He sat and stroked his chin, and deliberated. In his hand he held a letter, a letter without date or address or salutation. It had been brought to him that day by messenger from the city. He understood it perfectly.
He looked at it again.
"Knyphausen is in New Jersey," it read, "but, understanding Arnold is about to command the American Army in the field, Clinton will attack Washington at once. The bearer may be trusted.
"Anderson."
II
"It is either Westminster Abbey for me or the gallows," he remarked to his wife that evening when they were quite alone.
"You have no apprehensions, I hope."
"There's many a slip——" he quoted.
"Come! Be an optimist. You have set your heart on it. So be brave."
"I have never lacked courage. At Saratoga while that scapegoat Gates sulked in his tent, I burst from the camp on my big brown horse and rode like a madman to the head of Larned's brigade, my old command, and we took the hill. Fear? I never knew what the word meant. Dashing back to the center, I galloped up and down before the line. We charged twice, and the enemy broke and fled. Then I turned to the left and ordered West and Livingston with Morgan's corps to make a general assault along the line. Here we took the key to the enemy's position and there was nothing for them to do but to retreat. At the same instant one bullet killed my good brown horse under me and another entered my leg. But the battle had been won."