The little camp-fire at which Colonel Hewes and some of the officers were sitting was just outside the line of heavy fortifications which the Americans had thrown up some weeks previously.
Colonel Hewes, as soon as he heard George's answer, welcomed the young soldier heartily, and, searching in the saddle-bags that were lying on the ground, he secured some bread and a slice of ham, which George accepted, as he had not tasted food since early in the morning.
For two days nothing was done, but at last Washington's plans were perfected, and under the cover of a heavy fog nine thousand men were ferried across to the city of New York. As George was about to embark with the body of discouraged stragglers in one of the small boats impressed for the service, he heard a familiar voice beside him.
Carter Hewes! He started suddenly. There he stood. A cape was over his shoulder, his left arm was in a sling.
"Oh, Carter, are you wounded?" he exclaimed, before the other had noticed who it was that called to him.
"George, dear friend, you've escaped?" answered Carter, wheeling. Then he noticed the anxious glance. "Merely a scratch," he went on. "Come over with my company, at least what is left of them—it's been bad work. What! a Lieutenant! Hurrah! I told you so."
The soldiers crowded into the flat-boat, and soon the two friends were drifting across the river.
"Your father's proposal has gone to the Convention," said George.
"That relieves me," said Carter. "It is a pet scheme of his, and it was dreadful careless of me to forget and carry it in my pocket. See; do you remember this?" He held out the note-book.
"Why, it's mine!" cried George. "Where did you get it?"