol without gaining any reply. Wheeling about, he was returning to the road when an idea seemed to come to him, for, altering direction, he pulled on his bridle, and turned his horse into the garden, now one dense overgrowth. Guiding him along one of the scarcely discernible paths, he checked him at a garden seat, and leaning in his saddle plucked half a dozen sprays of honeysuckle from the vine which surmounted it. He touched them to his lips, and gave his horse the spur. He held the sprays in his hand as he rode, occasionally raising them to his face until he was on the edge of Brunswick village, then he slipped them into his sword sash.

Giving his horse into the hands of the publican at the tavern, he crossed the green to the parsonage and knocked. “Is Parson McClave within?” he inquired of the hired girl.

“Come in, come in, Colonel Brereton,” called a voice from the sitting-room; “and all the more welcome are you that I did not know you were in these parts.”

“My regiment was ordered across the river to Chatham last week, to build ovens for the coming attack on New York, and I took a few hours off to look up old friends,” Brereton answered in a loud voice. “Where can we safely talk?” he whispered.

“I’ll leave my sermon even as it is,” said the presbyter, “and it being hot here, let us into the meeting-house yard, where we’ll get what breeze comes up the river. Eager I am to learn of what the army is about.”

Once they were seated among the gravestones, the colonel said “I need not tell you that five times in the last two months the continental post-riders have been waylaid ’twixt Brunswick and Princeton by scoundrels in the pay of the British. Only once, fortunately, was there information of the slightest importance, but ’t is something that must be stopped; and General Washington, knowing of my familiarity with this neighbourhood, directed me to discover and bring the wretches to punishment. Because I can trust you, I come to ask if you have any information or even inkling that can be of service?”

“Surely, man, you do not suspect any one in my parish?” replied the clergyman.

Brereton smiled slightly. “There is little doubt that the secret Tories of Monmouth County are concerned; but there is some confederate in Brunswick, who, whether he takes an active share, supplies them with information concerning the routes, days, and hours of the posts. I see, however, you have no light to shed on the matter.”

“’T is all news to me,” answered the minister, shaking his head. “I knew that there was some illicit trading with New York, but that we had real traitors amongst us I never dreamed.”

“Trap them I will, before many weeks,” asserted the officer. “If in no other way, I’ll—”

The sentence was interrupted by the clang of the church bell above them.

“Bless me!” cried McClave, springing to his feet. “Your call has made me forget the auction, which, as justice of the peace, I must attend.”

“What auction?”

“For the sale of Greenwood under the statute.”

The officer frowned. “I feared it when I read of the passing of a general act of forfeiture and escheatage,” he muttered, “though I still hoped ’t would not extend to them.”

Together the two men crossed the green to the town hall, where now a crowd, consisting of almost every inhabitant of the village and of the outlying farms, was assembled. The officer, a scowl on his face, paused in the doorway and glanced about, then threaded his way to where two negresses stood weeping, and began talking to them. Meanwhile, the clergyman, pushing on through the throng, joined Esquire Hennion and Bagby, who for some reason were suspiciously eying each other on the platform.

“I intend to bid on the property, McClave,” announced the Honourable Joseph, “so ’t is best that the squire takes charge of the sale.”

“Thet ’ere is jes what I’m a-calkerlatin’ ter do, likewise,” responded Hennion, with an ugly glance at Joe, “so I guess yer’ll hev ter assoom the runnin’ of the perseedins yerself, paason.”

There was a moment’s consultation, and then Justice McClave stepped forward and read in succession the text of an act of the New Jersey Assembly, a proclamation of the Governor, and an advertisement from the “New Jersey Gazette” by which documents, and by innumerable whereases and therefores, it was set forth that a state of war existed with Great Britain; that sundry inhabitants of the State, forgetful of their just duty and allegiance, had aided and abetted the common enemy; that by these acts they placed themselves outside of the laws of the commonwealth, their property became forfeited, and was ordered sold for the benefit of the State; that the property of one Lambert Meredith, who had been attainted, both by proclamation and by trial, of high treason, was therefore within the act; and, finally, that there would be sold to the highest bidder, at the court-house of the town of Brunswick, on the sixteenth day of August next ensuing, the said property of the said Lambert Meredith; namely, “Two likely negro women, who can cook and spin,” and thirty thousand acres of choice arable farm and wood lands under cultivation lease, with one house, one stable, and corn-cribs and other outbuildings thereto appertaining.

