ewed before many days had elapsed.

At last, on October 7, 1777, the second battle of Saratoga was fought.
Lady Harriet was once again doomed to listen to the sound of cannon and
musketry, and to see a sad procession of wounded moving to the rear.
As time passed without any news of her husband reaching her, she began
to hope that he would pass through the battle uninjured; but this was
not to be. Soon the news came that the British, under General
Burgoyne, had been defeated, and that Major Acland, seriously wounded,
had been taken prisoner.

For a time Lady Harriet was overcome with grief, but growing calmer she
determined to make an attempt to join her husband in the American camp
and nurse him there. 'When the army was upon the point of moving after
the halt described,' General Burgoyne wrote in his account of the
campaign, 'I received a message from Lady Harriet, submitting to my
decision a proposal (and expressing an earnest solicitude to execute
it, if not interfering with my designs) of passing to the camp of the
enemy, and requesting General Gates's permission to attend her husband.
Though I was ready to believe (for I had experienced) that patience and
fortitude in a supreme degree were to be found, as well as every other
virtue, under the most tender forms, I was astonished at this proposal.
After so long an agitation of the spirits, exhausted not only for want
of rest, but absolutely want of food, drenched in rains for twelve
hours together, that a woman should be capable such an undertaking as
delivering herself to the enemy, probably in the night, and uncertain
of what hands she might first fall into, appeared an effort above human
nature. The assistance I was enabled to give was small indeed; I had
not even a cup of wine to offer her; but I was told she had found, from
some kind and fortunate hand, a little rum and dirty water. All I
could furnish to her was an open boat and a few lines, written upon
dirty and wet paper, to General Gates, recommending her to his
protection.'

Accompanied by an army chaplain and two servants, Lady Harriet
proceeded up the Hudson River in an open boat to the enemy's outposts;
but the American sentry, fearing treachery, refused to allow her to
land, and ignoring the white handkerchief which she held aloft,
threatened to shoot anyone in the boat who ventured to move. For eight
hours, unprotected from the night air, Lady Harriet sat shivering in
the boat, but at daybreak