In any crisis less tremendous I should have roared a-laughing to see the doughty major and my good friend the lieutenant vie with each other in their skippings to escape the unseen enemy.  But it was no laughing moment for me.  At a flash my sword was out and I was hacking hither and yon at the imaginary foe.  In the hurly-burly I contrived to sprawl all across the work-bench table, and the packet which would have killed my plot—­and, belike, the plotter as well—­was secured and quickly juggled into hiding.

“Damme! see now what you’ve done; you’ve spilt my breech-charger all about the place!” rasped the major, when all was over.  And then:  “Who the devil are ye, anyway; and what do ye want wi’ me?”

I clicked my heels, saluted, and gave him the express from my Lord—­the right one, this time.  He tore off the wrapping, swore a hearty soldier oath when he read the fore part of the letter and clapped his leg joyfully, like the brave gentleman that he was, when he came to the postscriptum.

“Ye’re a fine fellow, Captain; ye’ve brought me good news,” he said; then he bade an aide call Captain de Peyster, his second in command, and in the same breath gave Tybee and me in charge to an ensign for our billeting for the night.

You will conceive that I was overjoyed at this seemingly safe and easy planting of the petard which was to blow my Lord Cornwallis’s plans into the air; and in anticipation I saw the tide-turning battle and heard the huzzas of the mountaineer victors.  But ’tis a good old saw that cautions against hallooing before you are out of the wood.  Captain de Peyster was come, and Tybee and I were taking our leave of the major, when there was a sudden commotion among the guards without, and a little man in black, his wig awry and his clothing torn by the rough man-handling of the sentries, burst into the tent.

“Seize him! seize him! he is a rebel spy!” he shrieked, pointing at me.

As you would guess, all talk paused at this dramatic interruption, and all eyes were turned upon me.  Had the little viper been content to rest his charge upon the simple accusation, I know not what might have happened.  But when he got his breath he burst out in a tirade of the foulest abuse, cursing me up one side and down the other, and ending in a gibbering fit of rage that left him pallid and foaming at the lips—­and gave me my cue.

“’Tis the little madman of Queensborough,” I said, coolly, explaining to the bluff major.  “His mania takes the form of a curious hatred for me, though I know not why.  Two days since, he was put in arrest by my Lord’s authority for threatening my life and that of his master’s daughter.  Now, it would seem, he has broken jail and followed me hither.”

“A lunatic, eh?  He looks it, every inch,” said the major; and the blackguard lawyer, hearing my counter accusation, was doing his best to give it a savor of likelihood by fighting frantically with the two soldiers who had followed him into the tent.