Just then they caught sight of me. Instead of screaming, they stood as if petrified. At last, pointing at me, they exclaimed, "Oh, missie, who dat?"

The question was a difficult one to answer, but Madeline showed her presence of mind by replying calmly—

"A friend who little expected to find me here, but he will take care that no harm happens to any one in this house. We may be thankful that he and his followers are here to protect us. Now go and tell the rest of the people who remain in the house that they must not be alarmed. Let them assemble in the hall. I will go and speak to them after I have seen Mrs Elbank and Miss Porter. Go—run! Be good girls, and do as I tell you."

The quick, firm manner with which she spoke had a wonderful effect on the negresses, and instinctively off they ran, perfectly satisfied, to obey her orders. She explained, briefly, that Mrs Elbank was an old lady, the owner of the house where she and her father were staying.

As soon as the girls had disappeared she took my hand with perfect frankness and maiden modesty, while she looked up into my face with an expression which showed me the true feelings of her heart.

"Farewell, farewell!" she exclaimed. "Let me entreat you not to remain a moment longer. Every instant's delay may produce danger, and, too probably, bloodshed. Should, by any chance, the militia discover that you are here, they would come back with an overwhelming force and cut you off. Go—oh, go!"

As she spoke these words her feelings overcame her and her sobs choked her utterance. I would have given worlds to have been able to stay and comfort her. I did all I could. I took her in my arms and imprinted a kiss on her brow. It might be the last, but I dared not think so. No, I felt that we should meet again. "I obey you now, dearest," I cried, in a tone intended to reassure her. "Fear not, I shall escape the danger you dread, and I will return perhaps before long."

I added some solemn words of comfort, and then I rushed from the room and hurried into the garden where I had left my men. I found from them that O'Driscoll had captured an old negro servant, who, hearing the dog bark, had come out to see what was the matter, and that, conducted by him, he had entered the house where he now was. This accounted for the disturbance I had heard. I accordingly went back to the front door, which was obligingly opened by our friend the negro, who seemed by his manner to have long-expected me. With many bows he led me into a handsome dining-hall, when what was my surprise to find O'Driscoll and another officer seated at a table with an abundance of viands spread before them, and wine of various sorts sparkling in decanters by their side.

"Really, these rebels treat us very well," said O'Driscoll as I entered. "When we caught that old gentleman he told us that supper was all ready, and that he had been ordered to invite us in to partake of it, and to beg us to remain as long as we felt inclined."

"I do not doubt it, Mr O'Driscoll," I answered sternly. "But, sir, we have duties to perform, and our orders were to proceed up the river as far as we could go. Now I have discovered that there are several vessels at Suffolk, four miles above this. We must go and try to cut them out. Thank the owners of the house for their hospitality, but we cannot stay to benefit by it," said I to the negro, giving him a dollar. "Keep that for yourself, and remember that all Englishmen are not cannibals and savages."

Having directed O'Driscoll to call in the rest of the other parties guarding the approaches to the house, we quickly assembled at the rendezvous I had appointed outside the gates, whence we set off as fast as we could for the boats. I could not help having some dread lest they should have been attacked during our absence, and if so, I knew that we should at once be made prisoners. I did not, however, express my fears to any one. The way to the boats appeared very long. I thought more than once that we must have mistaken our road. Great was my relief therefore, when I found that we had at length reached the spot where they lay concealed. I now called the other lieutenants round me, and briefly explained to them the information I had obtained. I did not think it necessary to say whence I had obtained it. They unanimously concurred with me that we had done all that could be required of us, and that our only proper course was at once to proceed down the river, and to endeavour to pass our enemies before they could expect us, or were prepared to impede our progress.

"Well, gentlemen, to our boats without delay," I said—not speaking, however, above a whisper, for I thought it very likely that we might have listeners in ambush. "Rapidly and silently, like Indians on a war trail, let us make the best of our way down the stream. If any boat is disabled, let the one ahead of her take her in tow. If fired at, do not attempt to fire in return, but pull away for our lives. Now shove off."

Away we went. I took the lead, keeping the centre of the river. Strange as it may appear, I thought much more of the meeting I had just had with Madeline, of all she had said to me, and of all I had said to her, or wished that I had said, than of the terrific danger to which we were exposed. I use the word advisedly. Let any one fancy what it would be to pass down a channel fifty yards wide, each bank being lined with four hundred, or, for what I could tell, twice that number of sharpshooters. The latter hours of the night continued as dark as had been the earlier part; there was a slight rain, or rather mist, which increased the obscurity, while the wind had got up, and its low moaning among the trees assisted to conceal the sound made by the boats as they clove their way through the water. We had also come up with the flood; the tide had now turned, and there was a strong current which much assisted our progress. These circumstances gave me hopes that we might yet successfully run the gauntlet of our enemies. There was another circumstance to be dreaded, which might prove fatal to us. Should the enemy have time to collect any boats and attack us on the river, we could scarcely hope to cut our way past them as well as the riflemen on shore. When any great danger is to be incurred, it is a great relief to be able to speak. This was now denied us, and each man was left to his own thoughts. Mine, I may say, were not gloomy—very far from it. Sometimes they were bright and almost joyous. On we went. When I brought my thoughts back to the present, I could not help feeling that any moment we might see the flashes of a hundred rifles, and hear their sharp cracks as they opened on us. We had got to the southern end of the West Branch, but, as yet, not a sound from the shore had been heard. We were approaching the narrow reach, on the banks of which Mackey's Mill is situated. Most of us, I believe, felt an inclination to hold our breath as we pulled on. The current here was very strong. I kept as nearly as I could in the centre, the other boats following. I could just distinguish the dark outline of the building we had before visited against the sky ahead of us, when a voice, I knew not whence it came, shouted, "There they are! Fire!"

In an instant the whole line of the shore burst into flame—rapidly sounded the cracks of the rifles, and thickly about our heads flew the bullets. At that moment I thought I saw a canoe dart away down the river, and I doubted not that our enemies had stationed her there to watch for us. Thicker and thicker came the leaden shower, several shots going through the boats' sides, though as yet no one was hit. Still I had no notion of giving in. "Now, my lads, give way for your lives!" I exclaimed in a loud whisper. "Many a man has passed through hotter fire than this unscathed."

I scarcely think I was speaking the truth when I said this. So dark was it, however, that I did not believe that we could be seen from the shore, though the flashes of the firearms lighted up the dark woods, the red-brick mill and its out-houses, and threw a lurid glare over the whirling current as it hurried by its overhanging banks, while ever and anon we could clearly distinguish the glancing arms and the figures of our enemies as they stood drawn up along the banks, pouring their fire down upon us.

On we pulled, silently as ever, and as fast as the men could lay their backs to the oars. We were, however, I knew too well, only at the commencement of the narrow passage, and I could not tell what opposition we might have to encounter before we got through it. My boat was light, and pulled easily, but some of the other boats were very slow—the Thames's long-boat especially—and rowed very heavily, and I kept anxiously turning round to ascertain that they were following me. For some time I could count them, one after the other in line, coming up after me. Then I turned my eyes on the banks of the river. By some means our enemies calculated our downward progress with great accuracy if they did not see us, for, while some were blazing away, I could see other bodies hurrying along the side of the river, to be ready, I doubted not, to attack us as we came down; some were on foot, but others were on horseback, who had much the advantage of us in speed. At last I found that I was getting ahead of the other boats, so I had to slacken my speed till the next boat came up to me. It was the Charon's cutter, commanded by Mr Bruton. When I looked back I found that the Thames's long-boat was nowhere to be seen. Bruton said she had only just dropped astern, so begged leave to go and tow her up. This I allowed him to do, telling him that I would remain till he and the other boats came up. I began to fear, however, that the missing boat might have been cut off. Away dashed the gallant fellows after her. Whatever might happen, I resolved not to attempt to escape myself unless I could bring off the rest of the boats or the survivors of their people with me, though, from the fastness of my own boat, I might possibly have effected that object. My men behaved admirably, though exposed to so hot a fire; not a murmur escaped them at the delay, while they lay on their oars waiting for the appearance of the missing boat. The other two boats I saw coming on, and they soon caught me up. Great was my relief to see Bruton, with the Thames's boat in tow, at the same time emerge from the darkness. Then, once more, away we all went together down the stream.

I own myself that, under other circumstances, I should have very much liked to have had a shot at our pertinacious foes, and I have no doubt so would my followers, but the knowledge that Madeline's father was among them restrained my arm, and I felt a curious satisfaction in being fired at without attempting to injure my assailants in return, and that I might hereafter be able to assure him that I had not knowingly lifted my hand against him.

We were not long about doing what I have been describing. Had we, I do not believe one of us would have escaped the leaden shower rattling through the air and splashing up the water on every side, literally wetting our faces. I could already feel several holes in the side of my boat close to me; then there was a deep groan of suppressed pain, but no one ceased rowing. On we went. A sharp cry from one of the boats astern of me showed me too clearly that another of my people was wounded. Still the boats dashed on with unabated speed. This success made me hope that we might still escape. We had passed, I thought, the greater part of the narrow portion of the river. I had not much fear, when we could reach the wider parts, that we should get through unless attacked, as I have said, by a flotilla of boats.

Never did I hear such a rattle or cracking of rifles as the four or five hundred militia and irregulars kept up on us. However, there was nothing derogatory to their character as marksmen that they had hitherto done so little execution, for had they been the best sharpshooters in the world, their science would have availed them nothing through the pitchy darkness which happily enveloped us.

