Barclugh started on his long and perilous ride to Washington’s headquarters at Fishkill; thence to New York.

He was oblivious to all that passed him on the road. He travelled on, and on, to the ferry at Trenton, conscious of nothing but his own thoughts. The more that he willed to divorce the image of Mollie Greydon from his mind, the more his soul rebelled. He at last reasoned that another existence than his own had entered his life, and he could not explain the cause. But should he only let his thoughts dwell unrestricted on his business, at least he might be able to dismiss her, as he had many times the existence of the gay infatuations of his life in Paris.

However, her beauty of face, her form and her carriage not only enthralled him, but he dwelt upon the character that he found in the kindly twinkle of her deep hazel eyes; her understanding of the great principles of human liberty; her patriotism; her devotion to the soldiery of her native land. All were grand conceptions to dwell upon.

In her there was no first consideration of self, like the frivolous woman of fashion. She knew that a mission in life was the proper destiny for one to follow; and in the trying needs of her country she knew that clothes and food for the Continentals needed her best and undivided effort.

She knew that every dozen of eggs, every fowl, every blanket, every pair of woolen socks, every yard of homespun, spoke volumes to the patient, ill-fed, and ill-clothed Continental who was serving for the principles of the Declaration,—serving with no pay and expecting none. She was happy in the pursuit of her humble mission; she had no grievance with which to worry others. Her mission was to render some one happy with her deeds; consequently her life was full of elements that daily exemplified the sweetness of her existence to others.

The natural tendency of a commonplace intellect would be to sternly rebuke others who expressed opinions opposed to his own ambitions; but the philosophy of human nature carried Barclugh into deeper considerations. He had his particular objects to accomplish and had his plans matured to effect them; therefore, he kept quiet about his own principles and tried to learn every detail about the opinions of the opposition. Thus he would be prepared to use the weak points of his adversary to his own advantage.He thought he knew that Colonial gentlemen were much like their Anglo-Saxon ancestry, honest, fearless and loyal to their convictions; but if, after a protracted struggle, they found their cause defeated and their case hopeless, they would submit. Their love of peace and tranquillity would overcome their feelings about independence. They would be satisfied with the forms of liberty without the substance. He reasoned that history repeats itself among his countrymen. When the Normans conquered the Anglo-Saxon, his submission to the regime of William the Conqueror was complete. He reasoned that a decisive stroke of the English arms would reconcile the Colonists to the helplessness of their cause.

These convictions led him more seriously than ever to conclude that the dominant party at the end of the war would have the allegiance of the whole country. Therefore Roderick Barclugh was more resolute than ever to seize West Point by means of gold and afterwards ally himself and his fortunes to the virtues and zeal of Mollie Greydon.

He travelled on the main turnpike that led northward from Philadelphia, along the Delaware, until he reached Bristol, which commands a beautiful view of the river. He stopped at an inn kept by a Mr. Benezet, and announced himself thus:

“My name is Pierre La Fitte. I am a merchant from Philadelphia, and travelling to Boston. Have no news, am tired and hungry. Have you provender for my horse and dinner for me?”

The landlord looked up in astonishment at the brusque preclusion of prying questions as to the business, destination and knowledge of a stranger. Even the servants tiptoed when they came into the presence of their august guest.

However, the dinner and lodging were most excellent, and the breakfast was more than could be expected at a country inn, but when Barclugh paid his bill in the morning the innkeeper had charged double prices for his guest’s exclusiveness. As Barclugh got what he desired,—no questions,—he did not mind the payment, but before he had been many more days on this journey he learned that Colonial hospitality was not always dealt out on a money basis, and he was exceedingly glad to change his mannerisms.

The refreshing sleep at the Bristol inn was excellent to Barclugh, and the next morning he started out with his spirits in high glee. The enthusiasm of his nature was now working out the possibilities of his mission, and he was calculating the possibilities of danger in his journey, all of which acted upon him as a stimulant, while his horse was cantering along the Delaware road, in the fresh morning air, toward Trenton.

A ferry crosses the Delaware three miles below the town, and Barclugh took it to the Jersey side and went to an inn at Trenton that had a sign swinging on a high post, representing a beaver at work with his teeth, gnawing down a large tree, underneath which was written, “Perseverando.”

