“It’s been a long chase, captain, but we’ve got you at last,” continued the sergeant. “So it seems,” said Chudleigh, with the same phlegm. Then I came from the wood and cut the sergeant’s comb for him; but he was so glad to see me again that he was quite willing to lose the glory of the recapture. He explained that he had been overtaken by Adams. Together they had wandered around in search of Chudleigh and me. Giving up the hunt as useless, they had obtained new horses and were on the way back to the army. We were now four men and two horses, and the men taking turns on horseback, we increased our speed greatly. Whitestone and Adams were in fine feather, but there was one question that yet bothered me. I wanted to take Chudleigh back in his own proper British uniform, and thus save him from unpleasant possibilities. I did not see how it could be done, but luck helped me. We met very soon a small party of Americans escorting some British prisoners. Telling my companions to wait for me, I approached the sergeant who was in charge of the troop. Making my manner as important as I could, and speaking in a low tone, as if fearful that I would be overheard--which I observe always impresses people--I told him that one of our number was about to undertake a most delicate and dangerous mission. It chanced that I had some slight acquaintance with this sergeant, and therefore he had no reason to doubt my words, even if I am forced to say it myself. He pricked up his ears at once, all curiosity, and wanted to know the nature of the business. I pointed to Chudleigh, who was standing some distance away with Whitestone and Adams, and said he was going to enter the British lines as a spy in order to procure most important information. “A dangerous business, you say truly. He must be a daring fellow,” said my man, nodding his head in the direction of Chudleigh. “So he is,” I said, “ready at any moment to risk his life for the cause, but we need one thing.” He asked what it was. “A disguise,” I said. “If he is to play the British soldier, of course he must have a British soldier’s clothes.” I made no request, but I looked suggestively at the British prisoners. The sergeant, who was all for obliging me, took the hint at once. He picked out the very best uniform in the lot, and made the man who wore it exchange it for Chudleigh’s old clothes. Chudleigh, who had been learning wisdom in the last day or two, was considerate enough to keep his mouth shut, and we parted from the sergeant and his troop with many mutual expressions of good will. The uniform did not fit Chudleigh, nor was it that of an officer, but these were minor details to which no attention would be paid in the press of a great campaign. The matter of the uniform disposed of, we pressed forward with renewed spirit, and soon reached the first sentinels of our army, which we found surrounding that of Burgoyne. It was with great satisfaction that I delivered Chudleigh to my colonel.