“Philadelphia, May 20, 1780.
“To Commander of American Outposts:
“The bearer of this passport, Mr. Pierre La Fitte, will be granted safe convoy and allowed to pass American outposts on his way to Fishkill.
“He has important business with the Commander-in-Chief, General Washington.
“(Signed) B. Arnold.
“Major-General & Com. at Phil.”
“All’s well, Mr. La Fitte,” came from the leader. “I spose you’re from the south’ard, and what news is there, sir?”
“No news, sir. What is the shortest road to Fishkill?” was the impatient answer of Barclugh.
“Methinks,” rejoined the leader, “that you are in a mighty haste. What be your profession, stranger?”
Drawing himself up to his full height, Barclugh replied:
“I am a financier.” Hoping thus to overawe the rustic soldiers.
“Ah, a financier, a financier, eh? Wal, you are the fust one that ever struck these parts. I guess you are too rare a bird to be travelling among our folks for no pains. I b’leeve we better pick your feathers a little and see what kinder skin you got!”
“Boys, if we scratch his skin we might find a Tartar, eh?” said the eldest of the three, and the other two laughed at his wit.
“Wal, I b’leeve if he’s a fi-an-cee man he oughter have a lackey or two along to black his boots,” said the second soldier as he nudged the leader in the ribs, “and powder his hair. Ha! ha! ha! Eh? boys?” continued the latter.
“Look here, you will be punished for these indignities, when I report you,” spoke up Barclugh, threateningly.