The dawn was well past when Ben Cooper and Paddy Burk dashed up before the Freemasons Tavern at Morristown in the carriage containing the fifty thousand dollars in silver and gold coin sent by Robert Morris. Word was at once carried to the commander-in-chief by the officer in charge; then the bags were carried into the building and placed safely under guard.

General Washington was at breakfast some hours later when Ben and the Irish lad were sent in, in response to his request. He received Ben kindly and thanked him with the utmost warmth for his gallant conduct. The lad, when given the opportunity, told Paddy Burk’s story as to how he was impressed into the British army, of his desertion, and of his rare courage in the rescue of the money bags.

“If it had not been for him, Your Excellency,” said young Cooper, “all that I attempted would have gone for nothing. He’s one of the bravest fellows I ever saw, and,” eagerly, “he would like to join with us against the British.”

Paddy’s hand went to his forelock by way of salute.

“It’s not like as if I were playing the traitor to them, your honor,” he said. “For sorra the one of them had any right to me; they got me by deception, and if I made away from them by the same means, small blame to me.”

The commander smiled.

“Do you desire to join with us?” he asked.

“I do, if you please, your honor—that is, if I can join the troop that Misther Cooper is with, sir.”

“I dare say it can be arranged,” smiled the general. “You seem to be of the character needed for a scout and courier.” He turned to an officer near by. “Attend to this, Harrison, if you please.”

The general’s secretary accordingly led the Irish lad out of the inn; and before long he was duly added to the scouts in the service of headquarters. Nat Brewster, Ezra and George Prentiss and the Porcupine took to their new comrade at once; and his shrewd sayings, comical manners and quaint songs added to the good feeling the more they saw of him.

After this there were no large movements for a long time; Washington established posts completely across the Jerseys, connecting with the forts on the Hudson highlands. The temporary halting place proved to be just the spot for a winter quarters, and being almost equally near to Amboy, Brunswick and Newark, was a most excellent place from which to carry on a system of forays, raids and other harassing movements; the hills and dense forests afforded an almost complete protection from counter attacks of a serious nature.

Slowly the winter wore on; brilliant exploits marked it from time to time; the American troops became a terror to the British, who were not only driven out of the Jerseys, but were compelled to keep to one or two very narrowly defined districts.

The British government was making vast preparations for the coming campaign in the spring, however. More Hessians were being brought to take the place of those captured at Trenton. Burgoyne was coming to head a powerful army which was to invade the country from Canada; General Howe and his brother, the admiral, were formulating a scheme which would give them Philadelphia, while Sir Henry Clinton spent the time planning an ascent of the Hudson and a blow at the Highland forts. If these latter could be taken and the stronghold at West Point passed, Clinton could join his army to that of Burgoyne and so split the struggling states in two, neither part of which could lend help to the other.

When Howe began to show signs of life, Washington broke up his camp at Morristown, and took up a position at Middlebrook, where he would be more in touch with the movements of that leader. Once Howe tried to engulf Sullivan at Princeton; again he endeavored to tempt Washington to try a general engagement. But in neither of these did he succeed, and so he began to plan once more with the admiral for the taking of Philadelphia.

During this period Ben Cooper saw quite a little of Philadelphia life. The business of the army frequently took him there, and often he had permission to spend some little time.

Distinguished foreigners, attracted by the struggle for independence, were pouring into the city; public and social circles were besieged by them; demands, highly preposterous for the most part, were made by heretofore unknown persons for commissions; men who had not been of higher grade than captain in the armies of Europe now treated with contempt any suggestion save that which carried with it the rank, at least, of general of brigade.

During the early summer Ben was enjoying a fortnight’s leave of absence with his father at Germantown; and one day he received a letter from Miss Betsy Claflin. He had met the Claflins frequently since the night at the inn at Burlington, and had become very intimate with them all.

“We are to give a very grand dinner at the City Tavern,” wrote Betsy, “and we are to have such a number of distinguished people present that I shall be dreadfully frightened, I know. And so I shall need all my friends to give me courage, and feel sure that I can count upon you for one.”

There was a great deal more to the note, telling him the names of the notables who were to grace the feast, not the least among whom was Washington himself. The time set was but a few nights off, and Miss Betsy apologized for the lateness of the invitation because: “I had not known but that you were with the army, otherwise this would have reached you much sooner.”

The City Tavern was the fashionable place of the city at that day, and many splendid affairs were held between its walls; and so, when the night arrived, Ben spent a great deal of time over his toilet, and made his way with much magnificence to the inn. It was brilliantly lighted; there appeared to be candles everywhere; beautifully gowned ladies and men in striking uniforms, or the courtly dress of the period, filled the rooms.

Ben was warmly greeted by Lieutenant Claflin, Betsy’s brother, by that young lady herself and by their father.

“Hah, you young rascal,” quavered the old gentleman, as he clung to Ben’s hand. “I’ve just been talking to General Greene, and I begin to find out about you. Why have you not told me of your reputation as a fire-eater, sir; why have I not heard before of these exploits of yourself and your friends?”

Ben laughed.

