“Your Excellency!” he cried, “’t is but hopeless and will but end in—­” Then, as his superior did not heed him, he seized the left rein of his horse’s bridle and, pulling on it, swung him about in a large circle, letting go his hold only when they were riding away from the enemy.

Washington offered no resistance, and rode the hundred yards to where the rest of his staff were standing, with bowed head.  Nothing was said as he rejoined the group, and Blueskin, disappointed in the charge for which he had shown as much eagerness as his rider, let his mind recur to thoughts of oats; finding no control in the hand that held his bridle, he set out at an easy trot toward headquarters.

They had not ridden many yards ere Washington lifted his head, the expression of hopelessness, which had taken the place of that of animation, in turn succeeded by one of stern repose.  He issued three orders to as many of the riders, showing that his mind had not been dwelling idly on the disaster, slipped his sword into its scabbard, and gathered up his reins again.

“There!” thought Blueskin, as a new direction was indicated by his bit, “I’m going to have another spell of it riding all ways of a Sunday, just as we did last night.  And it ’s coming on to rain.”

Rain it did very quickly; but from post to post the horsemen passed, the sternly silent commander speaking only when giving the necessary orders to remedy so far as possible the disaster of the afternoon.  Not till eleven, and then in a thoroughly drenched condition, did they reach the Morris House on Haarlem Heights.  It was to no rest, however, that the general arrived; for, as he dismounted, Major Gibbs of his life guards informed him that the council of war he had called was gathered and only awaited his attendance.

“Get you some supper, gentlemen,” he ordered, to such of his aides as were still of the party, “for ’t is likely that you will have more riding when the council have deliberated.”

“’T is advice he might take himself to proper advantage,” said one of the juniors, while they were stripping off their wet coverings in a side room.

“Ay,” asserted Brereton.  “The general uses us hard, Tilghman, but he uses himself harder.”  Then aloud he called, “Billy!”

“Yis, sah!”

“Make a glass of rum punch and take it in to his
Excellency.”

“Foh de Lord, sah, I doan dar go in, an’ yar know marse neber drink no spirits till de day’s work dun.”

“Make a dish of tea, then, you old coward, and I’ll take it to him so soon as I get these slops off me.  ’Fore George!  How small-clothes stick when they ’re wet!”

“You mean when a man ’s so foppish that he will have them made tight enough to display the goodness of his thighs,” rejoined Gibbs, who, being dry, was enjoying the plight of the rest.  “Make yourselves smart, gentlemen, there are ladies at quarters to-night.”

“You don’t puff that take-in on us, sirrah,” retorted Tilghman.