He stepped back.
“Now give me that letter, or whatever you have,” I said. “It is useless to deny that you have something. If you don’t give it to me, I will take you into the camp and have you stripped and searched by the soldiers. It will be better for you to do as I say.”
Evidently he believed me, for he thrust his hand inside his waistcoat and pulled out a crumpled letter, which he handed to me. Keeping one eye on him I read the letter with the other eye, and found I had not been deceived in my guess. It was from Sir Henry Clinton to Sir John Burgoyne, telling him to hold out for certain rescue. Sir Henry said he was within a short distance of Albany with a strong force, and expected to join Sir John soon and help him crush all the rebel forces.
“This is important,” I said.
“Very,” said the man.
“It might have changed the fate of the campaign had you reached General Burgoyne with it,” I said.
“Undoubtedly it would have done so,” he replied.
“Well, it wouldn’t.”
“That is a matter of opinion.”
“Not at all.”