A look of intelligence appeared on the faces of the two men.
“Of Bayle’s regiment in Burgoyne’s army, both of us,” I said.
“I thought it, back yonder in Albany,” said the leader, “but why did you fence us off so?”
“One doesn’t always know his friends, first glance, especially in rebel towns,” I said. “Like you, I thought so, but I couldn’t take the risk and declare myself until I knew more about you.”
“That’s true,” he acknowledged. “These rebels are so cursedly sly.”
“Very, very sly,” I said, “but we’ve fooled ’em this time.”
I pointed to their Continental coats and to ours. Then we laughed all together.
“Tell me what really happened up there,” said the man.
“It was a great battle,” I said, “but we drove them off the field, and we can take care of ourselves. Six thousand British and German veterans care little for all the raw militia this country can raise.”