At length I fancied that I could distinguish the stream widening away before us, and, judging from the flashes of the fire-arms, the banks were much farther apart than before. I was not mistaken. With a satisfaction I can scarcely express I saw that all our boats had come through, but still the enemy kept up a hot fire astern of us into empty space, evidently not knowing where we were. My men seemed inclined to shout when they found themselves in the wide reach of the river, but I restrained them, not knowing what enemies might be lurking about near us on the water. Then we continued pulling steadily on, till here and there I saw a light gleaming on the shore, which I calculated must come from the town of Nansimond. If a flotilla of boats were on the watch for us, I thought that we should probably here encounter them—not that I any longer despaired of escaping from them, even should they attack us. I had directed the officers not to attempt to retaliate unless actually boarded, but to employ all their energies in making their escape. This was, of course, the wisest policy.

On we went. The town was passed. No boats appeared. We were approaching the mouth of the river. Daylight was now breaking. I was only too thankful that we had not delayed till then to make our way down the river. Either we should all have been taken prisoners, or few if any of us would have survived the murderous fire to which we should have been exposed. At length we emerged from the river and finally arrived on board the Charon at about ten in the morning with only two people wounded, though the upper works of our boats were riddled like sieves.

Thus ended an expedition fraught with so much personal interest to me. We all also gained credit for our exploit. We had completely performed the duty for which we had been sent, having made ourselves thoroughly acquainted with the river, and ascertained that it would be impossible to cut out the vessels which had run up to Suffolk unless a very strong force, if not the whole army, was to proceed up for that purpose. More and more as I thought over what had occurred did I pray that the war might soon cease, and that, if Englishmen must be fighting, they might not be called on to cross their swords with their relatives and friends.



CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

SENT TO HAMPTON WITH FLAG OF TRUCE.—VISIT MY FRIENDS.— DISAPPOINTMENT.—A FORAGING EXPEDITION, IN WHICH I OBTAIN A PRONG IN THE LEG INSTEAD OF HONOUR.—A DISASTROUS ONE MADE BY MY SHIPMATES.—A SECOND TRIP TO HAMPTON.—ATTEMPTS ON MY LOYALTY.—EXPEDITION PROPOSED UNDER ARNOLD.—O'DRISCOLL ACCOMPANIES ME ON A TRIP UP THE RIVER TO WARN MADELINE.—MEET COLONEL CARLYON.—NARROW ESCAPE ON OUR RETURN.

I was to have, I found, very little time for rest or reflection. This, I dare say, was the better for me. Scarcely had I breakfasted when I was again sent for to be despatched, as I was told, on special service. My satisfaction, however, was great indeed when I found that I was to be the bearer of a flag of truce to Hampton, with a letter to the patriot, or, as we called him, the rebel general commanding the district.

I was quickly ready to start. I should now be able to send a message to Madeline, to assure her of my safety, and perhaps to make arrangements to keep up a regular communication with her. On one point only was I somewhat puzzled. How could I speak of her without allowing it to be suspected that she had given me the warning by which I had escaped from the trap laid to catch me? I had heard of the stern treatment any of the rebels had received who had been found guilty of treachery towards their party, even from General Washington himself, and I knew not what construction might be put on Madeline's conduct should it be discovered. I determined, therefore, at all events to be very cautious how I spoke of having met her. These thoughts occupied my mind till I landed. I then hired a horse and a guide, and proceeded with Tom Rockets only as my companion, mounted on rather a sorry jade, towards Hampton. There were not many white men to be seen on the road. The negroes doffed their hats and always addressed me in a civil and friendly way.

Without any adventure I reached Hampton. Having then delivered my despatches I sought out the house of my new friends, the Langtons, where I hoped that I should be able to wait till the reply was ready. As soon as I entered the house I was shown into the drawing-room, where the ladies received me with the greatest kindness. Mrs Langton assured me that, from the way I had treated the inhabitants of Hampton the other night, I should always be received there as a friend. They insisted on having dinner got ready at once for me, and I found that they were collecting all sorts of eatables sufficient to load my horse as well as Rockets and our guides, which they thought might prove useful.

They had heard, I found, nothing of my expedition up the Nansimond river, and as no one could know that I was one of those engaged in it, I considered it prudent to say nothing about the matter, and I trusted that Madeline would remember that, unless she betrayed her secret, none of her friends were likely to discover it. In the course of conversation her cousins spoke frequently of her, and I sent her several messages. I hoped by their tenor that she would understand that I had not mentioned our having met. My great hope was that Mrs Langton, guessing how things stood, would invite her to come to Hampton, and that I might thus have the opportunity of meeting her, should I again be sent on shore with a flag of truce. None but those who have been knocking about for months and years together at sea among rough uncivilised men can fully appreciate the satisfaction which a sailor feels in spending a few brief hours under the soothing influence of refined female society.

It was with a feeling of undisguised annoyance that at last I received my despatches and had to mount my horse to return. No one would have supposed, as my friends bade me farewell, that I was serving on the side of their enemies, and yet I am certain that no more sincere patriots were to be found in America, only they had the sense not to confound the individual with the cause with which circumstances compelled him to side.

The army, with their guns, ammunition, and stores, had now safely disembarked, and were on their march up the banks of James river. The first lieutenant of the Charon, with a detachment of our men, had accompanied them. I was therefore selected in his place to take command of a party consisting of a hundred seamen and marines from the different ships of war, and to go on shore and forage for the squadron. The marines were commanded by a Lieutenant Brown, and I had two navy lieutenants besides under me. No duty I could have been ordered to perform would have been more distasteful, yet I had no choice but to obey and carry it out to the best of my ability. Having landed at Newportneuse, we began our march at eight o'clock in the morning into Elizabeth County. Not having been brought up like some of my Highland friends in the art of levying black mail on my lowland neighbours, I could not help feeling as if I had suddenly turned into a robber when I found myself entering a farm-yard, and, without a word of explanation, quietly collecting the cattle and pigs, or sheep or poultry, and driving them off. We marched about ten miles inland as rapidly as we could, and then, facing about, swept the country before us. On espying a farm we surrounded it, and then, rushing in, we took prisoners all the negroes we could find, and made them drive out the cattle and sheep. The pigs and poultry we killed and placed them in some carts, which, with the horses, we carried off. Having possessed ourselves of everything of value in the farm, notwithstanding the indignant protestations of the farmer's wife, for the farmer himself was away with the army, I suspect, we proceeded onto the next farm. This was owned by an old man with several sons, we were informed by one of the negroes. The sons were all fine young men, and were either in the militia or belonging to some irregular troops. We expected to find only the old man at home, but as we drew near the outbuildings a fire was opened on us from some loop-holes in the walls. As I had no fancy to have my men shot down I led them rapidly round to the front and charged into the farm-yard, over some slight barricades which had been hastily thrown up. At the same moment a dozen to twenty men rushed out of some sheds on one side and attempted to drive off a herd of cattle from a pen near at hand. I, with Rockets and some of my people, followed them so closely that they were compelled to leave the cattle to defend themselves. Most of them seemed inclined to continue their flight, but an old man, whom I took to be the owner of the farm, exerted himself to rally them, and shouting, "On, friends, on! Drive back the robbers!" charged up towards us. I was rather ahead of my men. Some of his people fired. I suspect the muskets of the rest were not loaded. Before I had time to defend myself the old man had his bayonet through my leg, and had I not used my cutlass pretty smartly the rest would have finished me or carried me off prisoner before my men could come to my rescue. When they did come up, they quickly put the rebels to flight, and I was not sorry to find that his friends had dragged off the brave old man without his receiving any injury. We were taught a lesson by this, to be more cautious in future when plundering the farms, lest they might be found fortified and prepared to receive us. My wound was bad enough to prevent me from walking. Hunting about, we found a horse and a saddle fitted to him, by which means I was able to continue my progress. On arriving at several farms we found that, although no attempt was made to defend them, all the cattle had been driven off and the pigs and poultry concealed. Now and then the grunting of a pig or the cackling of a hen betrayed the dust-hole or cellar in which they were imprisoned. The men were, in most instances, absent, but the women seldom failed to abuse us in no measured terms for our behaviour, nor could I help feeling that we deserved everything, that was said against us. My men, I must say, behaved very well. In no instance did they offer any violence to the villagers, and when they were abused they only laughed and retaliated with jokes, which, if not refined, were harmless.

We continued our foraging labours, (some people might have called them our depredations), till about three o'clock in the afternoon, when I judged that it was necessary to commence our retreat. From the experience I had gained I felt pretty certain that we should be harassed on our march by the enemy. I therefore formed my people in the best order I could for defence. Our six butchers, with their axes, saws, and knives, marched ahead as an advanced guard. We had collected in all fifty-seven head of cattle and forty-two sheep. These were driven by thirty negroes and closely surrounded by the seamen, who formed the centre. In the rear came the marines to cover our retreat, while on each flank I placed four marines, who were occasionally relieved from the rear. Brown laughed at my precautions, and said that they were absurd and useless, and so I found did my lieutenants, but I knew that I was right, and kept to my plan.

Had the country been open our progress would have been easy, but instead of that it was thickly wooded, so that our order of march was constantly broken. I kept riding about, doing all I could to keep the people and the cattle together; but every now and then where the wood was thickest I could see an ox, or a cow, and a couple of sheep, slyly impelled by a cunning negro, stealing away between the trees; and perhaps, while I sent some of the seamen in pursuit of them, others would break away in an opposite direction. Of course, when the negroes were overtaken, they always pretended to be endeavouring by lusty strokes to drive the animals back to us, and there was little use in attempting to punish them. Besides this inconvenience, every now and then, whenever we had to pass any hilly or broken ground behind which an enemy could find shelter, we were certain to be saluted with a shower of rifle-balls. At first I attempted to retaliate by sending some of the marines in pursuit, but by the time they got up to the spot from whence the shots were fired no enemy was to be seen, and I was only too glad to get them back without having them cut off. This showed me that our enemies, though persevering, were not numerous.

