Mr. Arnold: A romance of the RevolutionLynde, Francis
General
Mr. Arnold: A romance of the Revolution
Lynde, Francis
Arnold, Benedict, 1741-1801 -- Fiction
[Illustration]
“Mais j’y suis, et, mes bons camarades, par tous les dieux, j’y
reste!”
CHARLES K. JOHNSTON.
[Illustration]
MR. ARNOLD
[Illustration]
MR. ARNOLD
A ROMANCE OF THE REVOLUTION
_By_
FRANCIS LYNDE
_Author of_
THE GRAFTERS, THE MASTER OF APPLEBY,
THE QUICKENING, ETC.
_Frontispiece by_
JOHN WOLCOTT ADAMS
INDIANAPOLIS
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1923
BY THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
_Printed in the United States of America_
PRESS OF
BRAUNWORTH & CO.
BOOK MANUFACTURERS
BROOKLYN, N. Y.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I HOW WE DRANK A TOAST 1
II A VOICE IN THE NIGHT 13
III IN WHICH I SHED MY RANK 32
IV HOW MY RANK WAS REGAINED 50
V A KISS AND A MAN’S LIFE 73
VI DARK NIGHT 85
VII AND AN UNBLEST DAWN 93
VIII A WALK UP GALLOWS HILL 104
IX IN WHICH I PAY A DUTY CALL 114
X IN WHICH A WALL HAS EARS 131
XI OUT OF THE NETTLE, DANGER 146
XII HOW THE HOOK WAS BAITED 163
XIII HOW A FISH WAS HOOKED AND LOST 176
XIV A CASK OF BITTERS 192
XV IN THE FOG 205
XVI THE CUP OF TANTALUS 209
XVII MASKED BATTERIES 221
XVIII IN WHICH THE WIND KEEPS REVELS 239
XIX MINE HONOR’S HONOR 256
XX TRAITORS ALL 277
XXI THE DRUMHEAD COURT 296
XXII IN THE POWDER-ROOM 307
XXIII OPEN FIELD AND RUNNING FLOOD 329
MR. ARNOLD
MR. ARNOLD
I
HOW WE DRANK A TOAST
IF THERE were nothing else to recall the day and date, December 14,
1780, I should still be able to name it because it chanced to be my
twenty-second birthday, and Jack Pettus, of the Virginia Hundreds, and
I were breaking a bottle of wine in honor of it in the bar of old Dirck
van Ditteraick’s pot-house tavern at Nyack.
The afternoon was cold and gray and dismal. The wine was prodigiously
bad; and the tavern bar, lighted by a couple of guttering candles in
wall sconces, was a reeking kennel. I was hand-blistered from my long
pull down the river from Teller’s Point; and Jack, who had ridden the
four miles from General Washington’s headquarters at Tappan to keep
the mild birthday wassail with me, was in a mood bitter enough to kill
whatever joy the anniversary might be supposed to hold for both or
either of us.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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