Enoch soon learned that the most difficult task which confronted him in his new line of work was to persuade his mother he was not exposed to any more danger than he would be on the battlefield.

She, remembering Seth's capture and narrow escape from the scaffold, insisted her son should refuse to assist Greene the spy in any way. She was willing for Enoch to enlist; but objected most strenuously to his doing that which, if discovered, would doom him to a disgraceful death.

During the first two hours spent at home the boy used every argument to convince her he would not be in any greater danger than he had been since his release from jail, and not until he had begged she would consent to his carrying on the work "because he had promised, and would be ashamed to go back to camp with the excuse that his mother would not allow him to do anything of the kind," did she give an unwilling consent to the proposition.

"I shall live in constant terror of hearing that you have been arrested and sentenced to be hanged," she said finally; "but will try to hide such fears because you have given your word to cease playing the spy as soon as you can honorably leave the work and enter the army."

Enoch was more than willing to agree to this; he preferred to serve his country in any other way than that which he had just begun, and would welcome the time when he could stand boldly before his friends and acquaintances as a Continental soldier.

Agreeably to the promise made Greene, he was on the street as soon as daylight, and during the entire day lounged around the city, listening eagerly for scraps of important conversation whenever he passed a group of men; but hearing nothing which might benefit his friends.

Late in the afternoon he succeeded in gaining an interview with Seth's mother, and, by approaching the house from the rear, had been able to gain access to the premises without being seen by any one save her.

As a matter of course she was greatly rejoiced at learning that her son was safe and happy, but during the past few weeks she was not unduly anxious concerning him, for Lord Gordon assured her that since the boy had not been brought back to Philadelphia he was unquestionably with the Continental army.

"It hardly seems as if Lord Gordon was an enemy of ours," the good woman said when she had finished telling Enoch of that gentleman's kindness. "He has acted the part of a true friend, and although he refuses to admit that he had any share in Seth's escape, I am positive you and Jacob could not have succeeded but for him."

"He's a gentleman all the way through, that's what he is!" Enoch replied emphatically, "and I only wish we might have a chance to pay him for what he has done."

It was not safe to prolong the interview lest some of Mrs. Graydon's boarders should see the visitor and suspect he had just come from Valley Forge, therefore the boy left the house immediately his budget of news had been unfolded.

During the week which followed this visit Enoch worked industriously and conscientiously, spending his entire time on the streets, but without learning anything of importance.

Just before daybreak each morning he went to the market-place, where he was certain of meeting Greene, but not once had he anything to communicate.

"It seems as if I was wasting my time here," he said despondently on the morning of the eighth day when he and the spy were sheltered alike from the rain that was falling steadily and the observation of the enemy's patrols, through having sought shelter in a shed near the market-place. "I walk around all the time; but hear nothing except what it is possible the peace commissioners may accomplish when they arrive."

"It isn't to be expected you can bring in valuable news when everything is as quiet as appears now."

"Yet I might be of service in the army."

"No more than you are here. Except for the fact that they are drilled each day, Seth and Jacob are as idle as you."

"Has Jacob enlisted?"

"Yes; he could not hold out longer against his father's commands. Old Chris was ashamed because his son did not appear eager to enter the army, and declared that the boy should not leave the encampment, save as a soldier. Jacob tried twice to run away, but was stopped by the guard, and when the last failure was reported to the old baker he declared the boy must earn his livelihood in some way, so set him to work in the bakery. That was not at all to Master Ludwick's liking, and twenty-four hours later he was in the same company with Seth. I now make it a point never to visit camp without reporting to them as to your safety."

"Of course they know I am doing nothing."

"They know, as do all your friends and acquaintances, that you are here in a post of danger, on the alert for whatever may chance to occur."

"But there doesn't seem to be a likelihood anything of importance will happen. Since Sir Henry Clinton has taken Howe's place as commander of the army, it appears as if his plan was to remain idle, contenting himself with depriving us of our capital."

"His inaction is but the lull before the storm. General Washington feels so positive some decided movement is planned for the near future that all the troops at Valley Forge are ready to act at a moment's notice, and it is from you and I, as well as other friends of the cause here, that he expects to receive information which will enable him to checkmate the enemy. Don't grow despondent because you accomplish nothing great at once; but remember that the longer matters thus remain apparently stationary the nearer we are to a crisis."

This conversation served to cheer Enoch wonderfully, and as the days went by his mother was more reconciled to the part he was playing, although she reminded him daily of the promise to give up his task as a spy at the first good opportunity.

On the fourth of June, the king's birthday, Enoch saw the peace commissioners enter the city, received with courtesy by Sir Henry Clinton and his army, but neither the boy nor any true-minded American believed they would accomplish anything after General Washington had pronounced so decidedly against treating with the king on other terms than that of independence for the colonies.

So far as Enoch could learn, the commissioners did nothing save allow themselves to be entertained by the officers and Tory families. Congress refused to receive them until after the "hostile fleets and armies had been withdrawn, or the independence of the United States acknowledged," and, so far as advancing the king's cause was concerned, they might as well have remained at home.

Another week passed in what to Enoch seemed like idleness, and then Greene electrified him by announcing:

"Within a few days we shall see stirring times, and you will have no further cause to complain that you are doing nothing."

"What have you heard?"

"Nothing; but I have noticed that preparations are being quietly made for a general move – "

"I can't see that there has been any change."

