“Who?” Dan asked.
“David Daggett,” the lieutenant replied, and then told of the old man’s visit and his wish that he might be burned at the stake.
“We saw him prowlin’ ’round the lean-to in the afternoon,” Dan explained, “an’ that’s what he was plannin’ for. You’ve hit the nail on the head, Ira—I mean Phil—this time.”
The rescued lad laughed.
“No more ‘Ira,’ please. It is ‘Phil’ for you always. I shall never forget this night’s work of yours, nor will my father and mother,” and his voice grew tremulous as he pronounced the last word.
Then they continued the flight. Possibly the glare of the fire through the trees chained the attention of the guards. At least, they gave no special heed to what was going on in the ravine below them, and the fugitives passed through it unchallenged. Once outside it was only necessary to walk rapidly for an hour, and they had arrived at the Continental camp.
General Schuyler met his son as one come from the dead, while Joe’s delight knew no bounds.
“I only wish I could have been thar to help in the rescue,” he said over and over again.
Even General Gates, when introduced to the young lieutenant, congratulated him on his escape, and said:
“I did not understand that the young Tory was held to secure your safety. Had I known it, he would not have been allowed to go free.”