“Away, lads!” I shouted. “You know where to go and what to do,” and then I was borne down to the ground, and at least a half dozen red-coats held me down.
Several of the squad followed our boat into the water in their zeal to capture it, but my men were too quick for them, and rowed it beyond their reach. Then the Britishers hallooed for their own boats to return, and give chase to ours. By this time they had allowed me to regain my feet, and I again called out:
“Never mind me, lads! Make good your own escape, and finish the work I have left undone.”
“Aye! aye! sir!” came the answer across the water, and I knew Boatswain Lewis had heard and understood my command and would complete the task assigned to me of reporting the movements of the British army.
I received a blow across my mouth from the officer in charge of the squad for my act, accompanied with the surly words:
“Shut your mouth, you young puppy! But for your kick and bark we might have captured your boat and crew. I only hope the General will regard you as a spy and hang you to the nearest tree.”
His boats had come back up the shore, and now at his order went on in the darkness, hoping to overhaul my comrades—a thing I am glad to say they were not able to do. He then despatched a messenger down the island to intercept and recall the other land force. These matters attended to, he surrounded me with his men and marched off to the place where he had landed. When the other squad rejoined him, he gave the command to return to the camp. There I was placed in a tent, in use as a temporary guardhouse, and surrounded with soldiers who kept watch over me until morning. At an early hour they carried me into the presence of General Clinton.
“So you are the Yankee spy my men captured last night?” he demanded sternly.
“I hardly see how you can call me that, sir,” I answered as pleasantly as I could. “I was not taken in your camp.”
“Do you deny that you were watching my movements in order to report them to the commander of the rebel forces?” he asked.