Considering all the difficulties I had to encounter, it is not surprising that when we arrived at the place of embarkation our stock had been reduced to forty-three head of cattle, with a proportionate diminution in our sheep, though our two carts with the pigs and poultry arrived all safe. We embarked at seven o'clock in the evening on board some vessels sent to carry us and the result of our foraging expedition, to our respective ships. I had not lost a man, and with the exception of my own hurt, no one was wounded. I felt sure that my success was attributable to the dispositions I had made, and the careful way I had effected my retreat, and that seeing me so well prepared to receive them had prevented the enemy from attacking me. I expressed myself to this effect when I returned on board, but was only laughed at for my pains, and asked what I had to fear from a few despicable rebel boors, whom a volley would in an instant put to flight.

"Very well," said I. "If any of you have to perform the same work, and do not take similar precautions, depend on it you will have to rue your neglect."

"Oh, nonsense," was the answer. "We know what the fellows are made of. They are not worth powder and shot."

Greatly to my annoyance, the very next day I was again directed to land with the same number of men for the same object. It was satisfactory to know that the way I conducted the expedition was approved of, but yet I would gladly have got off the duty. Just then, finding that a flag of truce was to be sent to Hampton, I solicited the commodore to allow me to go on that service.

"Yes," he replied. "The inhabitants are acquainted with you; and when you make your appearance they will understand our dispositions are friendly."

I was much flattered by this compliment, and still more pleased to gain the object I had in view. The commodore told me to direct Lieutenant Fallock, second lieutenant of the Iris, to take charge of the foraging party in my place. I earnestly advised him to use the same precautions I had on the previous day, assuring him, from the experience I had had in the numerous expeditions I had commanded in America, that the people would never attack a force if well prepared for resistance, and that the wise principle the people adopted was only to fight when they could obtain some material advantage. Fallock smiled scornfully. I found that Lieutenant Brown of the marines had been talking to him and telling him of my over-cautious and tedious way of retreating, as he called it. I found afterwards that Brown had advised him to take only forty marines as amply sufficient to defeat any number of the enemy likely to assemble to attack them. The officers who had accompanied me had also told him that, as we had not seen more than twenty rebels in arms at a time, he was not at all likely to encounter more than that number, though it was improbable that any would venture to attack him. Having urged the point as strongly as I could, I proceeded on my mission while Fallock and his party prepared for their expedition.

"Don't be afraid, Hurry," said Brown, whom I met as I went down the side, "we shall return in whole skins, and bring you back a good supply of beef and mutton."

I hired a horse and proceeded as before, without any particular adventure, to Hampton. Having delivered my message to the proper authorities I went to the Langtons.

I own that as I approached the house my heart beat many times quicker than usual, for I could not help persuading myself that Madeline might have gone there. When the door was opened by the black servant I tried to discover by his countenance whether my hopes were likely to be realised.

"Is there anybody here?" I asked with a trembling voice.

"Oh, yes; dere be all do young ladies and Madame Langton all at home. Glad see you, sare," was the answer I got.

I did not venture to ask more. The drawing-room door was opened. I held my breath. Her likeness was there, but she was not. I dared not ask for her, and I too soon found that my hopes were vain.

I found myself, however, received by the family as an old friend. They had heard from Madeline. She had, with the wisdom which I felt sure belonged to her, not mentioned having seen me. They had, however, from other sources heard of the expedition up the Nansimond river, and of the courteous way, as they expressed it, in which the English had behaved while in possession of Mrs Elbank's house. It was reported, however, naturally enough, that though the boats had got off, nearly all the people in them had been killed or wounded. I assured my friends that on this point they were under a mistake; but as I did not like to dwell on the subject for fear of betraying myself, I left them still unconvinced that they were in error.

As I was wishing my friends good-bye, a gentleman came in to whom I was introduced. When he heard who I was, he begged that I would delay my departure for a few minutes, saying that he would have the pleasure of accompanying me part of the way. Having delivered a message to the Langtons he left the house, requesting that I would remain till his return. His name, my friends told me, was Sutton, and they added that he was a friend of Colonel Carlyon's. When I heard this, all sorts of ideas rushed into my head, and I could not help hoping that the meeting would be productive of some important consequence, yet how that was to be I could not tell. Mr Sutton soon returned booted and spurred for a journey.

"Perhaps I may go farther than I at first proposed," he observed, as we mounted and rode out of the town. "I am glad to meet you, Mr Hurry, for I have heard of you for some time past, and you have won the regard of many patriots by the way in which you have on several occasions behaved towards those who have fallen into your power. I, with the sentiments I entertain, can only wish that you served a better cause, at the same time that I would not seek to induce you, as an officer bearing his Majesty's commission, to swerve from the allegiance you owe him."

When Mr Sutton said this I could not help feeling that he wished to try me, so I considered some time before I replied. I then said—

"This barbarous war must some day be brought to an end, and then without any sacrifice of principle I may be able not only to express the feelings I entertain for the people of America, but to act according to them."

"Well said, sir," he answered; "we must all eagerly look forward to that time, and, from the way you speak, I feel sure that no temptations would induce you to quit the cause you serve, however much you may sympathise with those opposed to it."

"I trust not, sir," said I firmly. "The path of honour is a very clear one; I have always endeavoured to walk in it."

"I know you have, and perhaps you may wonder why I just now volunteered to accompany you. Thus far I will tell you: I wished to make your acquaintance, and I also considered that I might be of some service to you. Although you bear a flag of truce, so great is the exasperation against all those serving in arms under the traitor Arnold, that I thought it possible you might be insulted, if not injured, by some of the more ignorant country people."

I thanked Mr Sutton for his kindness, though I suspected that he had other reasons for wishing to accompany me which he did not explain. Of course I could not ask them. He did not mention the names of either Colonel Carlyon or his daughter, and, much as I longed to do so, I could not bring myself to speak of them to one who to me, at all events, was a perfect stranger. He soon also began to talk of affairs in general, and proved himself a very well-informed man and an entertaining companion. I could not help fancying at times that he was endeavouring to draw me out, and to assure himself of what my sentiments really were. We passed several parties of armed men, but when they saw him they doffed their hats, or saluted him in military style, with every mark of respect. When within about a mile of our usual landing-place he reined in his horse.

"I can go no farther with you," he said; "I have no wish to fall into the power of any of Arnold's followers. Farewell, Mr Hurry. We may meet again, perhaps, before long, and when we meet I trust that it will be as we now part—as friends."

I made a suitable reply; and then, turning his horse's head, he put the animal into a full gallop, and was soon out of sight. It was late when I got on board. A gloom, such as is always felt after a disaster has occurred hung over the ship. The foraging party, or rather a remnant of them, had just returned. They had a melancholy tale to tell. Mr Fallock had taken the same road I had gone on my expedition, and had succeeded in collecting a considerable number of cattle, sheep, pigs and poultry—indeed, forage of all sorts. All went successfully with him and his party till they commenced their return. Instead, however, of marching in the proper order I had proceeded, the cattle were not kept well together, and the men were allowed to scatter about, and, when any of the animals strayed, to follow them to a considerable distance from the main body. The seamen and marines thought it very good fun, and went shouting and laughing along, the officers totally forgetting that they were in an enemy's country. They had proceeded some few miles without being molested, and were congratulating themselves on their own wisdom, and on my folly in having taken so many unnecessary precautions, when suddenly the crack of a rifle was heard—then another and another— and a band of horsemen were seen galloping up and cutting down the stragglers, who in vain attempted to make a successful resistance. Lieutenant Brown, calling to the men near him, charged the enemy, but the horsemen, wheeling about, left the ground clear for a body of footmen, who, as he advanced, opened a heavy fire on him. He was seen to fall, as were many of those with him; the rest attempted to fly, but the horsemen were upon them, and, with the exception of one man who got back to the main body, they were all cut down, or compelled to yield themselves prisoners. Another small party had, in the meantime, attacked the rest of the stragglers, and had prevented them from falling back on the main body, while the greater part of the cattle were dispersed and driven off. Lieutenant Fallock had, while this was going forward, called in all the remaining seamen and marines round him, and presented as bold a front as he could to the enemy. In spite of his diminished numbers, and the feeling that he had been, in consequence of his own want of forethought and foolhardiness, surprised by an enemy he despised, he fought with the greatest coolness and bravery. Even in numbers he saw that the Americans were inferior to what his party had been at the commencement of the attack, but now he had lost several of the seamen and the greater part of the marines, and the people with him were falling thickly from the bullets of the concealed riflemen. His only chance of escape was to retreat in close order, and as rapidly as he could till he got out of the wood. This he did, facing about, and delivering his fire whenever an enemy appeared. Outside the wood he made a bold stand, and drove back his foes, keeping up a hot fire on them till he found that his ammunition was almost expended. Then once more he retreated. He had escaped without a hurt, though several shots had passed through his clothes, and many of his people were wounded. With the remnant he at last succeeded in reaching the landing-place, where the boats were in waiting for him.

