“I don’t know why they shouldn’t,” another answered.  “If this isn’t a war, I never saw one.  There are twenty thousand men under arms across the river and they’ve got us nailed in here tighter than a drum.  They used to say in London that the rebellion was a teapot tempest and that a thousand grenadiers could march to the Alleghanies in a week and subdue the country on the way.  You are aware of how far we have marched from the sea.  It’s just about to where we are now.  We’ve gone about five miles in eight months.  How many hundreds of years will pass before we reach the Alleghanies?  But old Gage will tell you that it isn’t a war.”

A young man came along with his rifle on his shoulder.

“Hello, Bill!” said one of the men.  “Going out on post?”

“I am, God help me,” the youth answered.  “It’s what I’d call a hell of a night.”

The sentinel passed close by Jack on his way to his post.  The latter crept away and followed, gradually closing in upon his quarry.  When they were well away from the fire, Jack came close and called, “Bill.”

The sentinel stopped and faced about.

“You’ve forgotten something,” said Jack, in a genial tone.

“What is it?”

“Your caution,” Jack answered, with his pistol against the breast of his enemy.  “I shall have to kill you if you call or fail to obey me.  Give me the rifle and go on ahead.  When I say gee go to the right, haw to the left.”

So the capture was made, and on the way out Jack picked up the sentinel who stood waiting to be relieved and took both men into camp.

From documents on the person of one of these young Britishers, it appeared that General Clarke was in command of a brigade behind the lines which Jack had been watching and robbing.

When Jack delivered his report the Chief called him a brave lad and said: 

“It is valuable information you have brought to me.  Do not speak of it.  Let me warn you.  Captain, that from now on they will try to trap you.  Perhaps, even, you may look for daring enterprises on that part of their line.”

The General was right.  The young scout ran into a most daring and successful British enterprise on the twentieth of January.  The snow had been swept away in a warm rain and the ground had frozen bare, or it would not have been possible.  Jack had got to a strip of woods in a lonely bit of country near the British lines and was climbing a tall tree to take observations when he saw a movement on the ground beneath him.  He stopped and quickly discovered that the tree was surrounded by British soldiers.  One of them, who stood with a raised rifle, called to him: 

“Irons, I will trouble you to drop your pistols and come down at once.”

Jack saw that he had run into an ambush.  He dropped his pistols and came down.  He had disregarded the warning of the General.  He should have been looking out for an ambush.  A squad of five men stood about him with rifles in hand.  Among them was Lionel Clarke, his right sleeve empty.