se in my own heart I knew that his Excellency could
set no man a task unworthy of his manhood. Yet it were pleasanter had my
duties thrown me with the army, or with Colonel Willett in my native
north, whence, at his request, I had come to live a life of physical
sloth and mental intrigue under the British cannon of New York--here in
the household of Sir Peter Coleville, his secretary, his friend, his
welcomed guest, the intimate of his family, his friends!--_that_ was the
hardest of all; and though for months at a time I managed to forget it,
the recurring thought of what I _was_, and what they believed me to be,
stabbed me at intervals so I could scarce endure it.

Nothing, not even the belief that God was with us, I fear, could have
held me there when the stress of such emotion left me staring at the
darkness in my restless bed--only blind faith in his Excellency that he
would do no man this shame, if shame it was--that he knew as well as I
that the land's salvation was not to be secured through the barter of
men's honor and the death of souls.

* * * * *

The door being secured, as I say, and the heat of that July day abating
nothing, though the sun hung low over Staten Island, I opened my
windows, removed coat and waistcoat, and, drawing a table to the
window, prepared to write up that portion of my daily journal neglected
lately, and which, when convenient opportunity offered, was to find its
way into the hands of Colonel Marinus Willett in Albany. Before I wrote
I turned back a leaf or two so that I might correct my report in the
light of later events; and I read rapidly:

_July 12, 1781._--Nothing remarkable. Very warm weather, and a bad
odor from the markets. There is some talk in the city of rebuilding
the burned district. Two new cannon have been mounted in the
southwest bastion of the fort (George). I shall report caliber and
particulars later.

_July 13th._--This day Sir Peter left to look over the lands in
Westchester which he is, I believe, prepared to purchase from Mr.
Rutgers. The soldiers are very idle; a dozen of 'em caught drawing a
seine in the Collect, and sent to the guard-house--a dirty trick for
anybody but Hessians, who are accustomed to fish in that manner.
The cannon in the southwest bastion are twelve-pounders and
old--trunnions rusted, carriages rotten. It seems they are trophies
taken from the