the wife of an absent American officer should reign as a beauty among his military enemies.  I make no doubt but the circumstance was commented upon, with satirical smiles at the expense of both husband and wife, by the British officers themselves.  Indeed I once heard her name mentioned, not as Mrs. Winwood, but as “Captain Winwood’s wife,” with an expression of voice that made me burn to plant my fist in the leering face of the fellow who spoke—­some low-born dog, I’ll warrant, who had paid high for his commission.

It was a custom of Tom’s and mine to put ourselves, when off duty together, in the way of more active service than properly fell to us, by taking horse and riding to the eastern side of the Harlem River, where was quartered the troop of Tom’s relation, James De Lancey.  In more than one of the wild forays of these horsemen, did we take an unauthorised part, and find it a very exhilarating business.

One cold December afternoon in 1778, we got private word from Captain De Lancey that he was for a raid up the Albany road, that night, in retaliation for a recent severe onslaught made upon our Hessian post near Colonel Van Cortlandt’s mansion, either (’twas thought) by Lee’s Virginia Light Horse or by the partisan troop under the French nobleman known in the rebel service as Armand.

At nightfall we were on the gallop with De Lancey’s men, striking the sparks from the stony road under a cloudy sky.  But these troops, accustomed to darkness and familiar with the country, found the night not too black for their purpose, which was, first, the seizing of some cattle that two or three Whig farmers had contrived to retain possession of, and, second, the surprising of a small advanced post designed to protect rebel foragers.  The first object was fairly well accomplished, and a detail of men assigned to conduct the prizes back to Kingsbridge forthwith, a difficult task for which those upon whom it fell cursed their luck, or their commander’s orders, under their breath.  One of the farmers, for stubbornly resisting, was left tied to a tree before his swiftly dismantled house, and only Captain De Lancey’s fear of alarming the rebel outpost prevented the burning down of the poor fellow’s barn.

The taking of these cattle had necessitated our leaving the highway.  To this we now returned, and proceeded Northward to where the road crosses the Neperan River, near the Philipse manor-house.  Instead of crossing this stream, we turned to the right, to follow its left bank some way upward, and then ascended the hill East of it, on which the rebel post was established.  Our course, soon after leaving the road, lay through woods, the margin of the little river affording us only sufficient clear space for proceeding in single file.  De Lancey rode at the head, then went two of his men, then Tom Faringfield and myself, the troop stringing out behind us, the lieutenant being at the rear.