The next day, when I went on shore to inquire for Brown, I found that he had just died of his wounds. Nine marines were killed, eleven were taken prisoners unhurt, and several more were found on the ground wounded, while of those who got off very few escaped unhurt. Such was the termination of this foraging expedition—the disaster arising entirely from the folly of the officers, who would persist, as many had before done, in despising their enemy, and refusing to take the proper precautions to guard against surprise. This is only one of many instances of a similar folly which I observed throughout the American war. I speak of military officers especially. There is something in the character of Englishmen which makes them over-confident and foolhardy, and they will require to be taught by some very severe lessons before they learn the importance of caution. This want of caution in an officer, when entrusted with the lives of brave men, is a very great fault, and shows great folly and an unfitness for command. The vice, I am happy to say, is not so prevalent generally in the navy. Most spirited and dashing enterprises are undertaken, and are successful, for the very reason that forethought is employed and proper precautions are taken to ensure success. Young officers are too apt to mistake want of caution for spirit and bravery, and to despise those who are careful and anxious for the lives as well as for the health of those entrusted to their care. I am now an old man, but I find these sentiments penned in my journal, written at the time of the occurrence I have described, and they have been still more and more impressed by the experience of fifty years. Since then a long, long catalogue of melancholy disasters might be chronicled, all contributing to sully the glory of the British arms, which have arisen from those two causes—the neglect of proper precaution, and a foolish conceited contempt of the enemy.

Where a subject is matter of history I need but briefly touch on it and I have therefore often skimmed over subjects of far more importance than those I have described. I will now give a sketch of the proceedings of the troops under General Arnold, and the mode in which the ships of war were employed in assisting them. Having marched up James river, supported by some small ships of war, as I have before mentioned, the general reached Burds Landing on the 6th of January, and from thence, with only fifteen hundred men, pushed on to Richmond, the capital of Virginia—a distance of no less than one hundred and forty miles from the Capes of Virginia. He defeated all the forces sent against him, and arriving in that city, destroyed or brought off large quantities of stores, provisions, ammunition and some guns and stand of arms, returning to Burds Landing with the loss only of three killed and fifteen wounded. This was one of the most important expeditions undertaken into the interior of the country, for all the stores I have mentioned were destined for the supply of the southern army of the rebels opposing Lord Cornwallis in the Carolinas. It was followed up on the 12th by an expedition headed by Colonel Simcoe, who with his own corps surprised two hundred rebel militia and killed or took prisoners about fifty of them. On the 14th the troops moved to the town of Smithfield, where they captured forty hogs-heads of tobacco. On the 15th the troops evacuated Smithfield, and the squadron moved down to Newportneuse. On the following day that very active officer, Colonel Simcoe, was engaged in a skirmish with the rebels, the result of which was that he made prisoners of an officer and fifteen privates of a militia regiment. The occupation of Portsmouth had now, I found, been determined on. It stands on a southern branch of that estuary called Hampton Roads, into which James river empties itself. Between it and Smithfield is the Nansimond river with Mackey's Mills situated on its bank, about half-way up, while higher still on the West Branch was the house belonging to Mr Elbank, where I found Miss Carlyon on the night I and my party so narrowly escaped being cut off. The moment the above information reached me, and I ascertained the direction the army was to march, I became alarmed lest they should pass near Mr Elbank's house and take possession of it. I knew too well what had occurred on former occasions, and if it was known to have been occupied by Colonel Carlyon, it would too probably be destroyed, and the inmates alarmed and inconvenienced, if not insulted and injured. I had every reason to believe that Miss Carlyon was still there with her friends, unless our visit to the place had been a warning to them to quit it. What could I do to save her? I thought rapidly over the subject. I was not long in coming to a resolution. I must find some means of communicating with her. Could I trust any one with the message? No—at every risk I must go myself. Any personal danger was of course not to be taken into consideration, and I reflected that the cause I served could, not be injured by any information I could give her. Besides this, in a public point of view, I and those under my command, in our late expedition up the Nansimond, owed her a debt of gratitude for the warning she had given us, which we, to the best of our power, were bound to repay. Sometimes I thought that I would go openly to the commodore and ask his leave to go up the river to Mr Elbank's, and then again I was afraid that by some means or other Miss Carlyon's name might become known, and that her party might hear that she had given the information by which my companions and I had been preserved from the ambush laid for us. That would expose her to an annoyance to which I would on no account subject her. I easily persuaded myself that I alone could properly go. Perhaps the prospect of seeing her biassed me. I knew that I could depend on assistance. Although O'Driscoll had been less cordial with me since the night of our expedition, in consequence of the way I had spoken to him, I knew that he would be delighted to accompany me if I asked him; so of course would Tom Rockets. We had picked up, some time before, a light, fast-pulling canoe, which a couple of hands could send along at a great rate. The use of this I could command. How to get leave to quit the ship for a night was the difficulty. Without leave I could not go. Neither would I tell a falsehood to obtain leave. I resolved, therefore, to go frankly to Captain Symonds, to plead my constant good conduct, and to beg that he would trust me and O'Driscoll and one man away from the ship to carry out a matter of importance. I went to him accordingly. He hesitated a good deal, as I knew he would. He asked to have the matter more fully explained to him. I told him that I would rather not explain it—that should it fail, no blame might be attached to him.

"There must be blame if I allow you to leave the ship ignorant of where you are going, and any ill results from your expedition," he answered.

I saw that he was right.

"Well, sir, then, as you desire it, I will tell you my object, and leave it to your generosity to allow me to accomplish it," I answered, lifting up my head and looking boldly at him, for I felt relieved of a difficulty. I told him briefly the state of the case.

"I do not hesitate a moment in giving you leave, and for such an object will gladly share the blame, if blame there be," he replied with a well-satisfied look.

It was amusing to witness O'Driscoll's delight at the thoughts of the expedition.

"Arrah! now, that's just as it should be!" he exclaimed; "and, my dear boy, now, if you could but clap the sweet girl into the boat and pull off with her, you'd be placing her out of danger, plaising yourself and doing the right thing."

I did not argue the subject with him, as I had already done so in vain, but I let him run on. From the alacrity with which he set about our preparations it might have been supposed that he was the person most interested in the result. A light boat was easily procured. Rockets was of course ready to accompany us. We resolved to go without arms, but to wear our uniforms that we might not be accused of being spies. I wrote a letter, which I kept in my pocket, addressed to Colonel Carlyon, informing him that my object in visiting the house where he was residing was to request him to remove his family and friends from it, lest it should become the scene of strife between the contending parties. Should we be taken prisoners I intended to show this and to claim his assistance to obtain our release. We left the ship early in the evening, and with a fair wind our light skiff flew quickly over the water towards the mouth of the Nansimond river. I never saw O'Driscoll in such high feather. Had I been inclined to be in low spirits he would have kept them up. Commend me to such a companion in all cases of this sort, he joked, he told good stories, he sang and rattled on without cessation. It was sufficiently dark when we neared the mouth of the river to enable us, with our sail lowered, to enter without much chance of being seen from the shore. Though the wind was fair, of course after that we could not venture to carry sail, so we took it by turns to steer while the other two pulled. Lights were glimmering in Nansimond as we passed, but we gave the town a wide berth, and then had little to apprehend except from a stray boat, till we got up to Mackey's Mills. We kept a sharp look-out, to avoid any boat crossing or coming down the stream. As we glided by the mills we could hear voices of people speaking in them, but we kept near the opposite bank, and no one, we fancied, saw us. Of course our oars were muffled, and as we sat as low as we could in our little boat, very sharp eyes would have been required to make us out. As long as there was a flood-tide we got on very well, but it was high water before we got to Mackey's Mills, and in a short time a strong current set against us. It was hard work in some spots pulling against it; not that I minded that, but I was anxious to hurry on to perform my mission and to assure myself that Miss Carlyon had retired to a place of safety. We had just got into the broader part of the stream, when, as I peered through the darkness ahead, I fancied I saw a large object coming right down upon us. I instantly steered the boat over to the north shore, and in a whisper told O'Driscoll and Rockets to cease pulling. I was but just in time, for immediately after a large boat full of people hove in sight. We could hear them talking, and we made out that they expected an attack that very night from the English. Had they seen us they would probably have supposed we had been sent in advance, and would have shot us all down. The circumstances made us consider how we should manage to return, for they would certainly be on the look-out for us. Other boats also would be coming down, which we might have some difficulty in avoiding. Still, what I had undertaken I was determined to accomplish. We pulled on without stopping. No other boat was seen. At length we reached what we believed to be the place where we had landed on the night when I had met Miss Carlyon. I knew it by the peculiar outline of the trees—otherwise it might have been easily passed. O'Driscoll agreed with me that I was right; so, running in under the bank, we effectually concealed our boat in the bushes, and, clambering up, stood on the open ground with the house we were in search of at no great distance from us. After a short consultation O'Driscoll consented to remain near the boat with Rockets, while I proceeded alone to the house. If I was well received I was to summon him. My heart beat pretty fast as I approached the door. It did not occur to me till my hand was actually on the knocker that it was nearly midnight, and that in all probability the family would be in bed. However, I knocked with tolerable distinctness, and then waited the result. I saw lights gleaming at the windows, and before long a voice in negro accents asked who was there and what was wanted.

"A messenger with important information for Colonel Carlyon or his daughter," I answered. "I come alone, as a friend, tell your master."

"Admit him," said a voice.

The door was opened and I entered. Before me stood an officer in uniform, with a brace of pistols in his belt and a sword by his side, evidently prepared for service. I threw open my own cloak to show what I was, and followed the officer into a well-lighted room on one side of the passage. Supper was on the table, and another gentleman was in the room. I instantly recognised him as my companion on my ride from Hampton.

"Ah, Mr Hurry, I am glad to see you!" he exclaimed in a cordial tone, stretching out his hand. "I little expected to meet you again so soon. What brings you here?"

