It was odd, George kept thinking to himself, and hard to believe, that Rivington, the hated Tory, had turned patriot.
"Now, young Frothingham," said Rivington, after a pause, "this is an extraordinary occasion. You are the first one with whom I have held conversation upon any such dangerous subjects. But you must know two or three things that I believe most thoroughly. I have no faith in hopeless ventures, but, mark me, though this war lasts six months or six years, America will never again belong to England. I am so fully convinced of this that I have risked my safety to help end the struggle. Peace will come sooner or later, but the sooner the better, of course. Some day when my fellow-citizens learn what I have done they will not hang me in effigy or sink my presses in the bay. But enough of that. I have forgiven them.—To something of greater moment.—You cannot remain another day in this city. I doubt your being able to cross the river to-night. To-morrow morning early I go to Paulus Hook, and will take you with me as my servant. 'Tis a risk, perhaps, but it is the safest thing I can think of. I am supposed to go there on some business for General Howe. I am afraid that I shall muddle it, but I may learn something. Sleep here behind this heavy screen. We start early." Without another word he left the room.
At daybreak the next morning Rivington and George, in a small sail-boat, were making for the New Jersey shore.
George was dressed in a groom's livery, and carried a large despatch-box on his knees.
Almost all the dwellers in the country surrounding the Hook had found it to their best interests to hide any desire that they might have to show their leaning toward patriotism, and, to tell the truth, most of them were advanced Tories.
It was to visit one of these men, a dealer in live-stock, that Mr. Rivington was making the trip.
They had ridden but a short distance in the lurching one-horse chaise that had met them at the ferry, when Rivington pulled up.
"Here I say good-by," he said. "At the fifth house along this path from here stop and ask for the owner. He is a very aged man. His name has slipped me; but tell him frankly who you are, and that you have escaped from a British prison, and he will do his best to send you on your way. Do not fear that he will betray you. He hates me well, and would rejoice to see me hanged, but some day he may think better thoughts. Of course, do not mention my name to him. Good-by, lad. There is one person to whom you can present my best respects—General Washington. Success to him!"
George shook his benefactor's enormous hand, and took the path through a thicket of scrub-oaks.
Rivington had driven on but a short distance, when he thumped the bottom of the chaise with both feet. "You may shoot me for a lunkhead," he exclaimed, "if I did not forget to tell him of his brother's being in this country. I wonder if he knows it? He made no mention. It would have been best for him to know it."