“It is greatly to your credit that you were courageous enough to refuse, Mr. Page,” he went on, taking, as I meant he should, my refusal for granted. And then, as if upon a premeditated thought: “Are you acquainted with Mr. Arnold?”
I said I was not; that my arm of the service, the horse, had never chanced to be under his command.
The commander-in-chief found a pen and quickly wrote me a note.
“Take that to Mr. Arnold,” he said almost graciously. “He lodges next door, and his hour is nine o’clock.” And, as I was bowing myself out: “Stay, Mr. Page; shall I give you an introduction to the pay-master?—for present necessities?”
I understood this to be an offer to pay, not for my allegiance, but for the information he had—or thought he had—of me, and I declined as delicately as I could, saying that a soldier’s wants were few, and that I had taken the precaution to provide for myself out of my private funds. This seemed to please him still more, and, on the whole, the Sir Henry Clinton who bade me an affable “Good morning” was greatly less alarming and formidable than had been the one who had gripped me so chillingly in his stony stare while Lieutenant Castner was presenting me.
Castner was waiting for me in the ante-room, as I found, but this time only to pass me beyond the sentry at the door. The fact that I was allowed to depart unhindered seemed to be a sufficient guaranty that I had satisfied his chief; but I owe it to the young aide to say that his manner to me now was neither more nor less cordial than it had been over the ham and eggs in our breakfast tavern.
Having thus crossed my Rubicon, and, as one may say, burned my boats behind me, the next thing was to find Champe and to put that ferocious patriot on a proper footing with me. But first I had to get rid of my uniform as a captain of Baylor’s Horse, and here Castner served me again, quite willingly, going with me to a shop north of the burned region and knocking the sleepy proprietor out of his morning nap to wait on me.
Though I had said that I did not know Arnold personally, I knew enough of him and of his foppish taste in dress to make me drive a gentleman’s bargain with the shop-keeper; and when I was arrayed like the lilies of the field in such ready-made finery as I could purchase, Castner looked me up and down approvingly, and swore it was a pity I had ever forsaken my proper garmenting to don the coarse homespun which we officers of Baylor’s Horse made it a point of honor to wear.
By the time my bargaining was done, it was too late to go in search of Champe if I were to take Sir Henry Clinton’s nine o’clock hint pointing to Arnold. So, rather against my better judgment, I faced southward with Castner again, giving our Judas the preference over the worthy sergeant-major—a mistake which was to carry heavier consequences than I ever dreamed could cluster upon so small a pin-point.