Now I was prepared to warn Miss Carlyon and her lady friends of danger, but I had no intention of giving information to a stranger of the movements of the British army. I felt myself placed at once in a dilemma. I need have had no scruples on the subject, as the enemy often knew as much about the matter as anybody else. I hesitated before replying.

"I came to give some information to Colonel Carlyon, on which I expected that he and his daughter only would act," I answered. "I have never met Colonel Carlyon. Do I see him now?"

"You do," said the officer to whom I had first spoken. "I am Colonel Carlyon, and I am glad to welcome you, sir, to thank you for the inestimable service you have more than once rendered those dearest to me. Whatever you have to communicate you may say freely before this gentleman, my most intimate friend."

Feeling that I might trust to them, I, without further delay, told them the object of my adventure.

"You have not come alone, though," he remarked, after thanking me cordially for the information I had given him.

I told him that O'Driscoll and Rockets were waiting for me at the boat. He insisted on sending for them, and in a very short time they made their appearance, and while the negro took care of my follower, we were soon pleasantly seated at supper. I, as may be supposed, was hoping that I might have an opportunity of seeing Madeline. At last I mustered courage to ask for her. Her father hesitated, I thought, before he replied. At length he said—

"Yes, she will indeed wish to thank you personally for the risk you have run, and the exertion you have made for her sake; but I know not whether your meeting can be productive of advantage to either of you. A wide gulf separates one from the other. I know not how it can be crossed. I would rather, sir, that you would not insist on this interview."

He spoke, it seemed to me, in a stiff and constrained manner. I could only repeat what I had before said to Madeline. "This war must before long come to an end, and then I will come and claim her for my wife," I answered boldly.

"Well spoken, sir," said Mr Sutton, turning to me. "With my opinions, I can only regret that you have to wait till the war is terminated. I can answer for it that Madeline would not forgive us if we sent you away without letting you see her. When you have finished supper, if you go into the drawing-room, you will probably find her there."

My heart gave a jump, and as to putting another mouthful down my throat I found it impossible. I got up and hurried into the room I had before met her in. She was there. The old negro had taken good care to tell her of my arrival. I will not describe our meeting, and all we said, and the hopes we indulged in. I was amply repaid for what I had done for her sake. Her father and Mr Sutton were, I found, about to start on some expedition, but the news I brought them made them alter their plans. The time too soon arrived that I must take my departure. It was with a pang I left her, not knowing when the uncertain chances of war would again allow us to meet.

"Remember, should you ever desire to quit the standard you now serve under, you will be welcomed in a land of freedom, and we shall not expect you to turn your arms against your former comrades," said Mr Sutton, as he wished me farewell.

I felt very much inclined to quarrel with him for the remark. It sounded strangely like asking me to turn traitor to my country, and I was glad that Colonel Carlyon did not repeat the remarks of his friend. We left the family about to prepare for their departure in the morning, while we returned to the river. O'Driscoll said nothing till we had once more taken our seats in the boat, and then he expressed his disappointment at what he called the tameness of the result of our expedition.

"Arrah, now, I thought we should have had some little fun at all events," he exclaimed. "I was waiting to see you appear with the lady in your arms, and to have the old colonel with his pistols popping away after us while we were pulling like fury for life and liberty down the river; and after all to have it end in a quiet pleasant supper, and some matter-of-fact conversation, is very provoking. However, your friends gave us some capital Burgundy, and that is some consolation."

In this strain the eccentric Hibernian ran on till I had to hint that it would be wiser not to speak, lest we might be overheard by any of the enemy. He then told me that Colonel Carlyon and Mr Sutton had given him a pass that, should we fall in with any of their party, we might not be stopped. We, however, proceeded as cautiously as before, for we had no wish that our expedition should become known. We got as far as Mackey's Mills without meeting with any adventure. As before, we gave it a wide berth, for we could hear the sound of voices, and it appeared evidently occupied by a body of men. However, as long as they all kept talking together they were less likely to discover us. We paddled, therefore, quickly and cautiously on, but without any apprehension of being found out. We had almost lost sight of the mill, and were congratulating ourselves on getting clear altogether, when the stillness of the night was broken by a loud sharp voice exclaiming—

"There they go! Give it them, lads, give it them! After them, after them!"

The next moment a sharp fire of musketry was opened on us, the flashes, however, showing that we had passed the spot where our enemies were posted. The balls, however, fell round us unpleasantly thick. Then again there was another volley, and, by the flash of the pieces, we could see a number of men hurrying into a boat, with, we had no doubt, the intention of pursuing us. Our skiff pulled well. O'Driscoll and Rockets, who were rowing, bent manfully to their oars. Away we flew over the water, and though the troops on the shore still continued to fire, the bullets happily flew wide of us. We had a good start of the pursuing boat. From the glimpse we got of her she was of some size, but if, as we hoped, she was heavy in proportion to her size, that would be in our favour. At all events, all we could do was to pull away with all our might, and to keep a straight course down the river. We could hear the shouts of our pursuers, and of the people hailing them from the shore. They only induced us to make greater exertions to keep ahead of them. On we dashed. In a short time we felt sure that we were already distancing them. Their voices grew fainter and fainter. We got into the broad part of the river. We had now another chance of escape. Should they be overtaking us, we might slip on one side, and in the darkness and eagerness of the chase they would probably pass by without observing us. Still that was not our wish. We wanted to get out of the river without being questioned. On we went, till we could neither see nor hear anything of our pursuers. At last a few lights here and there of some midnight watchers were seen glimmering from the town of Nansimond. We glided by it. We reached the mouth of the river, and not till then did we slacken our speed. I then relieved O'Driscoll at the oar. I was duly grateful for the exertions he had made for me, but I evidently did not hold a high place in his estimation.

"Ah, you English boys don't understand how to do things!" he observed, with a sigh. "In ould Ireland we'd have managed an affair of the sort very differently."

Just at daylight we got on board our ship—I, at all events, being very well contented with the result of our expedition. I afterwards heard that the Americans stated that they had pursued and chased a large British flotilla out of the river with only a couple of boats, and that we had lost twenty men in killed and wounded. From so slight a source does many a tale of wonder spring.



CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

OPERATIONS UNDER COLONEL SIMCOE.—SENT TO MACKEY'S MILLS.—MY FRIEND'S HOUSE SACKED.—COLONEL CARLYON TAKEN PRISONER.—RENDER HIM A SERVICE.— TROOPS EMBARK AT NIGHT.—MY LOYALTY QUESTIONED.—MILLS BURNT.—IN COMMAND OF RATTLESNAKE.—SAIL WITH PRIZES.—A WINTRY VOYAGE.—NEW YORK ONCE MORE.—SERVE ON BOARD CHATHAM.—MISMANAGEMENT OF THE WAR.—REJOIN CHARON.

I must endeavour to get on more rapidly than heretofore with my account of public matters. On the 18th of January the British army marched from Smithfield southward, and the squadron moved down to Newportneuse. Among the most active of the English officers was Colonel Simcoe. On the 16th he surprised and took prisoners an American officer of militia and fifteen privates. From the report I heard I was much in fear that Colonel Carlyon was the officer taken, but I had no means of ascertaining whether or not such was the case. At all events, I hoped that his daughter was in a place of safety.

On the 18th the army reached Mackey's Mills, and I received orders to proceed with a detachment of boats to supply them with bread and other provisions. I hoped now to gain the information I was so anxious to possess. Our present expedition was very different to those in which I had before been engaged. We now went up in daylight, with a force which no enemy was likely to attack. Mackey's Mills were reached soon after noon, and when I had delivered the provisions I was ordered to remain to assist in passing the troops across the river on their way to the attack of Portsmouth. The embarkation was not to take place till midnight, so I had ample time to go up the river to ascertain whether the house where Madeline had been residing had been attacked. O'Driscoll was ready enough to accompany me, to give me, as he observed, one chance more of doing the proper thing; but, before I went, I was anxious to ascertain whether Colonel Carlyon had indeed fallen into our hands. I had, at the same time, no reason to fear that he would be treated harshly or with want of courtesy. Only, if he was a prisoner, I naturally wished to see him, that I might offer him all the assistance in my power. Going on shore, after some difficulty I found out Colonel Simcoe's quarters at a farm-house a mile away from the mills. I introduced myself to him, and told him my errand—that I was acquainted with Colonel Carlyon's family, and that I wished to be of service to him. He replied that the officer he had taken had refused to give his name and rank to the party who had captured him.

"I understood that he and his men were surprised," I remarked.

"Not at all," was the answer. "He was apparently covering the retreat of another party who appeared to have some women and other encumbrances among them. To do the rebel gentleman justice, he fought very bravely, and did not yield till he was completely overpowered."

I begged that I might see the prisoner, and, after some little hesitation on the part of the colonel, he handed me the necessary order. Thanking him for his courtesy, I set off for the cottage used as a prison. It was situated a quarter of a mile nearer the mills. A strong guard was posted in the neighbourhood, and a couple of sentries paced up and down before it. I showed my order to the lieutenant in charge of the party and was at once admitted. I looked round the chamber. Near a casement window, seated on a rough stool, with a cask serving as a table, I beheld Colonel Carlyon. He turned his head when I entered, and I thought that his countenance brightened when he saw me. He rose and held out his hand.

"I regret, sir, to see you here as a prisoner," said I. "Hearing that an officer had been captured, I hastened, should it prove to be you, to offer such services as I am able to render."

"The fortune of war, Mr Hurry. I may be thankful that I have escaped wounds or death," he answered in a cheerful tone. "Believe me, I am grateful to you for this attention, and I only wish that I had the means of showing my gratitude."

