"You take a most exaggerated view of the situation, McElroy, and your decision is quixotic," answered Wheaton. "I'll ask for your immediate exchange, but, meantime, why not make yourself comfortable? I'll gladly share my quarters with you, if you feel indisposed to accept the Bufords' hospitality longer."
"Thank you from my heart, Wheaton," and I laid my hand upon his arm in grateful affection. "You British are good fellows, as well as brave and generous enemies; would there had never been cause of quarrel between us. But my resolution is taken; to prison I will go till exchanged. Will you be so good as to consider me your prisoner, and to send me under guard to your most comfortable resort for the enemy? Here is my parole."
"Damn your foolishness, McElroy! I'll not have your parole, nor will I send you to prison. If you are set to do this absurd thing, and no doubt you are, for you are as stubborn as—as—a Scotch Irishman, and I know of no other breed of animal worthy to be compared with him for that virtue, march yourself over to the general prison, find a cell, lock yourself in, and throw the key out of the window."
I laughed, wrung Wheaton's hand in farewell, and took his advice; except that I had no need to lock myself in, the astonished prison officer doing that for me with due courtesy.
My fare that day, and my couch that night were as poor and as hard as my aroused conscience could have suggested, but I took them as penance, and almost with pleasure. The very next day, Wheaton came to tell me that my exchange was, for the present, refused on the ground that I knew too much of the state of the defenses of Philadelphia; but that my parole was extended for a year, and I was requested to return to my home until my exchange could be allowed, as provisions were growing scarce, and the feeding of prisoners had become well-nigh impossible.
Unless exchanged in the meantime I could not bear arms against the British under any circumstances for six months, and I was not permitted to join my old command under a fixed period of twelve months from the first day of the present month. The terms seemed to me unduly severe, but upon Wheaton's assurance that they were the best I could hope for, I determined to accept them, and to start at once for home. The last was no unwelcome prospect, more than two years having expired, since I had seen the dear valley and the faces of loved ones.
I had still a dozen gold sovereigns in my pocket—fruits of the last game of Hazard I had played—and Wheaton assisted me in buying that afternoon, a sorrel horse, a saddle, and a pair of saddle pockets which I stocked with a bottle of rum, a package of biscuits, and a change of garments. By sunrise next morning, equipped with proper passports, my parole, and a pistol, presented to me by Wheaton, I rode southward to the Virginia border line; then deflected my course eastward, towards Williamsburg.
Governor Henry was an acquaintance of my father and a warm friend of Colonel Morgan. It might be worth my while to ask his influence in securing my early exchange, and to let him understand how irksome to me were the terms of my parole. When so many were ready to shirk there were those who would ask nothing better than an honorable excuse to stay at home. I would see Governor Henry, and ask that he transfer me to some frontier service where at least I could help defend the Virginia border against Indians, during the months of forced inactivity against the British.