In the meantime Washington had returned to New York. Knowing that if the British ventured against the town, they would at once attempt to seize the navigation of the Hudson, he redoubled his efforts to strengthen the defenses of that important river. Upon his ability to hold this depended the possible safety of the entire province.

Fort Montgomery was planted at the lower part of the Highlands on a tall bluff north of Dunderberg. Here the river was a mile wide, and just opposite was the promontory called Anthony’s Nose, hundreds of feet high and accessible only to goats and men expert in climbing. From this a body of riflemen might sweep a vessel’s decks.

Fort Constitution was some miles higher up and built upon an island. The former fort was garrisoned by about two hundred and fifty of Clinton’s regiment and Wisner’s minutemen; the latter had about half as many drawn from the same source, and all were about half armed and badly equipped. Colonel James Clinton was in command of both posts.

Breastworks were thrown up for the defense of Kingsbridge and another work commanded Spuyten Duyvil Creek. A strong work to crown a rocky height some few miles below the bridge was also planned; this was to be called Fort Washington, and it would command the channels of the Hudson; also, redoubts were to be built on the banks at Jeffreys Point.

While these efforts were being made along the Hudson, Brooklyn was not neglected. Here the talent of General Greene was manifested; and in many other places works were thrown up, batteries planted and redoubts built.

And it would seem they were none too soon; for the rumors as to the coming of a heavy British armament were growing thicker and thicker; some had it that the bay would be full of war-ships before a fortnight had passed.

Governor Tryon had long before given up the attempt to rule the province from the point of Manhattan Island; so he undertook the much more difficult task of transacting its affairs from the after cabin of the “Asia,” which was anchored in the bay. He was in constant communication with the king’s men of Long Island; plot upon plot was hatched upon the ship of the line; some of them carried, some were thwarted, but only one made a great noise and scurrying.

One afternoon George was riding from Washington’s headquarters at Richmond Hill; along a winding path which led through Lispenard’s meadows raced his friends Brewster and Cooper upon horses white with foam.

He hurriedly drew his mount aside, for they never slowed their pace, and as they flashed by he saw Nat Brewster wave his hand for him to follow. At once he wheeled and plunged along after them. At Richmond Hill the two dismounted, and had already been admitted when George rode up; their panting mounts were being led to and fro by an attendant; little groups of officers stood about, conversing in low tones.

George slipped out of his saddle and waited; it was perhaps a quarter of an hour later that young Cooper, his round face running beads of perspiration and his eyes lit with excitement, threw open the door and came hastily out. He carried a paper sealed with a great splash of red wax; and his glance went quickly about until it rested upon George. Instantly he approached him.

“Nat said he saw you,” stated the chubby-faced youth, excitedly, “and that you followed us. And it’s lucky you did, for there’s plenty for you to do, old fellow.” He held up the dispatch. “This is for General Sterling.” He passed the sealed paper to George. “Make all speed. Nat and I and some others are going to carry the alarm to Harlem and the posts on the way.”

“Alarm!” repeated young Prentiss in surprise. Ben took a step nearer.

“A conspiracy! Brewster was put upon it as soon as he reached New York, and he just got to the bottom of it this afternoon.” Here a voice called his name from one of the windows of the mansion. “I must go,” said he, hurriedly. “Ride hard, for moments are precious.”

As Ben darted away into the house, George threw himself into the saddle; giving his horse rein, he galloped off toward the city. General Lord Sterling was not to be found in his quarters in Broadway; but at the “King’s Arms” George discovered him engaged with a dish of mutton chops.

“How now?” said the grave-faced soldier, looking up in surprise. “You seem quite breathless.”

“Important news, general,” said the young man, handing him the dispatches.

Neglectful of the smoking chops, Lord Sterling broke the seal and ran his eyes over the lines of writing. His hand struck the table and the dishes leaped under the impact.

“Done!” exclaimed he. “Done at last! Now, my fine fellows,” folding up the paper and stowing it in the breast of his uniform coat, “let me see you escape the net we’ll spread for you.”

LORD STERLING BROKE THE SEAL

Vigorously he began cutting at his meat, but in a moment he dropped both knife and fork, and said to George:

“Putnam has hinted to me that you have had a chance to hunt out this very matter some time ago, but that for private reasons you gave it up.”