He, of course, well knew that he might some day have the power of showing it most effectually. My first inquiry was, of course, respecting the safety of his daughter, and he assured me that he had every reason to believe that she and her companions had reached the house of some relations in the interior, and that he should have accompanied them had he not been so hotly pursued by Colonel Simcoe's persevering and lightly-accoutred troops. When he heard that I had made preparations to go up to Mrs Langton's house he exclaimed—

"You may render me a great service by so doing. In the hurry of our departure, in consequence of your warning, a small desk was left behind. It contains not only money and jewels of considerable value, but some papers of the greatest importance. I had but just discovered my loss when I was taken prisoner, and the only person I could have entrusted to go in search of it was killed in the same skirmish in which I became a prisoner."

I naturally was much pleased with this opportunity of rendering a service to Colonel Carlyon. I had but little time, however, left in which to perform it. After he had explained to me in what part of the house I was to look for the desk, I took my departure and hastened back to the river, where I found O'Driscoll with Rockets and two other men waiting for me. The tide was favourable, so that we had no difficulty in getting there. The scenery wore so different an aspect by daylight to what it had done in the dark that we could scarcely recognise the spots we passed. We landed and approached the house. There, indeed, was a melancholy change. The shrubberies had been cut down, the garden trampled under foot, and the house itself plundered and set on fire—I think by accident—I scarcely believe it could have been done wantonly. I began to fear, when I saw what had occurred, that I must give up all hopes of finding the desk of which I was in search. O'Driscoll and I felt very indignant when we saw the destruction which had been wrought by our troops.

"Well, after all, war is a dirty business!" he exclaimed, after contemplating the scene of ruin for some minutes without speaking. "Fighting in the open field, where hard blows are given and taken, and man meets man on equal terms, is all very well in its way. I don't object to sacking a town which holds out when it should have given in, but the burning down of old ladies' houses, and injuring the property of people who could not have caused any offence, I cannot stand. I should like now to discover the officer who was commanding here and allowed this. I would pick a quarrel with him and call him out to a certainty."

My friend had certainly curious notions, not uncommon among his countrymen in these days. Sad, indeed, was the scene of havoc and destruction which met our gaze on every side, not only about the house, but in the fields and cottages in the surrounding country—war's melancholy consequences. We had no time to contemplate it.

"Come, O'Driscoll," said I, "we will search through the ruins for my friend's case, but I scarcely expect to find it."

"Something like looking for a needle in a rick of hay," he answered; "or, rather, far more hopeless, for it is very unlikely that the case should have escaped being burnt or carried off."

O'Driscoll, Rockets and I hunted in different directions. I first endeavoured to find the room which Colonel Carlyon had described to me. That portion of the house had not suffered so much as the rest; most of the flooring of the room was burnt, but the fire had been extinguished before the whole had been consumed. I climbed up to it, not without risk, for the burnt rafters gave way under my feet. I knew the room from the position of the window, which looked into a little courtyard. A portion of the furniture had escaped, though blackened and disfigured. My hopes revived as to finding the desk. I hunted eagerly round. It was too evident that everything considered of value had been carried away. I was about to scramble down again by the way we had come up when I bethought me of looking out of the window for the enjoyment of the prospect, which was a very beautiful one. Woods, fields, the terraced garden, distant hills, and the river rushing by were well combined to form it. As I looked out, my eye fell on a heap of rubbish in one corner of the courtyard, with burnt and broken pieces of furniture, and I fancied that I saw the edge of such a case as I was in search of sticking out from among them. I quickly descended and found my way to the spot. I eagerly pulled out the object I had seen. It was a peculiarly old-fashioned, unattractive-looking case, and from its outward appearance no one would have supposed that it contained objects of value. I felt sure that I was right, and that I had got the object I was seeking. I sang out to O'Driscoll, who after a little time heard my voice and was delighted at my good fortune. Calling Rockets, we then hurried back to the boat. There was no time to be lost, for night was coming on; we had a long pull before us, and I was anxious to deliver the case to Colonel Carlyon without delay. After this I had to assist in getting the boats ready for the embarkation of the troops. Away we pulled. O'Driscoll was in high feather, laughing and joking to his heart's content.

"You're in a fair way now, at all events, to win the lady, my boy," said he. "Only just keep moving, and put yourself under my guidance. We must soon knock this rebellion on the head, and then, do ye see, you can step in and be of still greater service to the father and the family, and claim your reward. Oh! it's beautiful. I see it all now as clear as a pikestaff."

Certainly, we neither of us at the time thought what a different turn affairs were to take from what he was then calculating on. Yet, I must own, I had even then my misgivings on the subject. As soon as we landed, I hurried as fast as my legs could carry me to the cottage where Colonel Carlyon was kept a prisoner. His satisfaction was very great when I delivered the case to him, and the way in which he expressed his gratitude was manly and cordial in the extreme.

"It is useless for a prisoner to make promises, which, should your party finally triumph, he may never be able to fulfil," he observed with a grave look. "In the latter case, those taken with arms in their hands may be hung, drawn and quartered as traitors, in accordance with the time-honoured custom of our fathers. If the patriots are victorious, the prisoners will be liberated with all the honours which can be showered on them, and I may have the satisfaction of proving that I am not ungrateful for what you have done for me and mine."

I found some difficulty in answering properly to these remarks. I could not say that I wished the royal cause not to succeed, and yet I certainly did not desire to see the Americans completely defeated and humbled. I therefore said—

"I trust that a peace, honourable to both parties, may ere long be established, and that the Americans may gain to the full what they consider their just rights."

"That will never be unless victory smiles on our arms," he replied with a faint smile. "We must conquer to obtain our rights. What has hitherto been denied will never be otherwise granted."

I looked at my watch. I found that I must hasten back to the boats.

"Farewell, sir!" I said. "I have duties to which I must attend at present, but I will endeavour, if possible, to see you again before I return to my ship."

"Stay one moment," said he; "I would ask you to ascertain from our friends at Hampton if they have received positive information as to the safety of my daughter and her relatives. When you gain it send me word, and you will add to the weight of the debt of gratitude I already owe you."

He said this in a stiff way, as if unwilling to give me the task. This I thought but natural. Though I was conferring obligations on him, my position as a poor lieutenant was unaltered, and I knew that he could not desire to entrust his daughter's happiness to my charge, even should peace be established. It was almost the hour appointed for the embarkation of the troops when I got down to the river. So well had our arrangements been made, that I doubt whether the enemy knew what we were about. There is something particularly exciting and wild in the movement of a large body of armed men at night. I could not help remarking the scene in which I was taking so active a part. Rapidly flowed by the dark river; boats crowded with men and horses were continually passing, while others were returning empty for a further supply; people with torches were stationed on both banks of the river, to enable the soldiers, as they came down, to take their proper places in the boats, the lights from the flaming brands throwing a ruddy glare over the stream, and making the tall buildings of the mills stand out prominently from the dark forest in the background. All night long the work was going on, for it was a slow process to get across horses, artillery and ammunition, provisions and baggage. The first thing in the morning, after his men had rested but a couple of hours, the indefatigable Colonel Simcoe set off towards Portsmouth to summon the town to surrender. At 2 p.m. the army began their march, and arrived before the place the following day, when the inhabitants, finding that resistance was useless, surrendered at discretion. I endeavoured to ascertain where Colonel Carlyon and the other prisoners had been placed, but was unable to discover any clue to their place of imprisonment. As soon as the rear of the army was out of sight, all the officers commanding boats assembled on board a brig, which had been captured in the Nansimond river, previous to returning to our ships. It was with much regret that I heard it proposed to burn Mackey's Mills, and to ravage the country round, in consequence of the attack which had been made on our boats. I opposed the suggestion with all my might. I said that I thought it a wanton destruction of property, that would in no way advance our cause, and would certainly exasperate the sufferers against us. Not only were my counsels disregarded, but several remarks were made hinting pretty broadly that I was too friendly disposed towards the enemy. I had to stand a severe fire from several of my brother-officers. Some, among whom was O'Driscoll, began to joke, and I took it very ill from him, as he knew the depth of my sentiments, and I considered his conduct a breach of confidence. Others went on from joking to make more serious remarks, which I felt reflected on my honour, so much so that I rose up and declared that if another observation of the sort was ventured on by any present, I must insist on settling the matter at another time and place. Some held their peace after this, but some continued to talk of officers showing lukewarmness and want of loyalty to the king's cause, and to declare that such had better declare themselves to be the rebels they were at heart.

The last man who spoke was a Lieutenant Dawson. I was surprised that he should venture to speak thus, for he was a man of whose spirit or courage I had but a mean opinion. My impulse was to throw a pocket-pistol I seized hold of across the table at his head, but I restrained my anger. Though he was my junior in the service, we were engaged on public duty together, and, under these circumstances, it was a serious matter for one officer to strike another, even in those days.

"Mr Dawson, you must know what you say is false, sir," I exclaimed. "Can any one here say that I have been slack in my duty—that I have ever shown the white feather—that I have ever done anything derogatory to the character of an officer and a gentleman? If no one here condemns me—then, sir, I shall make you eat your words, and acknowledge that the insinuations on which you have ventured were most foul and unjust."

No one spoke. Dawson looked confounded.

"No one condemns me," I added. "That is well; but will no one speak in my favour—will no one say that, to the best of his knowledge, I have never failed in my duty, or acted otherwise than as a British officer ought to act?"

