“Everything bodes favorably for our enterprise,” he remarked, “the despatches that awaited me tell of unprecedented success. At every point attempted our battalions have entered the enemy’s territory unopposed and advanced unmolested. The Rubicon has been crossed and terror-stricken the foe flies before us. This afternoon a special messenger shall bear to Albany, New York and Washington the tidings of our triumphant progress—of our undisputed taking possession of this country to which the British authorities make a pretended claim.”
“Your despatch will cause great rejoicing,” said an officer.
“Yes, it will be hailed with loud acclaim, and my enemies who clamored against me, will now perceive that what they stigmatized as inaction was the profoundest strategy. Sixteen miles have we marched into the enemy’s territory and not a hostile bayonet has been seen. Ha, who is this? Draw your swords.”
All eyes turned in the direction of the General’s, and a tall Indian was seen standing immovably beside a giant pine. It was Hemlock. As he remained motionless with folded arms, and was apparently unarmed, the officers got over their alarm, and those who had laid their hands upon their swords, dropped them.
“Sirrah, what do you here? How passed you our guards?” shouted the General.
“I have come to speak with you. You are ten to one; your escort is within hail of you, will you listen to me?”
“Go on,” said Hampton.
“You have a British officer held as prisoner. You wrote to Major Stovin that you would set him free if the Indian who killed Slocum were given in exchange. Do you stand by that offer?”
“Morton goes free when the Indian is sent in.”
“Give me an order for his release; the Indian goes to your camp at once.”