It took not five minutes to sell the sobbing slaves, the tavern-keeper buying Sukey for the sum of forty-one pounds, and the clergyman announcing himself at the end of the bidding as the purchaser of Peg for thirty-nine pounds, six.

Then amidst a silence which told of the interest of the crowd, the auctioneer read out a description of the bounds and acreage of Greenwood, and asked for bids.

“Nine thousand pounds,” instantly offered Bagby.

“Five hunded more,” rejoined Hennion.

“Ten thousand,” snapped Joe.

“Five hunded more,” snarled his rival bidder.

“Eleven thousand,” came Joe’s counter bid.

“Thirteen thousand.”

“And five hundred.”

“Fifteen thousand.”

Bagby hesitated, scowling, then said, “Sixteen thousand.”

“Seventeen.”

“Seventeen, five.”

“Yer might ez waal quit, Joe,” interjected Squire Hennion. “I hez more ’n’ yer hev, an’ I intends ter buy it. Nineteen my bid, pa’son."

“Twenty,” burst out Joe, malignantly.

“Twenty-one.”

“Twenty-five.”

Hennion’s face in turn grew red with anger, and he half rose, his fist clinched, but recollecting himself he resumed his seat.

“Going at twenty-five,” announced McClave. “Will any one give more?”

A breathless pause came, while Bagby's countenance assumed a look of sudden anxiety. “I did n’t say twenty-five,” he quickly denied; “I said twenty-two.”

A wave of contradiction swept through the hall.

Nothing daunted, the honourable Joseph repeated his assertion.

“He, he, he!” chuckled Hennion, “thet comes of biddin’ more money than yers hev.”

“We’ll call it twenty-two thousand,” said McClave, “since Mr. Bagby persists. Will you give any more?”

“One hunded more,” said Hennion; and nobody offering above him, it was knocked down at that price.

As the sale was declared completed, Bagby rose. “At least, I made you pay double for it,” he growled spitefully to his competitor.

“Yer did, consarn yer,” was Hennion’s reply; but then a smile succeeded the angry look on the shrewd face. “I did n’t pay more ’n a third of what ’t is wuth, then.”

“’T will be a dear buy, that I warn you,” retorted Joseph, angrily. “I’ll pay you off yet for bidding me out of it.”

“Yer be keerful what yer do, or I’ll do some payin’ off myself,” warned Hennion.

Brereton, who had stayed through the sale, with a contemptous shrug of the shoulders, walked over to the ordinary. Here he ate a silent supper, and then mounting his horse set off on his evening ride back to his regiment.

Half-way between Brunswick and Greenwood, while his thoughts were dwelling on the day’s doings, and on what effect it would have on those far away in the mountains of Virginia, he was brought back to the present by hearing his name called in a low voice from behind a wall.

“Who ’s that?” he demanded, halting his horse.

“Are you alone?”

“Yes,” replied the officer, as he drew out a pistol from the holster.

“No occasion for that, colonel,” said Joe Bagby's unmistakable accents, as the man climbed over the stones and came forward. “It’s me,” he announced. “Just walk your horse slow, so I can keep beside you, for I’ve something to tell you, and I don’t want to stand still here in the road.”

“Well, what is it?” questioned Brereton, as he started his horse walking.

“I rather guess you came to town on business, did n’t you?”

“Perhaps.”

“Might be something to do with the sale of Greenwood.”

“Possibly.”

“But more likely ’t was something to do with public matters?”

“Well?”

“What would you give to catch them as was concerned in the killing of the post-riders?”

Not a motion or sound did Jack give to betray himself. “That lies outside of my work,” he said. “’T is the business of the secret service.”

“Do you mean that, if I can put you in the way of laying hands on the whole gang, you won’t do it?”

