“They will reach here in an hour, at the farthest—you have no time to spare.”
“An hour—so, so! We shall see—they haven’t caught the fox yet! Where is Mr. Murray, Pomp?”
“Gone, massar; the commissioner rode off half an hour ago; said he wasn’t gwine to come back.”
“Confound him!” muttered Butler; “he’d be little help, I fancy. What shall you do, Sir John—no chance to stand a fight.”
“Fight—no! Curse them, they have left me neither arms nor ammunition; there’s nothing for it but to decamp in double-quick time, and take our revenge after.”
“Who has command?” asked Butler.
“Congress ordered General Schuyler to take measures, and he commissioned Colonel Dayton with the command of the expedition.”
“Which will prove a fruitless one, unless my lucky star has deserted me,” said the baronet. “Here, Pomp, I can trust you. Collect all the plate, and put it in the iron chest that stands in my office.”
“What are you going to do with it?” inquired Butler.
“Bury it deep, as I wish these infernal rebels were. You don’t think I intend to leave it for them, do you? Be alive Pomp; I’ll bring you the papers and valuables out of my chamber, and do the work yourself quietly, without saying a word to any one.”