George bowed, but said nothing.

“Well, it seems to have made no difference. Young Brewster has handled the thing most cleverly. And nothing but the severest blows would do the rascals,” continued Sterling. “They aspire to blowing up our important magazines, and not content with that, they must needs have the life of the commander-in-chief.”

“May I ask, general, what names have been mentioned?”

The thought which George had been trying to stifle all the way into the city had finally found expression.

“A sergeant named Hickey is deep in it. You have seen him, perhaps.”

“Frequently. He was a deserter from the British, I think, and was used to drill our men.”

“That is the very fellow. More than likely his desertion was a blind; he was probably sent to take service with us so that he could try his hand at corrupting our soldiers, as he has been doing.”

“Are there any others?”

“David Matthews, Tory mayor of the city, has been distributing money to enlist men and purchase arms. A number of General Washington’s body-guard is mentioned and will be seized as soon as the word is given.”

Lord Sterling paused for a moment, and then continued:

“There is still another person suspected. However, he has been very careful and little has been found against him. And he is, perhaps, more to be feared than any of the others.”

“Has his name ever been upon our list of officers?” asked George, and his voice sounded strangely in his own ears.

The general looked at him in surprise.

“I had not thought you had gone so far into the matter,” said he. “And while I can mention no names, it is very likely the person you have in mind.”

That night, at the place where they had quartered, George had a brief talk with Nat Brewster, who had just ridden in from the Highlands, and was eating a hasty supper.

“I will give you the details later,” said Nat, “but the main facts are these: I intercepted some letters passing between Mayor Matthews at his place in Flatbush, and Governor Tryon on board the ‘Asia’; and in this way secured the vital facts.”

“I see.”

“I never saw any documents richer in facts. They were full of allusions which proved most valuable to me. I recall one in particular which put me on a surprising scent. It said: ‘Don’t hesitate to trust the young man I spoke of to the full. He is a nephew of Camp’s, and as he has proven trustworthy in the past, will no doubt continue to be so in the future.’”

“Is it known when they will be arrested?”

“The present home of Mayor Matthews is no great distance from General Greene’s camp on Long Island. His house is to be surrounded to-night, and he is to be taken. We expect to arrest the other actors in the conspiracy, also, to-night. They are to meet at Corbie’s tavern, which lies just to the west of Bayard’s woods; perhaps we’ll have the good fortune to capture them in a body.”

Nat had time to tell but little more; for instantly upon finishing his meal, he ran out and mounted a fresh horse, which had been saddled for him, and rode off toward Richmond Hill.

For some time after he had gone, George sat upon a bench at an open window and stared out at the June night. The boy’s mind was full of vague trouble; there was something that stirred him strangely. Dully, he realized that it all concerned the prospective arrest of young Camp.

“But he is a traitor,” he told himself. “He deliberately broke his solemn oath to the colonies that he might be enriched with his uncle’s money. He is my cousin, but that he is to be shamed and made to suffer is just and right.”

But then there was Peggy. She had loved her brother and she no doubt continued to love him; she would also suffer, keenly, bitterly, pitifully. George realized that to the full.

“Girls always grieve and break their hearts over a weakling who has done evil and is made to pay,” he muttered, as he clasped his knees and stared out into the darkness. “And the nearer and dearer the criminal is to them, the greater the grief.”

That Herbert Camp was near and dear to his sister had been made evident.

“Did she not ride after him on that night at the ‘Wheat Sheaf,’” he said, “fearing that he would come to harm? And since then what has she not suffered, perhaps, because of him—in forebodings, in fear that he would be found out? For all I know, she has ridden after him more than once since, in the hope of safeguarding him. It may be that even to-night——”

Like a flash he was upon his feet.

“Peter!” he called, sharply. “Peter.”

A thick-set fellow, showing his Dutch descent plainly, lumbered into the room.

“Did you call?” he inquired, stolidly.

“My horse—put the saddle on him as quickly as you can and bring him around to the door.”

Grumbling to himself, Peter quitted the apartment. George adjusted his shoulder belt with its steel hilted hanger; also, he looked sharply to the priming of a pistol which he stuck into his belt; then he paced the floor, waiting for his mount.

The horse’s iron shoes rang upon the stones; and in a few moments George was in the saddle once more and headed away toward Bayard’s woods.