On the day following this execution, a lookout on Staten Island reported a fleet of forty sail in sight. The news quickly spread and the city, not yet recovered from the shock of the Tory conspiracy, was wild with excitement once more.
The fleet proved to be from Halifax, and carried some ten thousand of the troops which Washington had only recently driven out of Boston; also there were six transports, having on board some regiments of Highlanders which had joined the fleet at sea.
At sight of this formidable armament heading up the bay, Washington’s couriers were sent dashing here and there with the news, warning all the commanders along the Hudson to hold themselves in readiness in case the British should attempt to push their war-ships up the river. But there was no such attempt. Day after day, however, the fleet was increased; not long afterward there were one hundred and thirty men-of-war and transports in the bay; the troops were disembarked and the hillsides of Staten Island were whitened with their tents.
This force was under the command of Howe, and Washington watched it anxiously, knowing that the British general awaited only the coming of the admiral, his brother, to begin operations. Young Cooper carried a message to the President of Congress, urging the Massachusetts authorities to send its quota of continental troops to New York; the formation of a flying camp of ten thousand men in the Jerseys, to be used wherever required, was also advised. Recruits began to pour into the city; upon every open space they could be seen going through the manual of arms.
One afternoon, George, who had carried a dispatch summoning General Greene to headquarters, was riding with that officer across a stretch of fields beyond Broadway. A company of provincial artillery were drilling; and the deftness of their work, the smooth, capable manners of their commander, a small-sized youth of about twenty, attracted the general’s attention. Quick to recognize ability, the general pulled up and sat his horse, watching the proceedings, and during a pause he inquired the officer’s name.
The youth saluted.
“Alexander Hamilton,” he replied. “A student at King’s College.”
And it was that same evening, just at twilight, that George was pacing along Maiden Lane near to William Street, his hands behind him and his head bent. He still frequently rode and walked in that neighborhood; always did he grow thoughtful when there, and always upon the same subject. That Herbert Camp had been recognized by no one but himself that night at Corbie’s tavern was evident, as no search had been made for him; but George was puzzled to know if he and his sister had come off unhurt in the rain of pistol shots that followed the dash from the tavern.
“Neither of them could have been grievously injured,” he mused. “If they had been, they would have more than likely not have made off so quickly.”
But it was Peggy’s attitude that occupied him more than anything else.