"You are a very clear-headed man," said the general. "You shall not be forgotten, I promise you, when you return." "It will be time to think of that when I see whether I am to return at all, Your Excellency." "Oh, you must not be downhearted," said Sir Henry, kindly. "The service is a dangerous one, but many a man has lived through it. Good luck go with you!" At twelve o'clock that night, Caspar Reinhart pushed off his little boat and made for the Jersey shore, under cover of which he floated downward, only using his oars to keep himself from running aground. It was a bright night. The wind blew down the river and the tide was running out very fast. The air was soft and warm, and all sorts of sweet odours mingled with the smell of salt water and river-mud. The frogs, turtles, and insects were performing an uproarious concert along shore, to which to him unknown birds occasionally added a strain. Caspar listened to the various voices, wondering what creatures made them, and starting now and then as some big bullfrog near at hand offered a gruff remark, till he grew horribly sleepy, and at last dropped into a doze. He did not seem to himself to have slept a moment, when he was startled by a sudden shock, and waked to find his boat aground. The early streaks of dawn were showing in the east, and Caspar concluded that he could not do better than to rest on his oars till it grew light enough to see about him. Presently he discovered that his boat had run itself aground on a sandy spit of land projecting into the Delaware. On the other side seemed to be the mouth of a pretty good-sized inlet or river; it was not easy to say which. The banks were low and overgrown with oak and pine, mostly quite small, and what is called scrub, intermixed with holly and laurel, the latter in the full beauty of its magnificent bloom. Beautiful vines ran over the trees, and strange flowering-plants grew in the edges of the water. Dainty beach-birds danced up and down the margin of sand left by the retreating tide, a stately heron was fishing on the other side, and on a tree close at hand a mocking-bird was pouring out a wonderful strain of melody. * * The mocking-bird is a rare but not unknown visitor in South Jersey. I heard a very fine one in the old churchyard in Bridgeton. "It is the garden of Eden," thought Caspar, looking about him with delight, for he had a keen sense of beauty. "Well, I don't see that I can do better than to eat my breakfast, rest a while, and when the tide makes float up the creek here and seek my fortune in the interior." CHAPTER VI. _THE BEAR._