General Bradstreet, who commanded an army sent against those Indian nations who had cut off several English garrisons, of which we had taken possession after the surrender of Canada, having too hastily determined to send an officer to take possession also of the Illinois country in his Britannic Majesty’s name, sent his Aid de Camp to sound me on the occasion. His Aid de Camp desired me to recommend some officer with qualities he described. I named every one that I could recollect; but he always answered me shortly: “No, no; he won’t do.” I then began to suspect that he might have a design on myself. Accordingly I said: “If I thought my services would be acceptable”—He interrupted me: “That is what is wanted.” I replied: “Why did you not say so at first?” He said, with an oath: “It is not a thing to be asked of any man.” I answered: “If the General thinks me the properest person, I am ready.” I was immediately conducted to the General; and while I was at dinner with him, he said, in his frank manner: “Morris, I have a French fellow here, my prisoner, who expects to be hanged for treason; he speaks all the Indian languages, and if you think he can be of use to you, I’ll send for him, pardon him, and send him with you.” I answered: “I am glad you have thought of it, Sir; I wish you would.” The prisoner, whose name was Godefroi,[4] was accordingly sent for; and, as soon as he entered the tent, he turned pale, and fell on his knees, begging for mercy. The General telling him that it was in his power to hang him, concluded with saying: “I give thee thy life; take care of this gentleman.” The man expressed a grateful sense of the mercy shewn him, and protested that he would be faithful: and indeed his behaviour afterwards proved that he was sincere in his promise. As General Bradstreet had pardoned him on my account, he considered me as his deliverer. Little minds hate obligations; and thence the transition is easy to the hatred of their benefactor: this man’s soul was of another make, and, though in a low station, a noble pride urged him to throw a heavier weight of obligation on him to whom he thought he was indebted for his liberty, if not his life; and I had the singular satisfaction of owing those blessings to one who fancied he owed the same to me.