“A message from Mr. Robert Morris, at Philadelphia,” said Ben.
“I will take it to the general,” the other informed him.
“My message is by word of mouth,” said Ben, “and is, perhaps, of an urgent and private nature.”
“Wait here,” said the young officer as he arose. He spent but a very few moments in the inner room; and when he returned he was as curt and businesslike as before.
“You are to go in,” said he, and one finger indicated the door.
When Ben entered the room where Washington sat, he found him engaged with two other officers. These were Mifflin and Cadwallader, leaders of Pennsylvania militia, who had but a few hours before arrived in camp with their combined force, approaching four thousand men.
“I am grateful to you, gentlemen,” the commander-in-chief was saying. “It is not always,” a trifle bitterly, “that my desires are so promptly answered.”
“We are under your directions,” said General Mifflin, coldly; “and we trust that we know some of the duties that devolve upon under officers.”
General Cadwallader glanced at his brother officer as though the tone, the words and the manner were not agreeable to him.
“I got your orders at Crosswicks—joined Mifflin accordingly, and set out.” The tone and manner here were eager, soldier-like, and respectful. “I hope, general, you have some good fighting to offer us.”