"The ear of woman is quick, and from their entering the room, not a word had escaped Mrs. Sullivan. At first she could scarce refrain from calling out, but her uncommon strength of mind enabled her to master her fear--she scarce knew what to think: her husband's life, herself and family, were at stake, and her courage rose in proportion as her sense of danger increased. "She scarcely dared to breathe, and even the infant at her breast seemed to partake of its mother's anxiety, and nestled closer to her bosom. "The curtains partly shaded where she lay, and breathing a prayer to Heaven for protection, she silently stepped from the bed, scarce knowing how to proceed. "Her woman's tact led her to appeal to their sympathies, if sympathies they had--if she died, she but risked her life for one dearer than herself whose existence to his country was invaluable--and perhaps by this means enable him to escape. In an instant she was before them, her infant at their feet, her pale beseeching face imploring what speech refused to utter. "The officers started--this sight was unexpected--the least hesitation, and all would be lost. "Captain Hartwell threw aside his heavy watch-cloak and said-- "'Madam, let this uniform be the warrant for our honour--our object is to take your husband alive, if possible--that depends, however, on your silence.' "At this moment General Sullivan awoke, and finding his wife in the hands of men whose calling he knew not, his good sword was soon in his hand, but a strong arm wrested it from him--handcuffs were placed on his wrists, and he stood their prisoner. "He enquired by what right they entered his house! 'Our object, sir,' replied the officer, 'is to convey you to Long Island--the least expression of alarm from you, that moment you breathe your last--if peaceable, no violence will be offered.' Mrs. Sullivan threw herself before them, and entreaties for mercy gushed from her agonized heart. 'Oh! spare him--take what money is here, but leave me my husband, the father of my children. Think, if you have wives or families, what their sense of bereavement would be to see some murderous band tear you from their arms, and they left in horrid uncertainty as to your fate. Take all that we have, but leave him.' A sneer of scorn curled the officer's lip, as he coolly replied-- "'Madam, we are neither robbers nor assassins--the compliment on our part is quite undeserved. We are British officers.'