“‘It is Wilson Williams, sir,’ he answered, springing to his feet. ‘Now will you cease your questions? I know not why you should pester me with them. Is’t the fashion of Americans to annoy prisoners in such manner?’ “‘Since you are not the man, I will trouble you no further, sir,’ I answered with spirit. Turning my back upon him I began chatting with the others, who seemed not averse to conversation. “I had a shrewd suspicion that he was Clifford, passing for some reason under another name, so I led the talk to the war and its progress, gradually giving utterance to speeches that grew more and more inflammatory, hoping to make him declare himself under the heat of controversy. I saw that he writhed under the conversation, so at length I observed: “‘Even you British are coming to our way of thinking. The great Pitt, Charles Fox, and others among you know that ’tis the same spirit that animates us that stirred our common ancestors to resist the oppression of Charles First. None of you can be among us long without acknowledging this. Why, in Philadelphia, there is at this moment an English maiden who was bitter against us when she came among us, but who hath gradually been brought to our manner of belief. As a token of this she hath conferred upon me, an officer of the patriot army, a great mark for her favor.’ This I said, Mistress Harriet, to stir him. You must give me your pardon in the matter, for I thought but to serve you. And when I had said this I went to my saddle-bags which had been placed in a corner of the room, and drew forth the shirt that you had given me. “‘This hath she made for me,’ I said holding it up to view. ‘And this,’ pointing to the inscription, Harriet Owen a loyal subject of the king, ‘hath caused us much amusement.’ I could not but smile as I held it up, for it came to me that you had said that if it were seen by the English you would know that I had turned my back to the foe. And here it was back to the enemy even before seeing service. The words had no sooner left my lips than here was my young man on his feet. Snatching the garment from my hands he tore it into pieces before I could prevent. “‘There, sir!’ he cried, tossing the shreds into the fire. ‘No Yankee shall wear a shirt of my sister’s making. If you want satisfaction you shall have it.’ “He clapped his hand to his side for his rapier, but, being a prisoner, of course found it not. ‘A sword!’ he cried furiously. ‘A sword! A sword!’ “‘Sir,’ I said, saluting him, ‘I fight with no prisoner. And now that you have acknowledged that Mistress Harriet Owen is your sister, perchance you will permit me to give you her message. She wished you to inform her of your destination that she might exert herself to secure your release. Write her at Philadelphia, in care of Madam David Owen, who is a cousin of yours, as, I dare say, you know. I make no doubt but that your sister will be able to get you a parole.’