"In faith, Hurry, I'll speak in your favour, my boy, and gladly too," cried O'Driscoll, with all the enthusiasm of which his warm heart was capable. "If every one fought as well, and did their duty as completely as you do, we should have had this war over long ago—that's my belief; and small blame to you if you think a pair of bright eyes in this western hemisphere brighter than any to be found in the old country; besides, you've never been in my part of Ireland, or you might be of a different opinion. Now, gentlemen, if any one has anything to say against Mr Hurry, then let him say it to me. I'll settle the matter for him."

This diversion of O'Driscoll's completely silenced all opposition to me, and Dawson, not wishing to come into a personal conflict with my hot-headed though warm-hearted Irish friend, slunk out of the cabin.

I was, however, left in a decided minority with respect to an attack on the mills, which it was determined forthwith to destroy. I was of course under the orders of the commanding officer of the brigade of boats, who happened to be Lieutenant Edwards, first of the Charon, so that I had no choice but to obey. As soon as our crews had taken some refreshment we pulled away in battle array for the mills. A few irregulars and armed peasantry, who had entered the place when the army had quitted it, were speedily put to flight when we landed. Piles of brushwood were collected and heaped up inside the building in different parts of it. Fire was set to them, and rapidly the flames burst forth, and, catching the dry wood-work of the mills, were soon seen climbing up from storey to storey, twisting themselves in and out of the windows, and encircling the beams and rafters in their deadly embrace. I never saw any building so rapidly consumed. Higher and higher rose the devouring flames; down came tumbling the roof and lofty walls; with loud crashes the floors fell in; showers of bright sparks flew on every side, and nothing but a mass of burning ruins—a huge bonfire—remained before us. The men shouted when they saw the destruction they had caused, like mischievous schoolboys. They little thought or cared to whom the property belonged, or who were the sufferers. They would just as readily have burnt it had it belonged to royalists. They enjoyed the sight of the conflagration—the effects of their own handiwork. Many of the officers, too, shouted and clapped their hands, and seemed to take as much pleasure in the mischief they were producing as the men; but this might have been a mere exhibition of their loyalty and patriotism. Having thus effectually destroyed the mills, our commanding officer ordered us to march into the interior to forage, or, in other words, to plunder any farms the army had spared, and to commit any other acts of mischief the time would allow. I need not enter into particulars. Cattle we spared, as we could not carry them off, but we collected sheep and pigs and fowls wherever we could find them. To this, of course, I could not object, as provisions were necessary; but at length we came to the house of a gentleman—a colonel of militia we were told—and, though no defence of it was attempted, it was proposed to burn it to the ground. Against this further wanton destruction of property I loudly protested—

"It has lately been said that I am a friend of the rebels," I exclaimed. "That I deny; but I do not deny that I am ashamed to see my countrymen destroy the property of people who make no resistance, and who are Englishmen as much as we are. Such conduct can only cause a bitter hatred to spring up in the breasts of the sufferers, which will make them refuse ever again to become our fellow-subjects and friends."

Mr Edwards did not at all like my interference; but my remonstrance had an effect, and though he allowed the house to be plundered, and the furniture to be destroyed, he soon after ordered a retreat, observing that he could not depend on my co-operation or assistance. The owner of the house, as it turned out, was in the neighbourhood, with a considerable body of men, and he very nearly succeeded in inflicting a severe retaliation on us by surprising and cutting off our party. However, we discovered his approach in time to get into order, and, though he and his men followed us for some way, we kept him at bay, and reached the river without loss. Lieutenant Edwards at once returned on board our ship in the Charon's barge, leaving me in command of the boats—directing me to land and forage at any convenient spot towards the mouth of the river. Here again, however much against my inclination, I must obey orders. We had observed a large farm a little above the town of Nansimond. As we proceeded down the river we suddenly pulled in towards the shore. Sixty men, without a moment's delay, ran on and surrounded the farm before the inmates had time to drive away any of the stock, or, indeed, had perceived our approach. We soon collected everything eatable on which we could lay hands, and were in our boats and away again before any force had time to assemble from the neighbourhood to attack us. Such was the system of warfare which I believe General Arnold recommended and encouraged—the most galling and injurious to the unhappy colonists. We got on board our ships by midnight, with provisions sufficient to supply all the ships' companies for a couple of days.

The Rattlesnake, a ship pierced for fourteen guns, but mounting ten three-pounders and six swivels, had been captured at Portsmouth, and the next morning I received orders to take command of her, to fit her for sea, and to hold myself in readiness to proceed with charge of all the rest of the prizes to New York.

The army was at this period employed in throwing up works for the defence of Portsmouth, and in making excursions into the surrounding country to crush, it was said in the despatches, any embers of rebellion which might yet be smouldering there. As I have before remarked, the way taken to produce the desired result was anything but effectual. I was very nearly being deprived of my new command in a somewhat summary way by the sinking of my vessel. A terrifically heavy gale of wind sprang up on the night of the 21st, and first driving one of the larger prizes foul of her, which carried away my fore and cross-jack yards, fore channels, both quarters and best bower-anchor, (such a grinding and crushing and crashing I never before got on board any craft); scarcely was she clear when another craft came thundering down aboard of me, and very nearly completed the work which the other had commenced. However, I did manage to swim while several other vessels drove on shore and were, with all their crews, lost. For several days after that I was employed in refitting my ship for sea.

On the 25th I proceeded with my convoy of prizes to Portsmouth, and when there, General Arnold sent for me and informed me that the commodore had assured him I should immediately sail in the Rattlesnake for New York with despatches for Sir Henry Clinton. After he had handed me his despatches I took my departure. He informed me of their contents that, should I be compelled to throw them overboard, I might be able to give a verbal report to Sir Henry of the wants of the army. Those wants were not a few. More guns, ammunition, food and clothing,—all were required.

On reaching Sewel's Point, where I brought up to receive the commodore's despatches, I was surprised to receive an order to return immediately and to give back those entrusted to me by General Arnold. This order originated, I afterwards discovered, in consequence of some unaccountable disagreement which had arisen between the general and the admiral. General Arnold said nothing when I gave him back his despatches, but he looked not a little angry and astonished. When the heads fell out it is not surprising that want of success was the result of their undertakings. My journal is full of various little incidents which happened at this time. The Charlestown and Hope captured in the Chesapeake a rich fleet of eight rebel merchantmen bound for the Havannah. The lieutenant of the Swift was made prisoner in consequence of an illegal use of a flag of truce. Several officers and men were blown up when chasing a rebel brig, and an artillery officer, heading a foraging party, was killed. The squadron was kept on the alert by an account brought by the General Monk sloop-of-war of a French ship of the line and two frigates having sailed from Rhode Island, it was supposed, for the Chesapeake.

Once more, on the 31st, the old Charon, during a heavy gale of wind, drove on shore, but by great and prompt exertion was got off. To keep her in countenance, when on the 5th of February I sailed with my prizes under convoy of the Charlestown for New York, on going down the West Branch I also got on shore, but succeeded in quickly getting off again. I had no little trouble in keeping the prizes in order. The Americans left on board one of them persuaded the people to side with them, and they ran her on shore, purposing to give her up to the rebels. I went in chase of her, fired several shots into her, and then, manning one of my boats, boarded her, captured her crew, who had been unable to escape, and got her off, made sail with my recaptured prize, and rejoined the fleet at midnight, when I put the mutineers on board the Charlestown, to be dealt with according to martial law.

On the 11th, at night, finding the "Langolee," one of my prizes, some distance astern, and suspecting that she was about to give us the slip, I dropped astern, and, taking her in tow, brought her into the middle of the fleet. At midnight, however, a heavy gust of wind compelled me to cut the hawser and clap before it. With the small crew I had I found no little difficulty in handing my sails, which, after some time having done, I struck topgallant yards and masts and lay-to under a close-reefed mainsail. Once having made the ship snug I endeavoured to discover the whereabouts of the rest of the convoy, but not a trace of them could I discover. I hoped, however, with the morning light to make them out. When the cold-grey dawn spread over the ocean and I went aloft not a sail was in sight.

"This is no great misfortune," said I to Grampus when I came on deck. "The Rattlesnake is a prime sailer, and by taking advantage of the winds we shall reach New York much sooner than if we had been obliged to whip up the convoy. We are a match, too, for any of the smaller rebel vessels we are likely to fall in with, and we must run away from the bigger ones."

"That may be, sir," answered the old man, "but d'ye see, sir, I've no great opinion of this here craft if it was to come on any long course of bad weather. I've a notion she's an old craft, and I doubt much the soundness of her timbers and planks."

I was rather inclined to laugh at Nol's prognostication, and thought no more about his remarks. Before, however, many hours had passed, the gale, which had hitherto been blowing pretty steadily, increased in fury; the sea ran very high, and the spray, as it broke on board, froze hard on deck and sheathed the rigging in ice. When short-handed this is very trying, as double the strength is required to make the running rigging work. Happily we were under snug canvas, for I do not think we could have made or shortened sail. Towards evening Grampus came up to me with a look of concern in his countenance.

"I told you so, sir," he said, touching his hat. "The old ship has sprung a leak. She has not lost time in letting in the water, for there are four feet already in the hold."