Barclugh was inclined to stop at the tavern to give his horse a rest and to refresh himself while he would be feeling his ground about his journey northward.

The hour was about ten o’clock in the morning, when the old men of the town began to gather at the tavern for a gossip over the war news, and to indulge in their daily allowance of rum in the tap-room. As Barclugh dismounted and sauntered up the steps which led into the public house, all eyes were turned upon the stranger. He seated himself in an arm-chair at a round table. A large square room having a low ceiling and settles standing at right angles to the fireplace met his glance; the smoke was curling slowly from smouldering logs into the chimney-space; a lazy, fat, round-faced Swede was lolling at the end of the bar, and several casks of wine and liquor placed upon racks to the left of the counter were labelled, “Rum,” “Madeira,” “Canary,” “Cherry Bounce,” “Perry,” and “Cider.”

A brace of old cronies whose only cares now were to meet each other in the tap-room daily and talk over the prowess among men in their youthful days, and despair about the effeminate youth of the present; and wonder what the world was coming to, were seated at a table and gazed at the stranger.

“He, he, he!” chuckled old Samuel Whitesides, as Barclugh seated himself and ordered a hot rum punch, for the morning air was chilly. “I declare, those whippersnappers daown in Philadelphia are makin’ a fool aout of Ben Arnold,—he’s got a mighty high snortin’ kind of a gal that he’s hitched up to,—and I b’leave, brother Hopper, that he would like to be out of the clutches of them money-grabbers. He’s too good a fighter to be gallavantin’ around in silks and satins.”

“How queer! how queer!” squeaked out old Jonathan Hopper, as he leaned over and poked his old companion in the ribs. “Say, Sam, if we were young agin like Ben, we would not prefer to stay ’round with aour wife in the city than to be chasing those redcoats from Dan to Beshabee, partic’larly if we had been married less than a year, eh, Sam’l! Wall, I guess not! He, he, he! Eh, Samuel?” as he poked old Sam in the ribs again with his cane.

“Wa’al, Jonathan, when we were boys, thar was no time for this high-fa-lutin’ keepin’ honey-moon, keepin’ honey-moon. What we had to do was to git married and leave Betsy at home while we went to work to git som’thin’ to keep body and soul together. But naow, even in these war times, our Ginerals are snoopin’ araound in these high jinks fashion, waitin’ on their leedies in taown.”

“Quite keerect, quite keerect, Sam’l, but I calcalate if you and I were to live it over agin and had a chanc’t to git into all these doin’s that the young sprouts now have, in the large taowns, I b’leeve we would be as keen as ennybody for pleesure. For what’s the use of you, you old rascal, skrewin’ yourself up into a pritty pass over the young uns, for natur’ is natur’ and let natur’ take its course, Sam’l. But how queer! how queer!” said old Jonathan as he again poked Samuel in the ribs and took another sip out of the rum glass.

By the time the pint of rum was consumed by these relicts of the reign of Queen Anne, they were generally ready to go up the road arm in arm, each with a cane, just mellow enough to show the young sprouts that nobody need show them how to step off with the dignity of an Indian.However, on this day matters took a different turn.

Barclugh stepped up to the old gentlemen and inquired modestly:

“Gentlemen, may I ask you the best road to Princeton?”

“To be sure, sir,” replied old Samuel, as he turned toward Barclugh, leaning forward with both hands on his walking-stick as he sat gazing into Barclugh’s face:

“But have we the pleasure of the gentleman’s name and occupation?” quizzed the old man.

Barclugh was not quite ready for the inquisitive familiarity of the reply, but as he commenced with a question there was no alternative in his case but to answer up cheerfully:

“My name is Pierre La Fitte; I am a merchant of Philadelphia on my way to Fishkill Landing.”

“Humph, you got a pretty skittish ride before you, Mr. La Fitte, and I b’leeve the longest road is the shortest for you. You just keep right on to Princeton and then to Morristown Heights and when you git five miles beyond Morristown you ask for my son-in-law, Benjamin Andrews, and he will take good care of you and all you need to tell him is that you met old Samuel Whitesides and it won’t cost you a farthing for your keep.”