“One of our prisoners has escaped,” he said; “a keen-witted man who knows the country. He has escaped to the south. As you know so well, Sir Henry Clinton is, or has been, advancing up the Hudson with a strong force to the aid of Burgoyne, whom nothing else can save from us. This man—this prisoner who has escaped—must not be permitted to reach Clinton with the news that Burgoyne is almost done for. It was important before the last battle that no messenger from Burgoyne should pass through our lines; it is still more important to-day. You understand?”
I bowed, as a sign that I understood.
“This escaped prisoner knows everything that has happened,” he resumed, “and he must be overtaken. He will probably follow the direct road along the river, as he knows that haste is necessary. How many men do you want?”
I named Whitestone and a private, a strong, ready-witted fellow named Adams.
“What is the name of the man we are to capture?” I asked.
“Chudleigh—Captain Ralph Chudleigh,” he replied. “A tall man, dark hair and eyes, twenty-six to twenty-eight years of age. Do you know him?”
I replied that I knew him.
“So much the better,” said our colonel with much delight. “Aside from your other qualifications, Mr. Shelby, you are the man of all men for this duty. Chudleigh will undoubtedly attempt to disguise himself, but since you know him so well he can scarce hide his face from you. But remember that he must be taken, dead or alive.”
I had not much relish for the mission in the first place, and, for reasons, less relish when I knew that Chudleigh was the man whom I was to take. But in such affairs as these it is permitted to the soldier to choose only the one thing, and that is, to obey.