Such was the termination of this adventure; one that I have rightly termed memorable. In the end, Jack and Moses came in safe and sound; having probably swum ashore. They were found in the public road, only a short distance from the town, and were brought in to their master the same day. Every one who took any interest in horses--and what Dutchman does not?--knew Jack and Moses, and there was no difficulty in ascertaining to whom they belonged. What is singular, however, both sleighs were recovered; though at long intervals of time, and under very different circumstances. That of Guert, wolves' skins and all, actually went down the whole length of the river on the ice; passing out to sea through the Narrows. It must have gone by New York in the night, or doubtless it would have been picked up; while the difficulty of reaching it, was its protector on the descent, _above_ the town. Once outside of the Narrows, it was thrown by the tide and winds upon the shore of Staten Island; where it was hauled to land, housed, and, being properly advertised in our New York paper, Guert actually got tidings of it in time to receive it, skins and all, by one of the first sloops that ascended the Hudson that year; which was within a fortnight after the river had opened. The year 1758 was one of great activity, on account of the movements of the army, and no time was then unnecessarily lost. The history of Herman Mordaunt's sleigh was very different. The poor bays must have drowned soon after we saw them floating past us in the torrent. Of course, life had no sooner left them, than they sank to the bottom of the river, carrying with them the sleigh to which they were still attached. In a few days the animals rose to the surface--as is usual with all swollen bodies--bringing up the sleigh again. In this condition, the wreck was overtaken by a downward bound sloop, the men of which saved the sleigh, harness, skins, foot-stoves, and such other articles as would not float away. Our adventure made a good deal of noise in the circle of Albany; and I have reason to think that my own conduct was approved by those who heard of it. Bulstrode paid me an especial visit of thanks, the very day of my return, when the following conversation took place between us:-- “You seem fated, my dear Corny,” the Major observed, after he had paid the usual compliments, “to be always serving me in the most material way, and I scarcely know how to express all I feel on the occasion. First, the lion, and now this affair of the river--but, that Guert will drown, or make away with the whole family before the summer is over, unless Mr. Mordaunt puts a stop to _his_ interference.” “This accident was one that might have overtaken the oldest and most prudent man in Albany. The river seemed as solid as the street when we went on it; and another hour, even as it was, would have brought us all home, in entire safety.”