The old negro, then approaching, was one of those, the number of whom, although small compared with that of the white troops engaged in the war of the Revolution, was still considerable enough not to be entirely overlooked.  His name was Primus Ransome, and at an early period he had enlisted into the army, and served until disabled by the loss of a leg, when he found himself in rags, with an excellent character for bravery and general good conduct, minus the member left at Yorktown, and a candidate for any such bounty as the exhausted means of the country and the liberality of Congress might grant.  He contrived somehow to return to the town of Hillsdale, where, in a checkered life, he had happened to pass two or three of his happiest years, and there prepared to enjoy that liberty he had helped to achieve.  His good character, cheerful temper, and the services he had performed made him a general favorite.  Yet, notwithstanding, he found it at first hard to get along.  His military habits had incapacitated him for long continued industry, and an invitation to a social glass or an opportunity to tell one of his campaigning stories, was at any time temptation sufficient to wile him away from labor.  There was no gentleman’s kitchen where Primus was not treated with kindness, and where he did not receive all he asked but he had some pride, and was unwilling to abuse the offered hospitality.  Thus, working a little at digging in gardens and cutting wood and such other odd jobs as he could obtain, and making calls at the kitchens, and telling long stories about Monmouth, and Trenton, and the siege of Yorktown, what with the money he got, and the presents made him at Thanksgiving and Christmas, and other odd times, Primus roughed it along, after a fashion, until Congress found itself in a condition to give him a pension.  It came late to be sure, and was small, but then so were his wants.  It was regularly paid and certain, and joined to the advantages he already possessed, constituted an ample fortune.  Before he got his pension, poor Primus would sometimes cast a rueful glance at his wooden leg, and think to himself he had paid a pretty dear price for independence; and at such times, it must be confessed, his patriotism ran to a low ebb.  He knew no Latin, and therefore could not say, “sic vos non vobis,” &c., yet he thought it.  But after he obtained his little annuity, the love of country of the Horatii or Curiatii was frigid to his.  He was never weary of boasting of its freedom, of its greatness, and of General Washington.  It was observed that as he grew older his stories became longer and more incredible, and his patriotism hotter.  His own personal exploits too, occupied a wider space in his narratives.  To believe him, the number of British and Hessians conquered by his single arm would have composed a regiment; and, indeed, it was difficult to conceive how the struggle could have been brought to a successful issue without his assistance.