by this route
to cut off the fugitive, while he followed the main road
with the rest. He felt sure now that he had the deserter,
for he could not reach the British outposts without crossing
the bridge.

On they went. No long time elapsed before the two divisions
met at the bridge. But Champe was not between them. The trap
had been sprung, but had failed to catch its game. He had in
some strange manner disappeared. What was to be done? How
had he eluded them?

Middleton rode hastily back to Bergen, and inquired if a
dragoon had passed through the village that morning.

"Yes; and not long ago."

"Which way did he go?"

"That we cannot say. No one took notice."

Middleton examined the road. Other horses had been out that
morning, and the Lee corps footprint was no longer to be
seen. But at a short distance from the village the trail
again became legible and the pursuit was resumed. In a few
minutes Champe was discovered. He had reached a point near
the water's edge, and was making signals to certain British
galleys which lay in the stream.

The truth was that the fugitive knew of the short cut quite
as well as his pursuers, and had shrewdly judged that they
would take it, and endeavor to cut him off before he could
reach the enemy's lines at Paulus Hook. He knew, besides,
that two of the king's galleys lay in the bay, a mile from
Bergen, and in front of the small settlement of Communipaw.
Hither he directed his course, lashing his valise, as he
went, upon his back.

Champe now found himself in imminent peril of capture. There
had been no response from the galleys to his signals. The
pursuers were close at hand, and pushing forward with shouts
of triumph. Soon they were but a few hundred yards away.
There was but one hope left. Champe sprang from his horse,
flung away the scabbard of his sword, and with the naked
blade in his hand ran across the marshy ground before him,
leaped into the waters of the bay, and swam lustily for the
galleys, calling loudly for help.

A boat had just before left the side of the nearest galley.
As the pursuers reined up their horses by the side of the
marsh, the fugitive was hauled in and was swiftly rowed back
to the ship. Middleton, disappointed in his main object,
took the horse, cloak, and scabbard of the fugitive and
returned with them to camp.

"He has not been killed?" asked Lee, hastily, on seeing
these articles.

"No; the rascal gave us the slip. He is safely on a B