I told him he was about to be exchanged, and I had secured the privilege of escorting him back to his own people.
“That’s very polite of you,” he said.
I really believe he thought so.
For the second time I entered Burgoyne’s camp under a white flag, and saw all the signs of distress I had seen before, only in a sharper and deeper form. The wounded and sick were more numerous and the well and strong were fewer. It was a sorely stricken army.
But I did not waste much time in such observations, which of necessity would have been but limited anyhow, as the British had no intent to let any American wander at will about their camp and take note of their situation. When we were halted at the outskirts, I asked the officer who received us for Albert Van Auken, who, I said, was a friend of mine and of whose safety I wished to be assured. He was very courteous, and in a few minutes Albert came.
Albert was glad to see me, and I to see him, and as soon as we had shaken hands I approached the matter I had in mind.
“Madame Van Auken, your mother, and your sister, are they well, Albert?” I asked.
“Very well, the circumstances considered,” replied Albert, “though I must say their quarters are rather restricted. You can see the house up there; they have been living for the last three or four days and nights in its cellar, crowded up with other women, with a hospital beside them, and the cannon balls from your army often crashing over their heads. It’s rather a lively life for women.”
“Can’t I see your sister, Mistress Catherine?” I asked. “I have something to say to her about Chudleigh.”
“Why, certainly,” he replied. “Kate will always be glad to see an old playmate like you, Dick.”