The two young riders clung to the western side of the river upon the return journey; it is true that panic, after the disaster at Trenton, had cleared the stations below of the Hessians, but Ben knew that a British army would soon be on its way to attempt to drive Washington back, and he did not feel at all sure that the enemy were not in possession of Burlington and Bordentown once more.

Some distance above Bristol they detected a small party of horsemen on the road ahead, and approached slowly, their pistols ready at hand. But the sharp eyes of Ben Cooper soon made out the party, and he gave a laugh of satisfaction.

“It’s Nat and the two Prentiss boys,” he said. “Out on a scout, I suppose.”

The three youths mentioned had recognized them about the same time, and now came on with shouts of greeting.

“What news?” asked Ben of the most stalwart of the three, a lad with bronzed face and keen eye.

“The army has recrossed the river,” replied Nat Brewster. “The last of them went over early to-day.”

“What of the enemy?” demanded the Porcupine, still fingering his huge pistol.

The boys all laughed at his belligerent attitude.

“They are on the way to meet us,” replied Ezra Prentiss. “We heard something of it before we left camp. They say that Lord Cornwallis was just about to take ship for England when the word of the taking of Trenton reached General Howe; and now he is back in the Jerseys at the head of their force once more.”

“News was brought in that the enemy have gathered all their scattered forces at Princeton,” said George Prentiss, twin brother to Ezra. “Cornwallis brought with him a strong reinforcement of picked troops, and with those of Grant there are some eight thousand of them ready to march if they have not already started.”

The three youths had been on the other side of the river seeking traces of the enemy from that direction, but finding none had crossed the stream upon a flatboat, thinking to fall in with Ben, as they had done. All five now started north having made up their minds to cross the river at the point where the troops had effected their latest passage. The Prentiss twins rode on ahead, while Ben Cooper and his stalwart cousin, Nat Brewster, followed some little distance behind. A great deal of news had made its way into the American camp during Ben’s two days’ absence, through scouts, spies and deserting Hessians, and Nat knew that the other would be eager to hear it all.

“They are pressing[1] wagons on every hand,” said young Brewster; “when we left, we heard that their advance pickets were very near to Trenton.”

“What is thought of the situation at headquarters?” asked Ben.

“From a word here and a word there, I gather that they are rather anxious. The winning of Trenton, however, has roused the Jerseys at last, and the militia is beginning to rise. Cadwallader and Mifflin have been ordered in with their commands and should reach camp to-day. The general seems to have made up his mind to fight, but it looks to me that he will now have to do so whether he would or no, for the enemy is before and the river is behind. And this time he must not retreat, for to do that would dishearten the Jerseymen and the country as well.”

The boys reached Washington’s camp shortly after dark, and Ben instantly presented himself at headquarters. As he stood, saluting in an outer room, a smart young officer demanded his business.

“To see the general.”

“Your business,” said the young officer, curtly.

“A message from Mr. Robert Morris, at Philadelphia,” said Ben.

“I will take it to the general,” the other informed him.

“My message is by word of mouth,” said Ben, “and is, perhaps, of an urgent and private nature.”

“Wait here,” said the young officer as he arose. He spent but a very few moments in the inner room; and when he returned he was as curt and businesslike as before.

“You are to go in,” said he, and one finger indicated the door.

When Ben entered the room where Washington sat, he found him engaged with two other officers. These were Mifflin and Cadwallader, leaders of Pennsylvania militia, who had but a few hours before arrived in camp with their combined force, approaching four thousand men.

“I am grateful to you, gentlemen,” the commander-in-chief was saying. “It is not always,” a trifle bitterly, “that my desires are so promptly answered.”

“We are under your directions,” said General Mifflin, coldly; “and we trust that we know some of the duties that devolve upon under officers.”

General Cadwallader glanced at his brother officer as though the tone, the words and the manner were not agreeable to him.

“I got your orders at Crosswicks—joined Mifflin accordingly, and set out.” The tone and manner here were eager, soldier-like, and respectful. “I hope, general, you have some good fighting to offer us.”

Washington paid no attention to the attitude of Mifflin; to Cadwallader he replied:

“It is more than likely that there will be a clash in a day or two that will put a decided point upon the affairs of the states; and if it’s fighting you seek, general,” with a smile, “I think we can please you.”

“I could not get across the river to be of assistance to you a week ago,” said Cadwallader, “and have since been prevented by lack of enemies from being of service. Pennsylvania wants her troops in action, and I am only too eager to try them under fire in an engagement of consequence.”

There was a great deal passed upon both sides; but through it all General Mifflin said nothing, sitting coldly erect with a face of stony indifference. At length General Washington noticed the lad in the doorway, his hand still raised in the gesture of salute.

“Ah, Cooper,” said he, concerned; “I had let you slip my mind. Pomroy just now told me that you had returned.” Then, leaning over his table, eagerly, “What letters do you bring me?”

“None, sir,” replied the boy. “Master Morris bade me tell you what he had to say.”

A shadow crossed the grave face of the commander-in-chief; evidently this, to his mind, promised no good.

“Go on,” he said.

“I told Master Morris that I should reach camp by sundown to-day; and he said that I was to inform you that, by then, a swift carriage would be on its way, bearing fifty thousand dollars for the use of the army.”

The cloud passed from General Washington’s face like magic; a look of great satisfaction replaced it.

