SHOWS HOW THE BRITISH SHIPS CAME INTO THE BAY
At a few words from his friends, George Prentiss was released; but
Hickey and some others who had been taken were marched to a place of
security and put under guard.
Next day all was in a turmoil; the Tories in and about the city feared
for their lives. As Nat Brewster had predicted, Matthews, the mayor of
New York, was arrested by a detachment of Greene’s brigade; his house
and person were searched, but no incriminating papers were found. Those
of the Tories who had prepared for an outbreak fled, upon learning that
their leaders had been taken.
Washington struck swiftly and strongly; those of the plotters who
belonged to the army were at once brought before a courtmartial; the
others were handed over to the civic power. Of the members of the
general’s guard taken, only Hickey was convicted; he was promptly
hanged on June 28th.
On the day following this execution, a lookout on Staten Island
reported a fleet of forty sail in sight. The news quickly spread and
the city, not yet recovered from the shock of the Tory conspiracy, was
wild with excitement once more.
The fleet proved to be from Halifax, and carried some ten thousand of
the troops which Washington had only recently driven out of Boston;
also there were six transports, having on board some regiments of
Highlanders which had joined the fleet at sea.
At sight of this formidable armament heading up the bay, Washington’s
couriers were sent dashing here and there with the news, warning all
the commanders along the Hudson to hold themselves in readiness in
case the British should attempt to push their war-ships up the river.
But there was no such attempt. Day after day, however, the fleet
was increased; not long afterward there were one hundred and thirty
men-of-war and transports in the bay; the troops were disembarked and
the hillsides of Staten Island were whitened with their tents.
This force was under the command of Howe, and Washington watched it
anxiously, knowing that the British general awaited only the coming of
the admiral, his brother, to begin operations. Young Cooper carried
a message to the President of Congress, urging the Massachusetts
authorities to send its quota of continental troops to New York; the
formation of a flying camp of ten thousand men in the Jerseys, to be
used wherever required, was also advised. Recruits began to pour into
the city; upon every open space they could be seen going through the
manual of arms.
One afternoon, George, who had carried a dispatch summoning General
Greene to headquarters, was riding with that officer across a stretch
of fields beyond Broadway. A company of provincial artillery were
drilling; and the deftness of their work, the smooth, capable manners
of their commander, a small-sized youth of about twenty, attracted the
general’s attention. Quick to recognize ability, the general pulled
up and sat his horse, watching the proceedings, and during a pause he
inquired the officer’s name.
The youth saluted.
“Alexander Hamilton,” he replied. “A student at King’s College.”
And it was that same evening, just at twilight, that George was pacing
along Maiden Lane near to William Street, his hands behind him and his
head bent. He still frequently rode and walked in that neighborhood;
always did he grow thoughtful when there, and always upon the same
subject. That Herbert Camp had been recognized by no one but himself
that night at Corbie’s tavern was evident, as no search had been made
for him; but George was puzzled to know if he and his sister had come
off unhurt in the rain of pistol shots that followed the dash from the
tavern.
“Neither of them could have been grievously injured,” he mused. “If
they had been, they would have more than likely not have made off so
quickly.”
But it was Peggy’s attitude that occupied him more than anything else.
[Illustration: _“ALEXANDER HAMILTON,” HE REPLIED_]
“Now, why,” the young man mutely demanded, “should she so set herself
to insult me? How have I deserved it? Is there one thing which I have
done since I came to New York and which touched her in any way, that
has not been in the nature of a service? On the wharf where the ‘Nancy
Breen’ tied up, I lent a helping hand to her uncle. And she recognized
it as such, for a few hours later when those popinjays on the Parade
sought to make me a butt for their wit, she was kind. I helped her
brother out of a tight place at the ‘Wheat Sheaf’; and even then she
seemed to show appreciation, for she warned me against a mysterious
danger. Once more at Corbie’s I try to serve her; and she turns upon me
like a fury.”
He was still fuming along with bent head when he felt a hand laid upon
his shoulder.
“Your pardon, young sir, if I am mistaken,” spoke a voice; “but it
seems to me that I should know you.”
It was Merchant Camp, and the young New Englander, freeing himself from
his exasperating thoughts, smiled as he answered:
“I had the pleasure of meeting you one morning, sir, on the river
front, when a certain sailorman differed with your political beliefs.”
The stout old Tory burst into a laugh; red-faced and gasping a little,
he patted George on the shoulder.
“Right!” cried he. “Right, lad! So it was. I knew, the moment I put
eyes on you, that you were one that I should not pass as a stranger. I
suppose,” inquiringly, “that I thanked you at the time? Yes? Well and
good. But I will also thank you now.” He shook George warmly by the
hand. “It was no light thing to do, sir, to lend a hand to a king’s man
in New York at this time. It was indeed a matter of some risk. And the
deeper the chance you ran, the greater is my obligation.”
“The political side of the incident did not occur to me, Mr. Camp,”
said the youth. “I only saw that you’d be outmatched in a game of
buffets, that was all.”
“He was a sturdy rascal, to be sure,” replied the old merchant. “But
take ten years off my age and I’d ask no odds of him.” He looked at
George for a moment, and his big red face wrinkled with smiles. “That
was a rare drubbing you gave him,” chuckled he. “But come,” after a
moment. “I have yet to hear your name.”
“George Prentiss,” replied the young man. “I am from Boston.”
“Prentiss--Boston!” The merchant looked at him with fresh interest.
“Can it be possible that you are kin to Seth Prentiss of that city?”
“I am his grandson,” answered George.
“Grandson!” The old man grasped his hand firmly and his broad face
beamed with good will. “His grandson, do you say! Well, well, here’s a
circumstance, indeed! Why, then, you are own cousin to my niece Peggy
and my nephew Herbert. Their mother was your mother’s younger sister.
Surely you’ve heard her mention us.”
“Frequently, sir.”
“And still you never made yourself known,” inquiringly.
“There were reasons, sir. You see, in times like these----”
The old gentleman did not allow him to proceed further.
“I understand,” said he. “Nothing can be done straightforwardly these
days, with safety. Perhaps, when all is said, you have acted well.
But,” in another tone, “how is your grandfather?”
“Very well, sir.”
“There is no one in all the colonies for whom I have a greater regard
than I have for your grandfather,” spoke Merchant Camp, heartily.
“There is no more successful merchant than he, no more honest man and
no one more devoted to the cause of the king.”
It was upon the tip of George’s tongue to correct this last, but
he restrained himself. There had been no more ardent king’s man in
all Boston town than old Seth Prentiss, that was true. But he had
experienced a change of heart, and now stood as stoutly for the
colonies as he had heretofore stood for their foes.
“I cannot tell you,” went on Merchant Camp, “how pleased I am to meet
with you, and all the more so, the conditions being what they are. I
trust,” eagerly, “that you are in no way engaged for the evening, lad.”
“No, sir,” replied George.
“Excellent! I am on my way home just now; I live but a step from here,
and I want----” Here he paused as though something had occurred to
him; he looked searchingly at the young man for a moment, then went on
with less enthusiasm: “If you have nothing better to do with your time,
I should like to have you dine with me.” George bowed his willingness.
“My nephew dines with me to-night, and he will be pleased,” said Mr.
Camp. “And Peggy will no doubt be delighted to greet her cousin.”
Then something in the lad’s expression seemed to strike him; and after
a moment he added:
“But, perhaps, on the whole, I had better not mention your relationship
just yet.”
“Perhaps,” answered George, “it would be as well if you did not.”