“Washington has gone up the river.”

“Then take me to quarters soon as ye kin.  I’ll give ye ten pounds, good English gold.  My God, boys!  My ol’ hide is leakin’ bad.”

He turned to the man who had been washing and binding his wounds.

“Sodder me up best ye kin.  I got to last till I see the Father.”

Solomon and other men in the old army had often used the word “Father” in speaking of the Commander-in-Chief.  It served, as no other could, to express their affection for him.

The wind was unfavorable and the sloop found it difficult to reach the landing near headquarters.  After some delay Solomon jumped overboard and swam ashore.

What follows he could not have told.  Washington was standing with his orderly in the little dooryard at headquarters as Solomon came staggering up the slope at a run and threw his body, bleeding from a dozen wounds, at the feet of his beloved Chief.

“Oh, my Father!” he cried in a broken voice and with tears streaming down his cheeks.  “Arnold has sold Ameriky an’ all its folks an’ gone down the river.”

Washington knelt beside him and felt his bloody garments.

“The Colonel is wounded,” he said to his orderly.  “Go for help.”

The scout, weak from the loss of blood, tried to regain his feet but failed.  He lay back and whispered: 

“I guess the sap has all oozed out o’ me but I had enough.”

Washington was one of those who put him on a stretcher and carried him to the hospital.

When he was lying on his bed and his clothes were being removed, the Commander-in-Chief paid him this well deserved compliment as he held his hand: 

“Colonel, when the war is won it will be only because I have had men like you to help me.”

Soon Jack came to his side and then Margaret.  General Washington asked the latter about Mrs. Arnold.

“My mother is doing what she can to comfort her,” Margaret answered.

Solomon revived under stimulants and was able to tell them briefly of the dire struggle he had had.

“It were Slops that saved me,” he whispered.

He fell into a deep and troubled sleep and when he awoke in the middle of the night he was not strong enough to lift his head.  Then these faithful friends of his began to know that this big, brawny, redoubtable soldier was having his last fight.  He seemed to be aware of it himself for he whispered to Jack: 

“Take keer o’ Mirandy an’ the Little Cricket.”

Late the next day he called for his Great Father.  Feebly and brokenly he had managed to say: 

“Jes’ want—­to—­feel—­his hand.”

Margaret had sat beside him all day helping the nurse.

A dozen times Jack had left his work and run over for a look at Solomon.  On one of these hurried visits the young man had learned of the wish of his friend.  He went immediately to General Washington, who had just returned from a tour of the forts.  The latter saw the look of sorrow and anxiety in the face of his officer.