“Excellent!” he said. “I felt sure,” to the other officers, “that Morris would not fail me, if it were at all possible to procure the money.”

“The nation is indeed fortunate to have the services of so able a man in the capacity in which he is serving,” said Cadwallader. “In the matter of finance, Morris is little short of a wizard.” After a few more questions, Ben was told that was all, and retired.

At once he sought out his friends, where they sat about a fire preparing their supper along with some others. And during their meal there was much gossip exchanged.

“Cornwallis will be upon us to-morrow,” said a young sergeant of horse, who was of the party. “We have all day been catching sight of light bodies thrown out in advance.”

“I have heard that Howe himself has landed a couple of regiments at Amboy and is on the march,” spoke another.

“Well, let him come,” said a youthful artilleryman; “the more of them, the greater chance we will have at them with the shells. To reach us they must cross the Assanpink Creek a little below there; the stone bridge is narrow, and the water is deep and our guns are so planted as to sweep it from end to end.”

Some few hours were spent in pleasant fashion, chatting and discussing the prospects of the coming fight. Later Nat and Ben found themselves without the lines of sparkling fires; a little distance away they could hear the sentries pacing up and down, and now and then the rattle of a piece of artillery wheeling into place would reach their ears. Somehow, as the thought of the approaching battle grew upon them, they had become graver, and so fell into a talk concerning family things and interests which had nothing in common with their friends; and so they had arisen and strolled away.

The night was a quiet one; the city of Trenton lay before them like some gloomy, crouching thing awaiting its fate on the morrow; had not their military experience told them that their pickets lay all about them with masked fires, they would have fancied the countryside deserted. Ben had just been speaking feelingly of his father, whom he had not had time to call upon while in Philadelphia, and they stood leaning against the tongue of an empty baggage wagon, deep in the softer reflections which home and home things bring uppermost. Then they were aroused by the sound of voices and footsteps, and the flash of a tinder box showed them two men standing at the door of a small house which the boys in the semi-darkness had not before noted.

“Ah, I can see it now,” said one of them. “The step is broken, and I have missed a nasty fall more than once.”

The flash died out almost instantly, and the two men stood in the shadows for a moment in silence. Then the second one spoke:

“The whole matter has reached an acute pass, General Mifflin; a great many of our citizens demand to know the facts, and I thought that perhaps——”

The cold voice of Mifflin interrupted:

“But why have you selected me as the one best calculated to give you information? I have not been with the main command; and the fact is, I know nothing, except by hearsay.”

“But you know the man; you were with him at the first, were you not?”

“I was an aide when he first was made what he is. But the candid fact is that I was never attracted by him, and therefore gave him little attention, save in the way of duty.”

Again there was a silence; then the other spoke once more:

“I am sorry that this is the case. I had hoped that you would be of much assistance to us in coming to a proper knowledge of the situation.”

“I can tell you nothing that any one could not tell you,” insisted Mifflin.

“What are the prospects for an immediate action?” asked the second man, after a moment.

“So far as I can learn—excellent.”

“And what are the chances for success?”

“As good as ever. Strangely enough, our army is still possessed of the fighting spirit, in spite of their wretched condition.”

“Ah!” The voice of the other had an eager note deep in it, which attracted the instant attention of Ben Cooper. “I had heard that they were not well conditioned or provided for. Also I hear that the general has found it not at all easy to come by supplies of money.”

“No doubt all have heard such rumors,” said Mifflin; “I, too, have met with them. But as to money being hard to procure, I am not sure. While I was with Washington only a short time ago, the news came that fifty thousand dollars in coin was on its way.”

“Here?” asked the other.

“Here, to be sure,” replied Mifflin.

“Ah!” said the man, and again the eager note in his voice attracted Ben Cooper, “that is interesting.”

“Washington seemed to find it so,” replied Mifflin, drily. Then he added: “And now, sir, if you will pardon me, I think I shall try and get some sleep. I have had a hard day and by all appearance to-morrow will be much harder.”

Thereupon the other, apparently not at all satisfied, judging from his tone, bade the general good-night; Mifflin entered his headquarters, where a light at once appeared, while the other man strode away into the darkness.

Nat Brewster was the first to speak.

“That,” said he, “was a queer sort of thing. I don’t quite understand it.” Pondering a moment, he added: “Evidently this man who was with General Mifflin had come on an errand concerning the strength or weakness of a certain person.”

“And that person,” said Ben Cooper, without hesitation, “is none other than General Washington.”

“Right,” said Nat; “the general it is.”

“But,” and there was a mystified quality in Ben’s voice and manner, “while that interests me, still there is something which attracts me still more.”

“And what is that?”

“I should like to know who that man is.” Ben pointed in the direction taken by Mifflin’s late companion, and Nat understood at once.

“So?” said he. “And why are you so much interested in him?”

“Somehow,” said Ben, “while he talked I seemed to recognize his voice—not so much its general quality, as a note that came into it now and then. It told of a sort of eagerness—a desire to learn something, which I seem strangely familiar with. And oddly enough, it strikes me that it was not so long ago that I heard it. It seems as though——” Here he paused, and through the semi-darkness his hand reached out and grasped Nat’s arm tightly. “I know who it was,” he said. “It was a man whom I met at the City Tavern in Philadelphia only last night—a man of the name of Tobias Hawkins!”