As we neared the town, and our course of action was mapped out with so much discussion that every detail had been arranged, I literally quivered with excitement, for the time was near at hand when we would know if our services, slight though they had been, were such as might gain us the approbation of the commander. It seemed to me particularly fortunate that night had come, for I counted on being able to get a meeting with General Putnam more readily than would be possible in the day-time, and, besides, I was not minded to hold converse with any one after having seen him, for it was quite within the range of chances that while walking across Bowling Green some of our acquaintances might be met. Therefore it seemed to me as if everything worked in our favor, and when, finally, the Swiftsure was tied up at the Market Street bulkhead, I believed matters were going our way, though little did I dream how decidedly such might be the case. “Go ashore as quickly as may be,” Abel Grant said in a tone of command. “Seth an’ I’ll look after the sloop. Be sure to finish all your business with the commander; but at the same time get back here as soon as is seemly, for both the Britisher and I’ll feel more comfortable in mind when we know if it is allowed that he shall stay with us.” Abraham had not spoken since we came off the city, and when he followed me up the bulkhead and across Bowling Green in the direction of General Putnam’s quarters, I asked the reason for his silence. “To tell the truth, Ephraim, I am so kind of stirred up that speech seems impossible. I verily believe my heart is nigh to my mouth, so choked am I with fear lest after what seems to us such a good piece of work, General Putnam will put it down as a failure. Besides, I have come to think more about Sam than at any time since we cut loose from the frigate, and wonderin’ if he hasn’t already been taken prisoner.” He had no more than ceased speaking when from out the gloom came two figures, and we were within an ace of running afoul of them, so unexpectedly had they appeared. I contrived to sheer off; but in so doing brushed with no little roughness past the smaller of the two, when I was startled to the verge of terror by hearing a voice cry: “It’s Ephraim Lyttle! How do you happen to be here, lad?” Verily it seemed to me I had heard a ghost speak, for it was Sam’s voice, and I felt confident as of my existence that he was either on Coney Island awaiting our appearance, or a prisoner on board one of the British vessels. It was Abraham who aroused me from my stupor of bewilderment, which was nigh unto fear, by crying in a joyful tone: “Sam Garratt! An’ we believed the red-coats had got hold of you!” “The same has been said regardin’ you,” the dear lad replied. “Luther Stedman spread the report that you of the sloop were captured.”