The aide smiled, but then went on anxiously: “But what I do fear, and why I tell you what I do, is for—for—for Mrs. Meredith and—The loss of this force leaves us barely three thousand men to fight Cornwallis’s and Knyphausen’s fifteen thousand. We shall burn the bridge within the hour, but that will scarce check them, and so we must retreat to the Delaware.”
“And how does this affect me?”
“Every hour brings us word of the horrible excesses of the British soldiery. No woman seems safe from—For God’s sake, Mr. Meredith, don’t remain here! But go with our army, and I’ll pledge you my word you shall be safe and as comfortable as it is in my power to make you.”
“Tush! British officers never—”
“’T is not the officers, but the common soldiers who straggle from the lines for plunder and—while the pigs of Hessians and Waldeckers, sold by their princes at so much per head, cannot be controlled, even by their own officers. See, here, is the broadside of which I spoke. I have seen every affidavit, and swear to you that they are genuine. Don’t—you can’t risk such a fate for Mrs. Meredith or—” Brereton stopped, unable to say more, and thrust the paper he held in his hand into that of the squire.
“I’ll have none of your Whig lies puffed on me!” persisted the squire, obstinately.
The officer started to argue; but as he did so the gallop of a horse’s feet was heard, and Colonel Laurens came dashing up. Throwing himself from the saddle, he flung into the tavern; and that he brought important news was so evident that Brereton hurriedly left Mr. Meredith and followed. Barely a moment passed when aide after aide issued from the inn, and, mounting, spurred away in various directions. The results were immediate. The carts were hurriedly put in train and started southward on the Princeton post-road, smoke began to rise from the bridge, the batteries limbered up, and the regiments on the green fell in and then stood at ease.
While these obvious preparations for a retreat were in progress a coloured man appeared, leading so handsome and powerful a horse that Janice, who had much of her father’s taste, gave a cry of pleasure and, jumping from her perch, went forward to stroke the beast’s nose.
“What a beauty!” she cried.
“Yes, miss, dat Blueskin,” replied the darky, grinning proudly. “He de finest horse from de Mount Vernon stud, but he great villain, jus’ de same. He so obstropolus when he hear de guns dat the gin’l kian’t use him, an’ has tu ride ole Nelson when dyars gwine tu be any fightin’.”