It was past twelve o’clock of a starry night when Middleton and his men took to horse, and galloped away on the track of the deserter.  It was a plain track, unluckily; a trail that a child might have followed.  There had been a shower at sunset, sharp enough to wash out all previous hoof-marks from the road.  The footprints of a single horse were all that now appeared.  In addition to this, the horse-shoes of Lee’s legion had a private mark, by which they could be readily recognized.  There could be no question; those foot prints were made by the horse of the deserter.

Here was a contingency unlooked for by Lee.  The pursuit could be pushed on at full speed.  At every fork or cross-road a trooper sprang quickly from his horse and examined the trail.  It needed but a glance to discover what road had been taken.  On they went, with scarce a moment’s loss of time, and with sure knowledge that they were on the fugitive’s track.

At sunrise the pursuing party found themselves at the top of a ridge in the road, near the “Three Pigeons,” a road-side tavern several miles north of the village of Bergen.  Looking ahead, their eyes fell on the form of the deserter.  He was but half a mile in advance.  They had gained on him greatly during the night.

At the same moment Champe perceived them.  Both parties spurred their horses to greater speed, and away went fugitive and pursuers at a rattling pace.  The roads in that vicinity were well known to them all.  There was a short cut through the woods from near the Three Pigeons to the bridge below Bergen.  Middleton sent part of his men by this route to cut off the fugitive, while he followed the main road with the rest.  He felt sure now that he had the deserter, for he could not reach the British outposts without crossing the bridge.

On they went.  No long time elapsed before the two divisions met at the bridge.  But Champe was not between them.  The trap had been sprung, but had failed to catch its game.  He had in some strange manner disappeared.  What was to be done?  How had he eluded them?

Middleton rode hastily back to Bergen, and inquired if a dragoon had passed through the village that morning.

“Yes; and not long ago.”

“Which way did he go?”

“That we cannot say.  No one took notice.”

Middleton examined the road.  Other horses had been out that morning, and the Lee corps footprint was no longer to be seen.  But at a short distance from the village the trail again became legible and the pursuit was resumed.  In a few minutes Champe was discovered.  He had reached a point near the water’s edge, and was making signals to certain British galleys which lay in the stream.

The truth was that the fugitive knew of the short cut quite as well as his pursuers, and had shrewdly judged that they would take it, and endeavor to cut him off before he could reach the enemy’s lines at Paulus Hook.  He knew, besides, that two of the king’s galleys lay in the bay, a mile from Bergen, and in front of the small settlement of Communipaw.  Hither he directed his course, lashing his valise, as he went, upon his back.