Giving Hyatt's Tavern also the go-by, they crossed the Harlem by the Farmers' Bridge and continued on the Boston post-road; presently took the left, where the road forked, and so arrived betimes at East Chester, which stood invitingly in its pleasant valley, its church tower and belfry rising among the locust-trees. At the tavern there Tom casually threw off a brief story to account for having ridden all night, and the two speedily possessed themselves of a stiff drink, a hot breakfast, and a clean bed. In the afternoon, being anxious to get out of the province of New York, lest some extraordinary effort might be made to detain them, they again took horse, passed through the Huguenot village of New Rochelle, stopped later at Mamaroneck to rest the horse, crossed the Byram River to Connecticut at evening, and put up, before night was well advanced, at Stamford, which wound irregularly along an undulating and stony road. When they took the road for Norwalk the next morning, they were thoroughly refreshed, and Dick, having got all the tan-dust out of his ears, nostrils, and pores, was able to enjoy fully the beauty of Long Island Sound where it was visible beyond the coves that here and there indented to the road. That day and the next two days were uneventful. Between Norwalk and Fairfield they met a courier from the Massachusetts Committee of Safety to the Continental Congress. He tarried no longer than to tell them the New England army was increasing daily and holding the King's troops tight in Boston. At Stratford and Milford the tavern talk was all of the war; of how the Connecticut troops already started would acquit themselves, and how many more would be needed; how this village farmer or that would behave when faced by a British grenadier; of what steps the Continental Congress would take, what dark plots the Tories might be weaving in New York, and what might occur should the British war-vessels bombard the coast towns.