wrung out my clothes as best I could, and, with difficulty, drew on the
boots I had borne across, slung to my shoulder.

I possessed but a dim conception of where I was, yet knew I must make a
wide detour to the east so as to escape British foraging parties. There
was nothing to guide me except the stars, no sign of any habitation, nor
cultivated field; not even a fence. I shivered in the night air, and went
stumbling forward over the rough ground, until I came upon a road running
north and south. I had no desire to proceed in either of these
directions, but the walking was so much better that I turned to the left,
hoping to find a trend eastward, as I knew the river swerved in that
direction. My reward was the discovery of a crossroad, a mere wagon
track, into which I gladly turned, and plodded along steadily. The stiff
exercise, combined with the heat of my body--for I was walking now as
rapidly as the darkness would permit--dried my clothes, yet with every
step onward, I became more apprehensive of danger. I was unarmed, my
sword sunk in the Delaware, my pistol useless from wet powder; unless I
found concealment before daybreak I would doubtless fall into the hands
of some roving band, and be summarily dealt with. If loyalists, I was
certain to be returned to Philadelphia a prisoner; if Colonial then I
would find it hard to explain the uniform I wore. In either case there
would be no gentleness in handling me.

I must have thus plodded doggedly along through the darkness for fully
five miles, without perceiving the first sign of habitation, or even a
wood into which I could crawl for concealment, when I suddenly came upon
a long, one-story stone building standing at the left of the road, a
grim, silent, apparently deserted structure, one end of the roof caved
in, and several of the windows smashed. The appearance of desolation was
so complete as to make the flesh crawl, and in the distance an owl hooted