This night in Philadelphia, when the British, after having long held possession of the city, had so far progressed in the evacuation that only the officers were yet in town, was both a happy and an anxious one to the inhabitants.

Those people who had remained true to the American cause rejoiced that their friends would soon be in possession of the chosen capital of the country, and were looking forward eagerly to the morrow when the Continental forces should enter to take possession of their own once more.

Hundreds of patriots confined in the prisons for no other crime than that of loyalty to their country were waiting eagerly for the morning when their cell-doors would be unlocked by friends, and they free at last to render aid to that cause so near their hearts.

In the homes of the Tories all wore an anxious look; they had spent a winter of gayety, while the representatives of the king held the city, and probably fancied the spirit of freedom would be so thoroughly crushed that Philadelphia would always be loyal to the English government.

Now they knew that everything was to be changed, and, as in many instances, having oppressed their neighbors who favored the struggle for independence, feared that reprisals would be demanded. Hundreds of Tories—delicately nurtured women, men accustomed to every luxury, and children whose every desire had been gratified—were about to follow the army on its march across New Jersey, or, as their means and the possibility would permit, intended to travel by various conveyance to New York.

These last were particularly sad because of the severing of all home ties for an indefinite period—perhaps forever—and to those who were anxious, as well as to those who were happy, slumber did not come on this night.

The happiness and the grief were too great to permit of the unconsciousness of sleep.

In Mrs. Ball's home, mother and son, reviewing again and again the events with which the boy had been intimately connected, put off the time for retiring yet a little longer at each stroke of the clock, until Enoch finally said:

"It's no use, mother, I can't go to bed. I shouldn't sleep if I tried, and on this night of all others it seems as if we might keep watch."

"For what purpose, my son?"

"I don't know. It appears to be a fact that the city will be entirely evacuated by the enemy in the morning, and yet I can't prevent fears that something may happen to change General Clinton's plans. At all events, Greene will be here at least an hour before daylight, and it is now nearly midnight, therefore why should we make any attempt at sleeping?"

A knock at the door, loud, quick, and, if such could be, one might almost say joyous, and Enoch answered it without hesitation, for he fancied he knew who would demand admittance in such a fashion.

"Not in bed yet, good people?" and Greene seated himself near the window.

"Enoch was just saying he could not sleep, and proposed that we sit up until morning."

"I venture to say there will be no slumber in nineteen houses out of every twenty in the city this night, and yet we who love the cause should be able to sleep now, if ever."

"You do not appear to be doing much in that line," Enoch suggested with a smile.

"Well, no, I am feeling too good just now to want to surrender consciousness, even for the sake of a rest. Such an experience as this doesn't come more than once in a person's lifetime, and he shouldn't lose any of the pleasurable sensations. I'll join your vigil as if it was New Year's eve, and we'll watch the British out and the Americans in."

Until the time the spy had set to go to the river bank, the three talked of the disappointments in the past and the hopes for the future, and then Greene and Enoch left the house.

There were more signs of life on the street, even at this early hour, than when they had entered the city the day previous.

The citizens who had been faithful to the cause during this long occupation by the enemy were now coming out in full force to witness his departure, and a happy, joyous throng it was.

"Will General Washington come to-day?" Enoch asked of his companion.

"No; General Arnold will take possession of the city with a small force. We shan't see the commander-in-chief in town until something decisive has been done, according to my way of thinking," answered Greene.

"How long are we to stay here?"

"I shall start for Valley Forge when the last boatload of soldiers puts out from the shore. You will stay until word comes from General Dickinson."

"Do you intend to walk to the farm?"

"No; I shall have no trouble in borrowing a horse now that our friends are not afraid of getting into trouble by doing such a service. Here is a good place for us to witness the scene, and on this rising ground the view cannot be shut off from us, however many may be around."

Greene had halted on the slight elevation of ground a short distance from the Middle Ferry, and already could be seen in the stream boatloads of soldiers putting out from the Philadelphia side of the river, while from each of the landing-places the refugees—men, women and children—were embarking such portable effects as they would be permitted to carry on board the vessels lying at anchor.