“If you choose to tell me what you know, I’ll report it, for what it ’s worth, to headquarters, and General Washington will take such actions as he judges fit.”

“There won’t be time for that,” asserted Joe. “It’s to-morrow the thing ’s to be played.”

“What thing?”

“The robbing of the mail.”

“How know you that?”

“Well, being in politics, colonel, I make it my business to know most things that is happening in the county. Now, I’ve been ferreting for some time to get at this post-riding business, and at last I’ve found out how it ’s done. And they ’re going to do it again to-morrow night just this side of Rocky Hill.”

For a moment Brereton was silent. “How is it done?” he asked.

“It’s this way. One of Moody’s gang is working with Squire Hennion as hired man; and when Hennion knows that a rider is due, he drops into the ordinary, and, casual like, finds out all he can as to when he rides on, and by what road. Then he hurries off home and tells his man, and he goes and tells Moody, who gets his men together and does the business.”

“I see. And how can we know where they set the ambush, so as to set a counter one?”

“It’s easy as can be. When they have the mail, it ’s to Hennion’s barn they all goes, where they cut it open and takes out everything as Clinton will pay for, and sends it off at once on one of the boats of provisions as old Hennion is stealing into New York two or three times a week.”

“Ah, that ’s where he’s got the money to buy Greenwood, is it?”

“Yes; I tell you he’s a traitor if there ever was one, colonel. But I guess he’ll be nabbed now. All you’ve got to do is to hide your men in the barn to-morrow night, and you’ll take the whole lot red-handed.”

“And I suppose you tell me this to get your revenge for this afternoon.”

“Just a little, colonel; but don’t forget I’m a patriot, who ’s always trying to serve his country. Now I’ll tell you how we’ll do it. You bring your men down t’ other side of the river to Meegan’s place; and as soon as it ’s dark, I’ll come across the river in a sloop I own and will bring you right over to Hennion’s wharf, from which it will be easy to steal into his barn without no one seeing us.”

Brereton made no answer for a minute, then said, “Very well; I’ll adopt your plan.”

“I suppose there’ll be some reward coming to me, colonel?”

“Undoubtedly,” replied Jack, but with a twitch of contempt. “Is that all?”

“That’s enough to do the business, I guess,” rejoined Joe. “About nine clock I’ll allow to be at Meegan’s,” he said.

Without a word of assent, Jack quickened his pace. When he had gone fifty feet he looked back, but already the informer had disappeared. “What dirty work every man must do on occasion!” he muttered. “I’d suspect the scoundrel but for what I heard this afternoon, and he has it all so pat that he’s probably been in it himself more or less. However, it promises well; and ’t will he a service of the utmost importance if we can but break up the murdering gang and bring them to justice, for ’t is no time to have Clinton reading all our secrets.”

It was midnight when Brereton trotted into Chatham and dismounting from his horse walked wearily into his tent.

His servant, sleeping on the floor, waked, and hastily rose. “A despatch, sir, from headquarters,” he said, taking a paper from his pocket.

“When did it arrive?” demanded Jack, as he examined the seal, to make sure that it had not been tampered with, and then broke the letter open.

“Four hours ago, sir, by special courier.’

What Brereton read was this:—

Headquarters, August 16, 1781.

Sir,—Should you have already taken steps looking to the discovery and seizure of those concerned in the late robbing of the mails, you will hold all such proceedings in abeyance until further orders. For military reasons it is even desired that the post-bag which will be sent through to-morrow should fall into the hands of the enemy, and you will act accordingly. I have the honour to be,

Yr. Obedt. hble Servt.
Go. Washington.

To Colonel Brereton,
Commanding the 3rd. New Jersey Regt.,
Stationed at Chatham.

Jack whistled softly, then smiled, “Joe will have a long wait,” he chuckled. “I wonder what ’s up.”

He knew three days later, for orders came to him to put his regiment in motion and march for Philadelphia, and the bearer of the despatch added that the united forces of Washington and Rochambeau were already across the Hudson and would follow close upon his heels.

“We’ve made Sir Henry Clinton buy the information that we intend to attack New York,” the aide told him, “and now we are off to trap Cornwallis in Virginia.”