“Oh, General Greene likes his little joke, sir,” remonstrated he. “He loves to make much of these little matters of experience.”

“Ah, you rogue, you can’t deceive me. You are a hero, sir, that’s what you are. And not only General Greene tells me so, but others as well.”

Here Miss Betsy and some other young ladies took Ben in charge and stationing themselves in an excellent place for observation, began to point out all the noted figures of the day, who were as yet unknown to the camp. A handsome, rather reckless-looking man of middle size and carrying himself with a swaggering, dragoon-like air, attracted the attention of the lad in a very few moments.

“And who is that?” he inquired.

“It’s Colonel Conway,” replied one of the girls. “He was born in Ireland, but has lived most of his life in France.”

“A very gallant and capable officer, I have heard,” remarked another.

“He may be all you say, but I don’t care for him,” spoke a third. “There is something about him which is repelling.”

“Some of the members of Congress do not find him so,” said Betsy Claflin, wisely. “He has only been in the country a short time, but already there is quite a movement in his favor. I have heard it said that there are some who think of raising him at once to an important command.”

The young lady who had first spoken now turned a cautious look about to note if any one were paying attention whom she did not take into her confidence. Her voice was very low and her manner profoundly secret as she said:

“Pray don’t breathe a word of this to a living soul, for I had it privately and in strict confidence. Congress was to make Colonel Conway a brigadier, but General Washington interfered, and said that he thought him an unsafe man and scarcely to be trusted with an important command.”

There was an astonished buzz at this, and then an outbreak of low-voiced chatter. During this Ben was observing Conway; he, too, felt repelled by the man’s swaggering, arrogant manner, though he had not yet overheard a word he said. Suddenly, as he watched he saw a tall man with powerful features approach the Irish-Frenchman; they greeted each other eagerly, and as they did so Ben watched the tall man with eyes full of interested recognition. After a moment or two of watching he turned to Betsy.

“And who is that, so closely engaged with Colonel Conway?”

Betsy glanced at the person indicated.

“That is a gentleman from the South,” she said. “Savannah, I think, is his town; and he has been attracted by the Congress and other things, perhaps, in the city most of the winter. He is a great friend of Samuel Livingstone, the merchant. They have known each other a great while, or at least I think I’ve heard it so said. His name is Tobias Hawkins.”

Ben regarded Tobias Hawkins for a moment more.

“Master Samuel Livingstone vouched for the gentleman, eh?” he said, musingly.

Betsy looked at him in surprise.

“Why, yes,” she said. “And why not, seeing that they are such old friends?”

“Ah, why not, indeed?” said Ben.

For a long time he sat with moody face; this was unusual for him, for cheerfulness was his leading characteristic. The girls strove to arouse him, but he would emerge from his abstraction only for a moment at a time; the next would see him with folded arms staring at the floor, or regarding Master Hawkins with fixed and speculative eye.

Later in the evening he was chatting with Lieutenant Claflin, and some others, when he noted a tall, fine-looking officer go by; and at his side was Tobias Hawkins, smiling and genial, and apparently relating some witticism—for the officer, as they passed, laughed gaily.

“Gates is a handsome fellow,” said a civilian youth to one of the young officers in the group. “And a good-humored one, I think.”

The young officer grimaced.

“I have served under him,” he said. “And I found him good-humored if one played the jester to him. With the sun shining, give me Gates; but with an overcast sky, I would prefer some more stable person.”

The young civilian looked astonished.

“Why,” said he, “is it possible that General Gates is not thought highly of in the army? I take from your tone that you meant that,” in hurried explanation.

“I did mean it,” smiled the youthful officer. “Gates has the military knowledge—no one can deny that—but,” and the speaker tapped his forehead with one finger, “it is here that he is deficient. He has not the judgment, the depth, that ability to apply his knowledge which makes the general.”

Lieutenant Claflin laughed, as did some others.

“Oh, come now, Hungerford,” said Claflin, “don’t be so severe upon the general. Remember, he has been engaged in military service of one sort or another for only thirty years, while you have worn a sword for as long a time as six months.”

Again there was a laugh, and young Hungerford flushed.

“As for that,” said he, frankly enough, “I am not passing personal judgment upon General Gates. I am merely stating what I know are the opinions of men of experience. Why, General Washington himself holds him in no high esteem, for some time ago when Gates asked for a brigade, he refused to give it to him, there being others in whom he had more faith.”

Ben’s eyes followed the handsome figure of Gates and that of Tobias Hawkins; and once more the moody look came into his face.

“What can it mean?” he asked himself. “What is this man’s purpose? He has pushed himself into the good graces of a rather simple-minded merchant, and so has gained entry into the society of the city. And what I noted on the first night at this very inn has since been verified. For some reason he then was eager to know the names of those opposed to General Washington, and since then all those with whom I have seen him upon intimate terms are of that stripe. First, there was Mifflin, who is noted for his dislike of the general, then there is Conway, and now Gates.” The boy looked down the long room at the two men and his thoughts went on: “He has some reason. His desire must be to——”

Here he was interrupted by a general movement toward the room where the dinner was to be served, and he found himself paired with a dark-haired, bright-eyed girl whose English pronunciation proved her to be of French birth. At the table this young lady proved to be a most diverting companion. She knew every one and the history of every one.