The sun had not yet risen; but the adherents of King George were hastening to depart from the soil of Pennsylvania, greatly to the delight of those who had been so long oppressed.

Enoch had no desire to talk, and hardly heard what Greene said as he made several attempts to enter into conversation. The boy's eyes were fixed upon the panorama before him, and he thought of nothing save the fact that the city was being freed from the enemy.

Until half-past nine he remained thus absorbed in the view, and then a mighty shout went up from the assembled throng—a shout which was echoed and re-echoed from one end of the city to the other.

The last boatload, among which was General Knyphausen, had pushed off from the shore.

"It is done at last!" Enoch cried, seizing Greene by both hands.

"It is indeed, my boy, and we have been permitted to see it all! It is such a sight as we'll hope never will be repeated on the Delaware River. Now I must be off. You will either see me or receive some word within the next twenty-four hours. Be ready to leave home without delay when the summons comes, for I should be sadly disappointed if we had a brush with Clinton's men and you were not in it."

"So should I. Don't forget me when you are with the army."

"Never fear anything like that. It wouldn't be possible while I was where Seth and Jacob could see me. But come, I'm going very near Drinker's Alley. Walk so far with me; step in for a moment and see if Mrs. Graydon has any message to send her son, for you will meet him shortly, and then, after General Arnold and his men arrive, go home and wait for me or my message."

Enoch had not broken his fast, but was hardly aware that he needed food, so great was his joy.

He acted upon Greene's suggestion, and ten minutes later saw the spy ride out of the city at full speed, bound first for the farmhouse, where he would exchange his horse for a fresh one, and then to Valley Forge with the glad tidings.

On this occasion Enoch did not skulk around to the rear of the house when visiting Mrs. Graydon; but walked boldly to the front door, where he knocked with an air of one who is free to do as he chooses, startling Seth's mother not a little, when, his summons being answered by her servant, he rushed in upon her with the cry:

"The city is evacuated! The British are gone, and we shall never see them here again unless they come as prisoners!"

"Has the army left the city?" Mrs. Graydon asked as if in surprise.

"Why, yes; didn't you know they were going?"

"Certainly, I knew the evacuation was for to-day; but it can't be they have really gone?"

"Indeed they have! Greene and I watched the last boatload put off from this side. There isn't a single redcoat in town, and before noon General Arnold will be here with a portion of the Continental army. Our own flag is floating over the city once more!"

Mrs. Graydon looked so thoroughly perplexed that just for a moment Enoch asked himself if it could be possible she was in sympathy with the enemy, and she, noting the look of perplexity on his face, said with a smile:

"You are wondering why I don't rejoice in the good news you have brought, Enoch; but the truth is that I fear there must be some mistake about it, for Lord Gordon hasn't yet come downstairs."

"Lord Gordon still here!" Enoch cried, now in turn becoming perplexed.

"Certainly. He very seldom rises early, and last night gave no orders to be called. I supposed that the army wouldn't go away before afternoon."

"But they have gone, and it isn't likely they are to remain at Gloucester Point any longer than is necessary. Why, Mrs. Graydon, if Lord Gordon is here an hour from now he will be made prisoner by our troops, and after all he has done for us that would seem like a terrible misfortune."

"Indeed it would, Enoch."

"I am going to waken him regardless of whether he left any orders or not; but what bothers me is, how we can get him over to the Jersey side, for the English took possession of all the boats on the river-front, and I don't think there's a single craft to be found."

"Even though you waken him before our people come I fear for his safety, Enoch. The British have so oppressed those who were faithful to the cause that if it is known a member of their army is left behind something serious may be done."

"It is no use to stand here talking. He must get out of town, and that mighty quick! Where's his room?"

"The one directly over this."

Enoch did not hesitate; darting upstairs at full speed he burst into the chamber without ceremony, and Lord Cosmo Gordon, springing up in bed, his eyes heavy with slumber, demanded sharply:

"Who are you, sir? What do you want here?"

