“I could think of no greater happiness save that of seeing the end of the war,” Jack answered.

“The war!  That is a little matter.  I want to see a proper end to this love-story.”

She laughed and ran to the spinnet and sang Shepherds, I Have Lost My Love.

The General would seem to have been in bad spirits.  He had spoken not half a dozen words.  To him the talk of the others had been as spilled water.  Jack has described him as a man of “unstable temperament.”

The young man’s visit was interrupted by Solomon who came to tell him that he was needed in the matter of a quarrel between some of the new recruits.

Jack and Solomon exercised unusual care in guarding the camp and organizing for defense in case of attack.  It was soon after Washington’s departure that Arnold went away on the road to the south.  Solomon followed keeping out of his field of vision.  The General returned two days later.  Solomon came into Jack’s hut about midnight of the day of Arnold’s return with important news.

Jack was at his desk studying a map of the Highlands.  The camp was at rest.  The candle in Jack’s hut was the only sign of life around headquarters when Solomon, having put out his horse, came to talk with his young friend.  He stepped close to the desk, swallowed nervously and began his whispered report.

“Suthin’ neevarious be goin’ on,” he began.  “A British ship were lyin’ nigh the mouth o’ the Croton River.  Arnold went aboard.  An’ officer got into his boat with him an’ they pulled over to the west shore and went into the bush.  Stayed thar till mos’ night.  If ’twere honest business, why did they go off in the bush alone fer a talk?”

Jack shook his head.

“Soon as I seen that I went to one o’ our batteries an’ tol’ the Cap’n what were on my mind.

“‘Damn the ol’ British tub.  We’ll make ‘er back up a little,’ sez he.  ‘She’s too clus anyhow.’

“Then he let go a shot that ripped the water front o’ her bow.  Say, Jack, they were some hoppin’ eround on the deck o’ the big British war sloop.  They h’isted her sails an’ she fell away down the river a mile ‘er so.  The sun were set when Arnold an’ the officer come out o’ the bush.  I were in a boat with a fish rod an’ could jes’ see ’em with my spy-glass, the light were so dim.  They stood thar lookin’ fer the ship.  They couldn’t see her.  They went back into the bush.  It come to me what they was goin’ to do.  Arnold were a-goin’ to take the Britisher over to the house o’ that ol’ Tory, Reub Smith.  I got thar fust an’ hid in the bushes front o’ the house.  Sure ’nough!—­that’s what were done.  Arnold an’ t’ other feller come erlong an’ went into the house.  ’Twere so dark I couldn’t see ’em but I knowed ’twere them.”

“How?” the young man asked.

“‘Cause they didn’t light no candle.  They sot in the dark an’ they didn’t talk out loud like honest men would.  I come erway.  I couldn’t do no more.”