“How, now, Leftenant Buntling?” demanded Bagby, in an attempt to regain his dignity.  “What is the meaning of this return without orders?”

“The British landed a swipe o’ men at Amboy this mornin’, makin’ us fall back mighty quick ter Bonumtown, an’ there, arter the orficers confabulated, it wuz decided thet as the bloody-backs wuz too strong ter fight, the militia and the flyin’ camp thereabouts hed better go home an’ look ter their families.  An’ so we uns come off with the rest.”

“You mean to say,” asked Joe, “that you did n’t strike one blow for freedom; did n’t fire one shot at the tools of the tyrant?”

“Oh, cut it, Joe,” growled one of the privates.  “Thet ’ere talk duz fer the tavern and fer election times, but ’t ain’t worth a darn when ye’ve marched twenty miles on an empty stomick.  Set the drinks up fer us, or keep quiet.”

“That I will for you all,” responded Bagby, “and what ’s more, the whole room shall tipple at my expense.”

No more drinks were ordered, however; for a second time the occupants of the room were startled by the door being thrown open quickly to give entrance to a man wrapped in a riding cloak, but whose hat and boots both bespoke the officer.

“Put your house in readiness for General Washington and his staff, landlord,” the new-comer ordered sharply.  “They will be here shortly, and will want supper and lodgings.”  He turned in the doorway and called:  “Get firewood from where you can, Colonel Hand, and kindle beacon fires at both ends of the bridge, to light the waggons and the rest of the forces; throw out patrols on the river road both to north and south, and quarter your regiment in the village barns.”  Then he added in a lower voice to a soldier who stood holding a horse at the door:  “Put Janice in the church shed, Spalding; rub her down, and see to it that she gets a measure of oats and a bunch of fodder.”  He turned and strode to the fire, his boots squelching as he walked, as if in complaint at their besoaked condition.  Hanging his hat upon the candle hook on one side of the chimney breast and his cloak on the other, he stood revealed a well-dressed officer, in the uniform of a Continental colonel.

It had taken the roomful a moment to recover their equipoise after the fright, but now Squire Hennion spoke up: 

“So yer retreatin’ some more, hey?”

The officer, who had been facing the fire in an evident attempt to dry and warm himself, faced about sharply:  “Retreat!” he answered bitterly.  “Can you do anything else with troops who won’t fight; who in the most critical moment desert by fifties, by hundreds, ay, by whole regiments?  Six thousand men have left us since we crossed into Jersey.  A brigade of your own troops—­of the State we had come to fight for—­left us yesterday morning, when news came that Cornwallis was advancing upon our position at Newark.  What can we do but retreat?”

“Well, may I be dummed!” ejaculated Bagby, “if it is n’t Squire Meredith’s runaway bondsman, and dressed as fine as a fivepence!”