"I am only Enoch Ball, Lord Gordon. You remember me? You remember when Jacob Ludwick and I talked with you about Seth?"

"Oh, it is you, is it?" the officer said as he sank back upon the pillows. "You appear to be an energetic lad; but I can't say I have any great admiration for your manners."

"But, Lord Gordon, do you know that the Britishers have left the city, and that in a very short time our forces will be here?"

"The army gone?" and Lord Gordon sprang out of bed very suddenly. "Why, what time is it?"

"Past ten o'clock."

"And I have been allowed to sleep while my command has gone over! This promises to be serious, my boy!"

"Serious, sir? I should say it was! After all that has happened I would rather a good bit of ill-fortune came to me than that you should be taken prisoner."

"I should die of mortification if it was known that I, a British officer, lay in bed while my troops marched out of town and left me to be captured. Lad, you believe I did you a service once?"

"Indeed you did, sir, and one I can never repay."

"You can repay it now, and with interest," Lord Gordon said as he began hurriedly to dress. "I must cross the river at once, and depend upon you to get me a boat."

"That is more easily said than done, sir. Your army has taken possession of every craft on this side; but I'll get one if I have to swim for it. What troubles me is that I may not succeed in time."

"The American forces are near the city?"

"Greene said General Arnold would arrive before noon."

"I'll go with you. We'll both search for a boat. Where is my servant?"

"I don't know, sir, unless he's with the army."

"That can't be, my boy. He wouldn't have left me, for—Oh, here you are, Richard," the officer added as a sleepy-looking man entered the chamber. "You neglected to awaken me, and I am in a most serious predicament."

"You gave no orders, my lord."

"You should have had wit enough to know that I intended to march with the army."

"But I have just wakened, my lord."

"And you don't have the appearance of one who has fully accomplished that yet. Get my things together as quickly as possible, and go down to the river. We shall start from the Middle Ferry."

"But, Lord Gordon, if you set out alone it must be from some place less public than that," Enoch said decidedly. "Remember that our people are freed from restraint now, and the temptation of having a British officer in their power might be so great that, if they didn't do real harm, they would at least prevent your leaving."

"You are right, my lad. I'll grant that you have a better head than I in this matter, and follow your directions."

"Then will you please stay here till I come back?"

"Yes, unless you are gone too long."

"But you must stay, no matter how long I am gone. I promise faithfully you shall be set across the river some time to-day, or night, if you will remain out of sight; but once you are seen I am afraid the work cannot be done."

"Do as you will, my lad. I agree to follow your instructions. If you succeed in your purpose you will repay me tenfold for the slight favor I did your friend."

"I only hope I shall come somewhere near squaring matters; but in one case a life was saved, and in this it is only a question of your avoiding imprisonment."

"To be made a prisoner under these circumstances would be worse than death. Go, my lad, go quickly!"

Enoch ran downstairs, and stopped with his hand on the latch of the door to say to Mrs. Graydon:

"Won't you please keep the house locked, and make some excuse for not letting anybody in? The time has come when we can repay Lord Gordon for the assistance he rendered Seth, and you must do your share by keeping him out of sight."

"No person shall enter without first battering down the door," Mrs. Graydon replied with an air of determination, and Enoch darted out of the house, running up the alley at full speed.

Half an hour later he returned, breathless, but triumphant.

Lord Gordon, looking desperately anxious, met him at the door.

"I've got a skiff," he said as soon as it was possible for him to speak. "She's in the creek below Third Street. I can take you there without the chance of meeting many people; but we shall be obliged to walk fast, and you must pay no attention to whatever may be said."

"Don't fear I'll do anything to prevent the success of your efforts, my boy. My rejoining the army at the earliest possible moment is such a vital matter that nothing short of force would delay me."

The servant was summoned, and came down the staircase as if still partially under the influence of sleep, laden with baggage.

"Look alive, man, can't you?" Enoch cried angrily as he took a portion of the burden from the fellow. "If nothing else will waken you, remember that your life is absolutely in danger from the time we leave this house until we are well out in the river."

