A moment after, the gentleman, who was to become so well known and to die so needlessly, came back, and we followed him to the largest of the tents. As he lifted the fly he said, “Captain McLane to see your Excellency.”
On a plain farm-house table were four candles, dimly lighting piles of neatly folded papers, a simple camp-bed, two or three wooden stools, and a camp-chest. The officer who sat bareheaded at the table pushed aside a map and looked up. I was once more in the presence of Washington. Both McLane and I stood waiting—I a little behind.
“Whom have you here, sir?”
“Mr. Wynne, a gentleman who has escaped in disguise to join the army. He has news which may interest your Excellency.” As he spoke I came forward.
“Are you wounded, sir?”
“No,” said I; “it is another man’s blood, not mine.” He showed no further curiosity, nor any sign of the amazement I had seen in the faces of his aides-de-camp on my appearance at the camp-fire.
“Pray be seated, gentlemen. Do me the favour, Captain McLane, to ask Colonel Hamilton to return. Mr. Wynne, you said?”
“Yes, your Excellency.”
Then, to set myself right, I told him that I had had the honour to have met him at the house of my aunt, Mistress Wynne. “With permission, sir,” I added, “I am charged to deliver to your Excellency eight hundred pounds which Mistress Wynne humbly trusts may be of use to the cause of liberty.” So saying, I pulled the English notes out of my long stockings and laid them before him.
“I could desire many recruits like you,” he said. “Mr. Hamilton, I beg to present Mr. Wynne. Have the kindness to make memoranda of what he may tell us.” He spoke with deliberation, as one who had learned to weigh his words, not omitting any of the usual courteous forms, more common at that time than in our less formal day. General Knox came in as we sat down.