"Are you three all that are left?" I questioned bluntly. "Who commanded the vanguard?"
The two Hessians looked at each other stupidly, and I asked the question again before Grant saw fit to reply. His manner was excessively insolent.
"That is more than I know. We joined after dark, and I did not meet Delavan's officers."
"He vas vat you call maype a volunteer leftentant," added one of the Germans brokenly. "At Mount Holly we met, yah, and from there he joined."
"I dink not; he vas Light Dragoon. I haf the vagon guard--the first vagons--an' see him there. Mine Gott! he come pack vid his mens all right--slash, shoot--his horse rear up; that vas the last I see already."
"The lad got away, with three others, sir," broke in a new voice at my back. "They wheeled and rode through us, across the water. We thought the horse guard would get them over there, but I guess they didn't; anyhow there was no firing. The fellows must have turned in under the bank, and rode like hell."
Satisfied as to this incident, and not altogether regretful that the boy had thus escaped, I held a short consultation with Duval, seeking explanation as to why the command had been so unceremoniously thrust upon me. A few words only were required to make the situation clear. Farrell's ability to injure and annoy the enemy largely depended on his leadership not being known. While taking part in every engagement, he always required his lieutenants to represent him in negotiations, so that up to this time, whatever the British might suspect, they had no positive proof that he was openly in arms against them. Duval, in turn, taking advantage of my presence, had shifted the responsibility to my shoulders.
"But what do you people do with your prisoners?" I asked.
"Send 'em to the Continental lines when we can," he explained, "and if we can't then turn 'em loose. No use paroling 'em, as they consider us guerillas. If I was you I'd run 'em back to the farmhouse across the creek, an' hold 'em there till we get rid of this stuff. Maybe it'll take twenty-four hours to hide it all, and burn the wagons. Then the boys can turn 'em loose, an' there's no harm done. I'd like to take that fellow Grant into our lines--he's a mean pillaging devil--but it's too big a risk; Bristol is about the nearest picket post, and the Red-coats have got cavalry patrols all along in back of the river."