of the man, whose confidence in himself and his easy manners proclaimed an ability to care for himself and an apparent absence of fear that somehow were not reassuring to the young soldier.
His thoughts were interrupted by the return of Dirck, who placed his candle on the table, and taking a seat close to Robert's, said, as he shook his head, "I likes it not, Robert. He was too much talk. Which General Clinton is he going to see?"
"If it was Sir Henry he would not be here. He'd be nearer New York," suggested Robert, in reality striving to reassure himself.
"But he comes from up the river."
"He did?"
"We must talk low," admonished Dirck, whose voice was not much above a whisper. "And he was a Russell, too."
"What has that to do with it?"
"Perhaps sometimes you will read one letter," replied Dirck, as he drew from his pocket a discolored piece of paper and handed it to his friend. Robert eagerly grasped the epistle, and spreading it out before him, with difficulty made out the following letter:—[1]
- ↑ This letter is an exact reproduction of one which was sent General George Clinton. Even the unique spelling has been retained.
