"No, never," replied Mrs. Harmar.
"No! Then, as a Philadelphia lady, you should know about it," said Wilson.
"The superior officers of the British army were accustomed to hold their consultations on all subjects of importance at the house of William and Lydia Darragh, members of the Society of Friends, immediately opposite to the quarters of the commander-in-chief, in Second street. It was in December, in the year that they occupied the city, that the adjutant-general of the army desired Lydia to have an apartment prepared for himself and friends, and to order her family early to bed; adding, when ready to depart, 'Notice shall be given to you to let us out, and to extinguish the fire and candles.' The manner of delivering this order, especially that part of it which commanded the early retirement of her family, strongly excited Lydia's curiosity, and determined her, if possible, to discover the mystery of their meeting. Approaching without shoes the room in which the conference was held, and placing her ear to the keyhole, she heard the order read for the troops to quit the city on the night of the 4th, to attack the American army encamped at White Marsh. Returning immediately to her room, she laid herself down, but, in a little while, a loud knocking at the door, which for some time she pretended not to hear, proclaimed the intention of the party to retire. Having let them out, she again sought her bed, but not to sleep; the agitation of her mind prevented it. She thought only of the dangers that threatened the lives of thousands of her countrymen, and believing it to be in her power to avert the evil, determined, at all hazards, to apprize General Washington of his danger. Telling her husband, at early dawn, that flour was wanting for domestic purposes, and that she should go to Frankford to obtain it, she repaired to headquarters, got access to General Howe, and obtained permission to pass the British lines. Leaving her bag at the mill, Lydia now pressed forward towards the American army, and meeting Captain Allen M'Lean, an officer, from his superior intelligence and activity, selected by General Washington to gain intelligence, discovered to him the important secret, obtaining his promise not to jeopardize her safety by telling from whom he had obtained it. Captain M'Lean, with all speed, informed the commander-in-chief of his danger, who, of course, took every necessary step to baffle the contemplated enterprize, and to show the enemy that he was prepared to receive them. Lydia returned home with her flour, secretly watched the movements of the British, and saw them depart. Her anxiety during their absence was excessive, nor was it lessened when, on their return, the adjutant-general, summoning her to his apartment and locking the door with an air of mystery, demanded 'Whether any of the family were up on the night that he had received company at her house?' She told him, that, without an exception, they had all retired at eight o'clock. 'You, I know, Lydia, were asleep, for I knocked at your door three times before you heard me, yet, although I am at a loss to conceive who gave the information of our intended attack to General Washington, it is certain we were betrayed; for, on arriving near his encampment, we found his cannon mounted, his troops under arms, and at every point so perfectly prepared to receive us, that we were compelled, like fools, to make a retrograde movement, without inflicting on our enemy any manner of injury whatever.'"
"Ha! ha! a neat stratagem, and a patriotic woman," exclaimed young Harmar.
"Talking of the services of the women during the war," said Higgins, "reminds me of Molly Macauly, or Sergeant Macauly, as we knew her while in the army. She was a Pennsylvanian, and was so enthusiastic in her patriotism, that she donned a man's dress, and joined the army, when she became a sergeant, and fought bravely in several battles and skirmishes. Nobody suspected that she was not what she seemed to be; for she was tall, stout, and rough-looking, and associated with men very freely. Molly had a custom of swinging her sabre over her head, and hurraing for Mad Anthony, as she called General Wayne. She was wounded at Brandywine, and, her sex being discovered, returned home."
"She was not the only woman in disguise in the army," said old Harmar. "There was Elizabeth Canning, who was at Fort Washington, and, when her husband was killed, took his place at the gun, loading, priming, and firing with good effect, till she was wounded in the breast by a grape-shot. While our army lay at Valley Forge, several Pennsylvania women were detected in disguise, enduring all kinds of want, and with less murmuring than the men themselves. Oh, yes! the women were all right in those days, however they may have degenerated since."
"Come, no slander on the women of the present day," said Mrs. Harmar. "I've no doubt, take them all in all; they will not suffer in comparison with those of any age."
"Bravo! Mrs. Harmar," exclaimed Wilson.
"Women, now, are ready enough with disguises," remarked young Harmar.
"To be sure!" replied his wife, "and always were."
THE DEAD MAN'S LAKE
"Mr. Smith, can't we have a leaf from your experience in those trying times?" said old Harmar.
"Ah! sir, I would have much to tell if I had time to collect my memory—much to tell, sir. But though I saw a great deal in the Revolution, I heard much more."
"Tell us anything to pass time," said young Harmar. "I've heard my father speak of some bold exploits up in the vicinity of New York. The history of the Cowboys and Skinners always interested me."
"Ah! I've heard many a story of them," replied Smith. "I'll tell you of one old Jack Hanson told me—you recollect old Jack, don't you, Harmar? He was with us at Valley Forge."
"That I do," replied old Harmer. "He gave me a piece of his blanket, and an old shoe, when I believe I was freezing to death."
"Yes, he was ever a good-hearted fellow—Jack Hanson was. He's been dead now about ten years. Well, as I was saying, he told me a story about those Cowboys and Skinners which will bear telling again."
"It happened when the British were in possession of the city of New York. Many brave men did all that could be done to destroy the power and comfort of the king's representatives, and alarm them for their personal safety; and, to the greater part of them, the neighboring county of West Chester furnished both the home, and a theatre of action. Their system of warfare partook of the semi-savage and partisan predatory character, and many fierce and desperate encounters took place between them and the outlawed hordes of desperadoes in the pay of the British.
"The refugees, banded together for the purpose of preying upon the patriots, and then retreating behind the shelter of the royal fortifications, were composed of the vilest miscreants that could be gathered from the dregs of any community, and were generally known by the slang name of 'Skinners.'
"To oppose these desperadoes, and protect their lives and property from insult, many of the whigs had united in small parties, and were styled by the Skinners, in derision, the 'Cow-boys.' One of the most active and energetic of these bands, ever ready for any species of patriotic duty, was led by Nicholas Odell. Nick, as he was familiarly termed, though entirely uneducated, was one of the shrewdest men to be found; for Nature had gifted him where cultivation was wanting, and he became, in consequence, a most formidable and dangerous enemy in the service he had chosen. But fifty men composed his entire force, and with these he did his country much service, and the enemy no little mischief.
"The line of the Bronx River was the route always kept in view by Nick and his men; and, at six several points, places of rendezvous were established, at which they were generally to be found when off duty, which was, indeed, seldom the case.
"One of these places was on the banks of that stream, where the water was so wide and deep as to render it perilous for any but an expert and experienced swimmer to attempt its passage, and always placid, with a sort of oily surface looking like the backed waters of a mill-pond. The banks were covered with a thick undergrowth of vines, saplings, and trees in abundance, so that autumn did not, by taking away the leaves, expose the spot to the observation of the passer-by. Here a rude board shanty had been knocked up in a hurry, and was used to shelter the men from the intense cold of the winter nights. This episode in the stream Nick had named 'Dead Man's Lake,' in consequence of finding on its banks the body of a man who had been murdered and mutilated by his old enemies, the Skinners.
"One evening, in the depth of winter, Nick, who had been a long distance above White Plains, hastened back to the lake in