“So you wish the countersign, do you, my man?” demanded the stranger, looking the corporal over with hauteur. “What regiment are you?”
The corporal mentioned one of the regiments of State troops which at that time formed a part of Washington’s forces.
“Then you should know me, sirrah, although I have not the countersign,” the gentleman said. “I am John Cadwalader.”
“Colonel Cadwalader—of the Silk Stocking Regiment!” Hadley heard Bumbler mutter.
The corporal looked undecided, and stammered: “Faith, Mr. Cadwalader, ye may be whom ye say; but it’s our orders to let no one pass without an investigation—”
“Investigate, then!” snapped the gentleman. “If you do not know me, send one of your men on with my carriage to the nearest officer. I am on my way to headquarters and should not be delayed.”
“I can spare no men, for I’m foraging,” declared the corporal, still hesitating.
“What do you intend doing, then, dolt?” cried the officer, wrathfully. “Will you keep me here all the morning?” Then, seeing Hadley in the grasp of Bumbler, he added: “And you are keeping that boy prisoner, too, are you? You’ll have your hands full, Sir Corporal, before you get back from this foraging expedition of yours. Your commanding officer is to be congratulated on having such well-disciplined men in his rank and file.” Evidently noticing the disarrangement of Hadley’s garments, he added, looking at the boy again: “And why do you hold this farm lad prisoner, pray?”
At that the boy made bold to speak for himself, for he believed this gentleman must really be somebody of importance. “If it please you, sir, I was hastening to General Washington’s headquarters with dispatches—which, I believe, only yesterday came from New York—when these men stopped me and have taken away my papers—”
“Ha!” exclaimed the gentleman, scrutinizing the youth sharply, “you’re over young to be trusted with important news for the Commander-in-Chief. How came you by these papers?”