“You are doing better, Fred,” laughed George. “You remember now that there was a last summer. I have sometimes been afraid you wouldn’t remember even that much, but for your sake I’ll tell you that last summer I told you the story of the young fellow who was captured in Ramapo Pass. He was Washington’s messenger, you will remember, although he did not know it at the time.”
“I do recall now,” said Fred pompously, “some information you were kind enough to dole out to us. It seems to me that you told me that this young fellow was sent purposely by Washington down through the Ramapo Valley so that he would be captured by the British and taken to New York. If I’m correct he had a letter sewed inside the lining of his coat and this letter contained instructions for General Heath, who was at Morristown, to join him, that is Washington and not the boy, in taking New York.”
“That’s right. It all comes back to me, too,” joined in Grant. “This fellow was taken to New York and he felt pretty mad at Washington. He could have found his way across the country all right, he thought, and would have given the message to General Heath without any trouble, but Washington insisted upon his going through to Ramapo Valley and of course he was caught. Poor chap, he didn’t know that that was the very thing Washington was planning to do. He wanted him caught so that his letter would be found and Clinton wouldn’t dare leave New York.”
“What did Clinton want to leave New York for?” broke in John. “I can’t understand why anybody would want to leave little, old New York. That’s the best town on the globe.”
“He wanted to take his army south to help Cornwallis, who was bottled up on the Yorktown peninsula. That was the trick that Washington played on him. He kept Clinton here, and when at last Clinton got his eyes opened, he found out that Washington’s army was already down across the Delaware and headed for Chesapeake Bay.”
“Did he arrive in time?” inquired Fred innocently.
“For further and detailed information I refer you to any primary history of the United States,” said Grant laughingly. “That’s one of the things no American boy ought to have to learn. He ought to know it before he begins.”
“What about this house back here?” said Fred. “You seem to point it out as if you thought there was something peculiar about it.”
“I told you that it’s haunted.”
Again the boys laughed heartily as Grant said, “Anybody would think to hear you talk, George, that you belonged back in the days when they hanged witches.”