Having returned, I expected to share in the pursuit of Burgoyne, and wondered to what particular duty I would be assigned. But a man never knows at seven o’clock what he will be doing at eight o’clock, and before eight o’clock had come I was called by the colonel of our regiment. “Mr. Shelby,” he said, “you have already shown yourself intelligent and vigilant on important service.” I listened, feeling sure that I was going to have something very disagreeable to do. You can depend upon it when your superior begins with formal flattery. I had just finished one important task, but the more you do the more people expect of you. “One of our prisoners has escaped,” he said; “a keen-witted man who knows the country. He has escaped to the south. As you know so well, Sir Henry Clinton is, or has been, advancing up the Hudson with a strong force to the aid of Burgoyne, whom nothing else can save from us. This man--this prisoner who has escaped--must not be permitted to reach Clinton with the news that Burgoyne is almost done for. It was important before the last battle that no messenger from Burgoyne should pass through our lines; it is still more important to-day. You understand?” I bowed, as a sign that I understood. “This escaped prisoner knows everything that has happened,” he resumed, “and he must be overtaken. He will probably follow the direct road along the river, as he knows that haste is necessary. How many men do you want?” I named Whitestone and a private, a strong, ready-witted fellow named Adams. “What is the name of the man we are to capture?” I asked. “Chudleigh--Captain Ralph Chudleigh,” he replied. “A tall man, dark hair and eyes, twenty-six to twenty-eight years of age. Do you know him?” I replied that I knew him. “So much the better,” said our colonel with much delight. “Aside from your other qualifications, Mr. Shelby, you are the man of all men for this duty. Chudleigh will undoubtedly attempt to disguise himself, but since you know him so well he can scarce hide his face from you. But remember that he must be taken, dead or alive.” I had not much relish for the mission in the first place, and, for reasons, less relish when I knew that Chudleigh was the man whom I was to take. But in such affairs as these it is permitted to the soldier to choose only the one thing, and that is, to obey. We set out at once over the same road we had traveled twice so recently. Three good horses had been furnished us, and we were well armed. For a while we rode southward with much speed, and soon left behind us the last detachment of our beleaguering army. One question perplexed me: Would Chudleigh be in his own British uniform, which he wore when he escaped, or did he manage to take away with him some rags of Continental attire, in which he would clothe himself first chance? I could answer it only by watching for all men of suspicious appearance, no matter the cut or color of their clothing.