“I am at great pains to acquire information,” she smilingly told Ben. “For, you see, I am keeping a journal in which I write down every scrap of intelligence. In years to come it will be a highly-prized book; even scholars will go to it when they desire a true picture of these days.”

Listening to her chatter pleased Ben Cooper, and soon all thought of Tobias Hawkins had passed out of his mind. Almost across the table from them were a number of foreigners who had come to America in search of military preferment. One of these was manifestly of German extraction, a grave-faced man of middle age; another was a handsome lad of about Ben’s own years. The latter was laughing gaily with those near him and talking in English, but with a decided French accent.

“That,” said Ben, “is a countryman of yours.”

His companion shrugged her shoulders, helplessly.

“One sees so many countrymen of mine these days, that it might be thought Congress intended to officer the American army from France,” she said. “And some of them—oh, what preposterous fellows they are! So much pretense, so much vainglory. It is really ridiculous.”

Ben had his eyes upon the engaging countenance of the French lad across the table.

“That one, at least,” said he, “has none of those things.”

The girl nodded her agreement of this.

“He is very well, indeed,” she said. “I have met him, and my father has told me his family history.”

Just then the young Frenchman burst out in his imperfect English:

“But such a wonderful country—so beautiful a land. It is well to fight that such a country should be free. I am lost in admiration of it.”

“But, sir,” laughingly protested one of the ladies, “you have been here a very short time, and you can have seen but little of it.”

“Ah, madame, there you are mistaken,” cried the lad, delightedly. “I have seen nine hundred miles of it, my friends and I. Nine hundred miles did we ride from Georgetown in South Carolina, where my ship reached port. Nine hundred miles through a glorious country; and the sight of it day after day, madame, made me more determined than ever to join your army and help fight for it.”

“You say you know his name and history,” said Ben Cooper to the girl at his side. “Who and what is he?”

“He was born in Cavanac, Auvergne, France,” said the young lady with affected solemnity, “and he is now just nineteen years of age. His name is——” she paused and affected great concern. “Do you care to hear his full name?” she asked.

“Full and complete, so that I may know the worst at once,” smiled Ben.

“Very well, then. It is Marie Jean Paul Roch Yves Gilbert Motier, Marquis de Lafayette. He is enormously rich, has been a captain of dragoons, and has made very great sacrifices at home in France that he might come here and offer his sword to Congress.”

Ben regarded the young Frenchman with increased attention.

“Why,” said the American boy, “here is a generous and unselfish spirit, indeed. To leave a great fortune, honors, no doubt——”

“All that the French king could confer upon one so young,” put in the girl. “But no, he would have none of it. He had heard of the struggle here, and asked Mr. Franklin at Paris for service. After the defeat of Long Island the Americans had no credit in Europe; no one believed in them, it seems, and so Mr. Franklin could secure no ship to carry the French boy and his friends.

“‘We are sorry,’ said Franklin, ‘but you will have to await our better fortune.’

“But not so! He could not wait. He bought a ship of his own and set sail; and here he is, offering himself to Congress, to fight the British.”

After dinner the young Marquis and Ben Cooper were presented to each other, and when the French lad learned that Ben was upon active service with Washington he was delighted.

“You cannot understand,” said he, “how we admire this general of yours in Europe. The great Frederic of Prussia says that his strategy stamps him as the world’s greatest soldier.”

The two were still deeply engaged, Ben relating some camp anecdotes of the commander-in-chief, to Lafayette’s vast admiration, when there was a stir, a rustle, a hum of voices, a crowding to the front; but neither of the young men paid any attention; until, after a little, the voice of old Mr. Claflin said:

“What, Marquis, I thought you were wild to meet our general. And here he is and you have not even so much as a look for him.”

Turning, his face alight, the next moment Lafayette was face to face with Washington for the first time, and listening to the calm, steady voice which he was afterward to hear so often in the press of battle.

LAFAYETTE WAS FACE TO FACE
WITH WASHINGTON

Soon there was quite a throng about the two. The fame of the young nobleman, who so loved freedom that he would give up all that most men covet in order that he might cross a sea and strike a blow for a stranger race, was all about the city. For the most part the foreigners who offered themselves were professional soldiers who sought the power and emoluments of rank. But here was one wholly different; he already had rank and fortune; he desired only to serve.

The admiration of Washington was plainly visible; he applauded this youth for his unselfishness; he loved him from the first for his high heart and noble generosity.

But on the outskirts of the throng there was a little group in which no sympathy for the meeting seemed to find a place. In this party Ben saw the cold face of General Mifflin, the vain, handsome countenance of General Gates, and the reckless, selfish one of Colonel Conway. These three gazed at the little scene before them with eyes totally unresponsive; they whispered, exchanged looks of unbelief and smiles which scarcely concealed the sneers behind them. These things alone aroused Ben Cooper’s resentment; but there was a chill at his heart, a feeling of vague fear, as he saw the satisfaction upon the face of the man in the rear of the three. And that man was Master Tobias Hawkins.