His plans he’d lay before his honored chief;
His single hand might turn the tide of war,
His country yet be free.
“Halt!” a British musket leveled at
His head dimmed all the visions of his soul.
A dash—an aimless shot; the spy bore down
Upon the picket with a blow that else
Had freed him from his clutch, but for a score
Of troopers stationed near. In vain the struggle fierce
And desperate—in vain demands to be released.