My thoughts--and it was no trespass upon my soldierhood--were elsewhere. I hold that I am not a sentimental fellow, but in the ride to Albany I often saw the face of Kate Van Auken--Mrs. Captain Chudleigh that was to be--a girl who was nothing to me, of course. Yet I was glad that she was not a Tory and traitor, and I hoped Chudleigh would prove to be the right sort of man. “I’ll be bound you’re thinking of some girl,” said Whitestone suddenly, as he took his pipe from his mouth and held the stem judicially between his thumb and forefinger. “Why?” I asked. “You look up at the sky, and not ahead of you; you sigh, and you’re young,” replied Whitestone. But I swore that I was not thinking of any girl, and with all the more emphasis because I was. Whitestone was considerate, however, and said nothing more on the subject. Within the time set for ourselves we reached Albany. Albany, as all the world knows, is an important town of Dutchmen. It is built on top of a hill, down a steep hillside, and then into a bottom by the river, which sometimes rises without an invitation from the Dutchmen and washes out the houses in the bottom. I have heard that many of these Dutchmen are not real Dutchmen, but have more English blood in them. It is not a matter, however, that I care to argue, as it is no business of mine what hobby horse one may choose to ride hard. All I know is that these Albany Dutchmen are wide of girth and can fight well, which is sufficient for the times. Whitestone and I rode along looking at the queer houses with their gable ends to the street. We could see that the town was in a great flurry, as it had a good right to be, with our army and Burgoyne’s above it and Clinton’s below it, and nobody knowing what was about to happen. “We must gather up the gossip of the town first,” I said to Whitestone. “No doubt much of it will be false and more of it exaggerated, but it will serve as an indication and tell us how to set about our work.” “Then here’s the place for us to begin gathering,” said Whitestone, pointing to a low frame building through the open door of which many voices and some strong odors of liquor came. Evidently it was a drinking tavern, and I knew Whitestone was right when he said it was a good place in which to collect rumors. We dismounted, hitched our horses to posts, and entered. As plenty of American soldiers were about the town, we had no fear that our uniforms would attract special attention. In truth we saw several uniforms like ours in the room, which was well crowded with an assemblage most mixed and noisy. Whitestone and I each ordered a glass of the Albany whisky tempered with water, and found it to be not bad after a long and weary ride. I have observed that a good toddy cuts the dust out of one’s throat in excellent fashion. Feeling better we stood around with the others and listened to the talk, of which there was no lack. In truth, some of it was very strange and remarkable.