Right here I may say—for Belt does not come into this narration again—that after the war I told him the whole story of these affairs, which he enjoyed most heartily, and is at this day one among my best friends.
The preliminaries about the transfer of the ladies to Burgoyne’s camp were but few, though I was exposed on the way to much censure from Madame Van Auken because of my rebel proclivities. In truth, Mistress Catherine, I think, took after her deceased and lamented father rather than her mother, who I knew had made the signal of the light to Martyn, and to Albert, who was on foot near him. But I bore it very well, inasmuch as one can grow accustomed to almost anything.
I found that during my few days’ absence our army had pushed up much closer to Burgoyne, and also that we had increased greatly in numbers. Nothing could save Burgoyne, so I heard, but the arrival of Clinton from New York with heavy re-enforcements, and even then, at the best for Burgoyne, it would be but a problem. My heart swelled with that sudden elation one feels when a great reward looks certain after long trial.
Protected by the flag of truce we approached Burgoyne’s lines. There were but the three of us, the two ladies and I. Mistress Kate was very silent; Madame Van Auken, for whom I have the utmost respect, be her opinions what they may, did the talking for all three. She was in somewhat exuberant mood, as she expected to rejoin her son, thus having all her immediate family together under the flag that she loved. She had no doubt that Burgoyne would beat us. I could not make out Mistress Kate’s emotions, nor in truth whether she had any; but just after we were hailed by the first British sentinel she said to me with an affectation of lightness, though she could not keep her voice from sounding sincere:
“My brother will never forget what you have done for him, Dick.”
“He may or may not,” I replied, “but I hope your brother’s sister will not.”
Which may not have been a very gallant speech, but I will leave it to every just man if I had not endured a good deal in silence. She did not take any exceptions to my reply, but smiled, which I did not know whether to consider a good or bad sign.
I showed a letter from one of our generals to the sentinel, and we were quickly passed through the lines. We were received by Captain Jervis, a British officer of much politeness, and I explained to him that the two ladies whom I was proud to escort were the mother and sister of Albert Van Auken, who should be with Burgoyne’s army. He answered at once that he knew Albert, and had seen him not an hour before. Thereat the ladies rejoiced greatly, knowing that Albert was safe so far; which perhaps, to my mind, was better luck than he deserved. But in ten minutes he was brought to us, and embraced his mother and sister with great warmth; then shaking hands with me—
“I’m sorry to see you a prisoner, Dick, my lad,” he said easily, “especially after you’ve been so obliging to me. But it’s your bad luck.”
“I’m not a prisoner,” I replied with some heat, “though you and all the rest of Burgoyne’s men are likely soon to be. I merely came here under a flag of truce to bring your mother and sister, and put them out of the way of cannon balls.”