Immediately on hearing this appalling news I gave orders to man the pumps, but it was at once found, to our further dismay, that they were useless, for they were choked with ice. Since the gale sprang up we had been unable to light a fire. In vain for a long time we tried. Without boiling water or a hot iron it was impossible to clear the pumps. The water was rapidly gaining on us. There seemed every probability of the ship sinking under our feet. Such has been the fate of many poor fellows—to have gone down in a cold, icy sea, hope and help far away. Such was the risk I had often before run, but never before had the expectation of it been brought so prominently before me. Never before had I, it seemed, so much to lose. Never so much to which to look forward with hope. Our efforts to light the fire became more and more frantic. At last I bethought me of applying salt to the ice in the pumps. We fortunately had a good supply of it on board. By forcing the salt down with a long iron the ice was melted, and the pumps at length got to act. Frantically we pumped away with our two pumps. We sounded the well; the water had decreased. This gave us courage to continue our exertions. At length we were able to keep the ship free. Still the gale continued, and I had my apprehensions, from the condition of the ship, that another leak might yet be sprung and all our efforts prove vain. Even a winter gale of wind in those latitudes off the American coast must come to an end, and this, by the morning of the 5th, sufficiently abated to allow me to set the fore and main stay-sails. I then stood towards the land. At noon Rockets came into my cabin, where I had gone to snatch a few minutes' sleep, and reported a ship and two schooners in sight.

"An enemy, I'll warrant," I said to myself testily. "I shall be driven out to sea again, or perhaps, after all, fall into their hands."

Still I stood towards them, ready to make all sail to escape should my suspicions be realised. I could not make them out. When I got within signalising distance I made the private signal, and great was my satisfaction to find in answer that the ship was the Charlestown, and the schooners two of the convoy.

The next day we made the high land of Neversink, and that evening reached the entrance of New York harbour. It was with the greatest difficulty, however, that we could work our way into it, so full was it of floating ice, through which it was often scarcely possible to steer. The other prizes which had parted company with me in the gale arrived all safe three days afterwards. The accommodations of one of the prizes, the Charity Brig, being much superior to those of the Rattlesnake, I took up my quarters on board her. I invited also some of the more gentlemanly and pleasant of the midshipmen to live on board her also, so that we were able to form an agreeable society among ourselves. At New York there was none in which we could mix with any satisfaction. Whenever I went on shore I did not fail to visit the house of my old Dutch friend, the widow Von Tromp. It was already so crowded with soldier officers that I could not live there altogether, had I been so disposed, but in truth I preferred remaining on board ship with my brother-officers. As I was allowed a guinea a day for my table I was able to live in comparative luxury and comfort.

On the 10th we began to discharge our prizes, which were loaded with tobacco. On clearing the Rattlesnake I had indeed reason to be thankful that I and those who had been with me on board were still in the land of the living. Her entire bottom was completely rotten, and all who saw her were astonished that she had made the passage from Portsmouth to New York. It seemed a miracle that the water had been kept out of her. Her whole bottom had to be replanked before she was again fit to put to sea. This is only one of the numberless escapes from destruction which I have had during my life.

The widow Von Tromp was delighted to see me, and especially interested in all I had to tell her. I was amused with her notions about the war. Her sympathies were evidently with the American party, but at present she assuredly reaped no small profit from the custom which the military brought to her house. She tried sore to reconcile the two opinions—she wished well to the patriots, and yet she was in no hurry to see the war brought to an end. Often since have I seen people on more serious matters halting between two opinions.

"Ah me, Mr Hurry, I wish the war were ended and my dear friends from the south would come back, but den dees nice young officers all go away and I see dem no more! Oh, it is vary sad, vary sad!" she used to exclaim, after descanting on the liberality of her guests. "But den you come back, Mr Hurry; member dat. You always come and see de widow Von Tromp."

Of course I promised, and intended faithfully to fulfil my promise, little dreaming at that time the course which events would take.

Having discharged faithfully and, as I hoped, to the satisfaction of all concerned, the duty on which I had been sent, I requested the commanding officer of the port that he would enable me and my people to return to the Charon by the first opportunity. Just as I had done so I called on board the Chatham, now commanded by my old friend Captain Hudson, with whom I sailed in the Orpheus. He received me most kindly, and informing me that two of his lieutenants were sick in the hospital, requested that I would perform the duty of first lieutenant on board till I could rejoin my own ship. Anxious as I was, for private reasons, to get to the south, I could not refuse his request. I accordingly at once went on board with my people and commenced the duty of first lieutenant, and pretty hard duty it was; but it is a satisfaction to me to feel that I never refused, during the whole course of my naval career, any duty offered me, however hard or irksome it might have promised to be.

On the 18th of March we sailed from Sandy Hook for the southward, having under our orders the following fleet, viz. Chatham, Roebuck, Raleigh, Bonetta, Savage, Halifax, Vulcan, fire-ship, with a number of transports, which had on board two thousand troops under the command of General Phillips, who had not long before been released by a cartel concluded a few months previously with the enemy. We were going, I found, to the assistance of General Arnold, who was under very serious apprehensions of being overwhelmed by a French fleet with an expedition on board, which it was supposed had sailed from Rhode Island to attack him.

On the 18th we spoke the Pearl and Iris, from which ships we learned that an action had been fought a few days before between the British fleet, under Admiral Arbuthnot, and the French fleet from Rhode Island. Although pretty fairly matched as to numbers the general opinion was that the English ships should have done much more than they did. They drove back the French and prevented them from reaching the Chesapeake before our arrival, but not a Frenchman was sunk or taken, whereas I believe that Admiral Arbuthnot might have followed, cut up, and dispersed the whole French squadron had he possessed the spirit which should animate the bosom of every officer in the service. His only excuse was that some of the ships under his command had suffered in the late hurricane, and that the crews were worn out in their exertions to repair damages and put again to sea. I would gladly see the accounts of such engagements expunged from the annals of English history.

We arrived at Lynhaven Bay in the Chesapeake on the 28th, and found Admiral Arbuthnot's squadron lying there repairing the damages of the late action. On the next day I rejoined the Charon, having been absent from her nine weeks. I was now in hopes of being able to get on shore to make inquiries for Colonel Carlyon and his daughter, but as I found that we were every moment expecting to sail in search of the French fleet I was compelled to restrain my impatience and to endure as I best could all the anxiety I felt about them.



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

A CRUISE.—LEAVE THE CHESAPEAKE.—NEW YORK.—PRESS-GANGS AT WORK.—CRUEL SCENES.—EVIL TIDINGS FROM HOME.—BRITISH TAKE POSSESSION OF YORK TOWN.—PREPARATIONS FOR DEFENCE.—A DANGEROUS TRIP.—MORE LOSSES—A NARROW ESCAPE.—SLIGHT HOPES OF SUCCESS.

At this period of the American war both parties seemed so equally balanced that it appeared doubtful which after all would come off successful in the contest. The superior discipline of the British, and the experience and talent of their generals, had frequently obtained for them the victory in the expeditions which had of late been undertaken. General Arnold's plans had hitherto never failed in Virginia. Lord Rawdon had obtained a considerable advantage over General Greene in South Carolina, while it was hoped, from the bravery and talent of Lord Cornwallis, that he would carry everything before him in North Carolina. He had been posted at Wilmington in the southern part of that province. His supplies however failing, he took the bold resolution of marching through North Carolina to join Generals Phillips and Arnold at Portsmouth. Sir James Wright held the town of Savannah in Georgia, and Colonel Cruger the important post of Ninety-six in South Carolina. New York and the country in the immediate neighbourhood was in possession of the British, and at that city Sir Henry Clinton, as Commander-in-chief of the British Army in North America, held his head-quarters.

The British forces however, it will thus be seen, were broken into small divisions and stationed at posts so much apart as to be of little mutual assistance. The war thus raged pretty equally in South Carolina, North Carolina, and Virginia, and while the force seemed everywhere sufficient for destroying considerable tracts of country, and accumulating a great deal of spoil, it was wholly inadequate to the main purpose of bringing matters to a conclusion. Thus numbers of brave men lost their lives without any equivalent result, and veteran battalions were worn down by fruitless exertions of valour, and by a series of most brilliant successes which produced no permanent result. On the other hand, although the French had landed a small army under the Marquis de la Fayette, the American forces were mostly ill-disciplined and disorganised, and although it cannot be said that they were favourable to the English, they were discontented with the treatment they were receiving from their own government, many of them being ill-paid, ill-clothed, and often but scantily fed. The unsuccessful attempt of the French fleet to enter the Chesapeake was also a great damper to the patriot cause.

At this time the American forces were separated into as many divisions as the English. General Greene commanded in the Carolinas, the Marquis de la Fayette was in Virginia, and watched the banks of the James River, to prevent the further advance of the British in that direction, while General Washington himself remained with another army in the north, his head-quarters being Newport in Rhode Island. Soon after this General Phillips died, and General Arnold, greatly to the disgust of our officers, who did not at all like serving under him, would have had the command, had not Lord Cornwallis arrived with his army from the south at Portsmouth.

Such was the state of affairs on shore. At sea the British arms were in most instances victorious. While the Marquis de la Fayette was hovering about General Arnold in the hopes of cutting him off by land, the French expedition to the Chesapeake, concerted at Rhode Island by Monsieur de Ternay and the Count Rochambeau was, as I have described, defeated by the fleet of Admiral Arbuthnot. The British also were collecting a large fleet to be ready to encounter one which was expected on the coast of America from the West Indies under the Count de Grasse.

The war was no longer confined to one between England and her revolted colonies, but we had now the French, Spaniards, and Dutch to contend with on various parts of the American coasts, and mighty fleets were collecting to contest with us as of yore the sovereignty of the seas. I, for one, looked forward with the greatest satisfaction to an engagement with either the Spaniards or the French, the hereditary enemies of England. I regretted at the same time that the Americans had adopted the dangerous expedient of calling in their assistance. If they were to be free, I felt that it would be better for them to achieve their independence by themselves, instead of trusting to those who were too likely to play them some treacherous trick in the end. I felt, however, that our own Government was more likely to come to terms considering the immense pressure brought against the country if the Americans would be but moderate in their demands.