Conversation was never to make, every one spoke as they listed, and as their prejudices or convictions led them. There was no Quentin Macpherson present, and opinions were as much individual property as purses. One day, toward the end of January, when the temperature was so low that the dining-table had been drawn close to the hearth, the usual party were sitting in the warmth and glow of its roaring fire. The dinner was over, the servants had left the room, Medway and Maria were picking their walnuts out together, and Major André and Neil Semple talking of a game of chess. Then Madame Jacobus drawing her gay Indian shawl closer around her, said suddenly, "Pray what is the news? Has nobody a mouthful of intelligence? Are we to wait for the Americans to make us something to talk about?"
"Indeed Madame," answered Maria, "we have not yet exhausted their night attack on the British troops encamped on Staten Island."
"They got nothing but five hundred sets of frozen hands and ears," said Major André.
"Oh, yes, they did, sir; blankets and food count for something these days," said Madame, "not to speak of the nine vessels destroyed at Decker's Ferry—and the prisoners."
"It was a dashing absurdity, Madame."
"With all my soul; yet I am glad, it was an American dashing absurdity."
"You should have seen Knyphausen when he heard of it," continued André. He pulled his whiskers savagely and said 'Egad! Damn! These Americans have the come-back-again, come-back-again, of the flies; to drive them off—it is impossible—they come-back-again.' We have, however, had our turn. Four nights ago, our troops entered Newark and Elizabeth and made a few reprisals, and then he began to hum:
"The New York rebs are fat,
But the Jersey rebs are fatter;
So we made an expedition,
And carried off the latter."
Medway laughed. "Madame," he said, "the Major was desperately dull last night, and I wondered at it. But, this morning, as you hear, he is delivered of his verse, and he is cheerful."
"Oh, if the war is degenerating into midnight robberies!" cried Madame, "why does not Washington come? What hinders him from at least trying to get into New York? I do believe if he simply stood on Broadway, he would draw three-fourths of the men in the city to him; why does he not try? It might end this dreadful war one way or the other, and people are beginning to be indifferent, which way. Why, in the name of wonder, does he not try?"