These words had the desired effect, and the three, each carrying a portion of the luggage, left the house.

Enoch chose a most circuitous route, and although his lordship was jeered at many times during the short journey, nothing occurred to cause delay.

"She isn't a very fine craft," Enoch said when they reached the bank of the creek and he pulled out from the landing-stage a flat-bottomed boat; "but she'll take you over to the Jersey side, and I reckon that's all you want."

"Those who will show themselves to be such idiots as I have should be forced to swim for it," Lord Gordon said grimly, "and the situation now, compared with what it was half an hour ago, seems so bright that I wouldn't exchange your punt for one of the swiftest galleys of the fleet, except that I might arrive at the opposite shore more quickly."

There was only one pair of oars, and seating himself amidships, with Richard in the bow and Lord Gordon in the stern, Enoch plied these vigorously, as indeed was necessary in order to stem the flood-tide, which was now setting in strongly.

Nearly an hour was required in which to make the passage, and more than once did the officer insist he should be allowed to do a portion of the work; but Enoch would accept of no assistance.

"I should be only too glad to row you twenty miles, and all that distance against the tide, Lord Gordon, for then when I saw Seth I could say to him that we had been able to be of some service."

"You do not fully realize, my boy, how much assistance you have rendered me. I am under the deepest obligations, and that which I did in your service seems as nothing compared with this, for you have saved my honor. It is not my intention to offend you by offering payment; but I should be under yet greater obligations if you will allow me to give you some souvenir of this morning's work."

"You mean you want to make me a present?"

"Yes, Enoch, I want to leave with you something that you will remember me by—something which when you look at it you can say 'This was given me by a man to whom I rendered a greater service than if I had saved his life.'"

"I will take it, sir, and when I look at it will say to myself that it was given me by a gentleman who saved the life of my friend."

"Very neatly turned, my lad. You have a power of flattery which would win your way in a court."

"I wish I had the power that would win me my way in the Continental army."

"Are you intending to enlist?"

"Yes, sir. I do not want to say it boastingly; but yet I am proud because the little which I did last week caused General Washington himself to thank me, and to say that I should attach myself to his staff until I was really made a soldier."

"Indeed, my lad? You must have rendered some signal service. Since you no longer fear me as an enemy, for I am not formidable now that I am the only member of the English army this side of New Jersey, perhaps you will tell me what you did which won for you so great an honor."

Enoch, passing lightly over the incidents in which he figured prominently, told the story of his having been recognized by the Quaker and of subsequently hearing Clinton's order read.

Lord Gordon laughed heartily at the boy's account of his freeing himself from the Quaker's grasp; but grew grave as the story was finished.

"With such boys as you, Enoch, to recruit the American army, it is little wonder that we fail to whip you into submission. I am glad to know you, my lad, and would say the same even if you had not rendered me so great a service. I venture to predict you will win your way in the army, for surely no boy ever made a better beginning. I hope we shan't meet on the battlefield; but if we do of course each must strive for the mastery, and I am confident you will do your best to overcome me. Here is what I want you to accept," and Lord Gordon unfastened from his watch a heavy chain.

"That is far too valuable, sir. I had rather have something more trifling."

"And I prefer to give this. Don't refuse to take it, Enoch, for you will be doing me another favor by wearing it."

It was necessary Enoch should cease rowing sufficiently long to put the costly gift in his pocket, and then he bent himself sturdily to the oars once more, remaining silent several moments before he said:

"I thank you, Lord Gordon, for the chain; but I thank you more for your kind words. If all the Britishers had been like you I don't think this war would have lasted so long."

"And if all the Americans had been as generous-hearted and brave as you, Enoch Ball, your independence would have been gained immediately after it was declared."

Then the boat's bow grated on the sand of the Jersey shore.

His lordship's servant gathered up the belongings and proceeded with all haste toward the moving column which could be seen in the distance, and Lord Gordon, pressing Enoch's hand, said solemnly:

"May God love and guard you, my boy!"[E]