He laughed at my boast, and said Burgoyne would soon resume his promenade to New York. Then he bestirred himself for the comfort of his mother and sister. He apologized for straitened quarters, but said he could place them in some very good company, including the Baroness Riedesel and Madame the wife of General Fraser, at which Madame Van Auken, who was always fond of people of quality, especially when the quality was indicated by a title, was pleased greatly. And in truth they were welcomed most hospitably by the wives of the British and Hessian officers with Burgoyne’s army, who willingly shared with them the scarcity of food and lodging they had to offer. When I left them, Mistress Catherine said to me with a saucy curve of the lip, as if she would but jest:
“Take good care of yourself, Dick, and my brother’s sister will try not to forget you.”
“Thank you,” I said, “and if it falls in my way to do a good turn for Captain Chudleigh while he is our prisoner, I will take full advantage of it.”
At this she was evidently displeased, though somehow I was not.
Albert Van Auken took charge of me, and asked me into a tent to meet some of his fellow officers and take refreshment; which invitation I promptly accepted, for in those days an American soldier, with wisdom born of trial, never neglected a chance to get something good to eat or to drink.
On my way I observed the condition of Burgoyne’s camp. It was in truth a stricken army that he led—or rather did not lead, for it seemed now to be stuck fast. The tents and the wagons were filled with the sick and the wounded, and many not yet entirely well clustered upon the grass seeking such consolation as they could find in the talk of each other. The whole in body, rank and file, sought to preserve a gallant demeanor, though in spite of it a certain depression was visible on almost every face. Upon my soul I was sorry for them, enemies though they were, and the greater their misfortune the greater cause we had for joy, which, I take it, is one of the grievous things about war.
It was a large tent into which Albert took me, and I met there Captain Jervis and several other officers, two or three of whom seemed to be of higher rank than captain, though I did not exactly catch their names, for Albert spoke somewhat indistinctly when making the introductions. There seemed to be a degree of comfort in the tent—bottles, glasses, and other evidences of social warmth.
“We wish to be hospitable to a gallant enemy like yourself, Mr. Shelby,” said Captain Jervis, “and are not willing that you should return to your own army without taking refreshment with us.”
I thanked him for his courtesy, and said I was quite willing to be a live proof of their hospitality; whereupon they filled the glasses with a very unctuous, fine-flavored wine, and we drank to the health of the wide world. It had been long since good wine had passed my lips, and when they filled the glasses a second time I said in my heart that they were gentlemen. At the same time I wondered to myself a bit why officers of such high rank, as some of these seemed to be, should pay so much honor to me, who was but young and the rank of whom was but small. Yet I must confess that this slight wonder had no bad effect upon the flavor of the wine.
Some eatables of a light and delicate nature were handed around by an orderly, and all of us partook, after which we drank a third glass of wine. Then the officers talked most agreeably about a variety of subjects, even including the latest gossip they had brought with them from the Court of St. James. Then we took a fourth glass of wine. I am not a heavy drinker, as heavy drinkers go, and have rather a strong head, but a humming of the distant sea began in my ears and the talk moved far away. I foresaw that Richard Shelby had drunk enough, and that it was time for me to exercise my strongest will over his somewhat rebellious head.