"Nothing to particularly attract attention, I'll admit; yet it is a fact that the troops are nearly ready to evacuate the city, or make a forced march to Valley Forge for the purpose of attacking our camp."

"Is it possible General Clinton would do that?"

"It is possible, but not probable. My idea is that the Britishers will leave this city bag and baggage before we're many days older."

"I don't understand why they should."

"It is feared by the enemy that General Washington may strike a blow at New York, and Clinton's troops are needed there to prevent a possible disaster. Then again they are accomplishing nothing here, and the British government don't relish the idea of paying twelve or fifteen thousand men for holding a town which is of no real benefit, save as a loafing-place for the officers."

"If they evacuate this city will they be allowed to go away without being molested?"

"I think we can trust General Washington to take care of them, and when you see the redcoats start you can be mighty certain a battle ain't far off."

"And I won't be in it!" Enoch exclaimed mournfully. "Seth and Jacob will play the part of soldiers, while I hang around here as if I was afraid."

"I promise faithfully that you shall be in the thick of any scrimmage that comes, so don't let such thoughts worry you. Have patience a few days longer, and keep your eyes open wider than usual."

"Is there anything in particular to be done?"

"Loiter around the City Tavern as much as possible. The officers may give their friends an idea of what is going to happen, and you stand a good chance of overhearing the gossip. The lightest hint now from a prominent Tory will have a big meaning."

From this moment it appeared to Enoch as if he could perceive a change of demeanor in those whom he met. The British officers no longer sauntered to and fro as if time hung heavily on their hands, but went from point to point rapidly, much as though they had business which would permit of no delay.

The Tories, who during the winter had assumed a lordly bearing, now looked anxious, and well they might, for their lot would not be an enviable one when the Continental army stood in the place of the redcoats, and those who had been oppressed because of loyalty to the cause would be in a position to demand reprisals.

It seemed to the boy as if nearly all whom he saw were aware of the impending change, and he went about his business of listening with more confidence than ever before.

On the night after his last conversation with Greene he saw an unusually large throng in front of the City Tavern, and, as a matter of course, pretended to be on the point of entering the building in order that he might mingle with the bystanders.

Ordinarily he would have moved slowly onward to prevent any one from suspecting he really wished to listen, but on this night, excited beyond the bounds of prudence, he deliberately halted in front of a group composed of two officers, a citizen, and a Quaker who had the appearance of having just come from the country.

"The fact is known to but few, and we depend upon our friends in whom we have confided to keep it a secret," one of the officers was saying as Enoch approached.

"There is little doubt but that thy plans are known to the rebel Washington, for his men are ready to execute a quick movement," the Quaker replied. "It is to be regretted that any of the citizens were trusted with thy secret, for all are not loyal to the king."

"Very true, friend Williams; there are more of King George's enemies in Philadelphia to-day than there were two weeks ago. The belief that his majesty's troops are about to leave has made those who had a leaning toward the rebels brave, and they now hope to find favor in the eyes of the new rulers of the city."

"Has the day been fixed upon?" the man in citizen's garb asked, and Enoch pressed yet nearer to hear the reply.

So eager was the boy to learn this most important bit of information that he gave no heed to the fact he was pressing against the Quaker more rudely than would have been proper even if they had been crowded for space, and before the officer could speak Enoch was seized suddenly by the ear.

Looking up quickly and in alarm, he saw that his captor was the Quaker, and now for the first time realized that the man's face was one he had seen before, although where he could not remember.

"Thou art an eavesdropper, lad, and one who makes it his calling, if I do not mistake," the Quaker said sternly. "What business hast thou here?"

"I was going into the tavern, sir," Enoch replied, his cheeks crimsoning with shame, and then he tried to wrench himself free regardless of the pain, for he recognized in his captor that Quaker at whose house General Lafayette had established his headquarters on Barren Hill.

"Thou wast not thinking of going into the tavern – at least, not until thou hadst learned the purport of our conversation. Have I not seen thee before?"

"I have always lived in this city, and it may have been that you and I have passed each other on the street," Enoch replied, with much stammering and show of confusion.

"I have seen thee elsewhere, lad. Unless I much mistake thou wast one who brought to the rebel Lafayette, when he was in my house, word that General Howe had started in pursuit of him."

"What is that?" one of the officers asked quickly, stepping in front of Enoch to peer into his face. "Are you certain this boy carried that information, Friend Williams?"

"It may be I am mistaken; but it does not seem possible. The lad much resembled this one; I saw him only for a moment, yet then I had a full view of his face."

By this time several of the gentlemen nearest had gathered around to learn the cause of the disturbance, for all, even including the Quaker, were displaying considerable excitement, and Enoch was so hemmed in that escape seemed impossible.

"It should be a simple matter to ascertain if he is in the rebel service," the second officer suggested. "A squad of our men chased two boys on that night, and, so it was reported, wounded or killed one of them. We will send this fellow to the guard-house until he has been seen by all. I would like to get hold of a few spies before we leave the city."

Enoch knew that even if those who had chased Jacob and himself failed to identify him, there were very many British soldiers, as well as officers, who knew him as one suspected of aiding Seth to escape, and that his doom was sealed once he was in custody.

It was absolutely necessary, if he would save his life, to make a supreme effort to get free before a squad of soldiers could be summoned, and even though he should fail, his position would be no more desperate than it already was.

The Quaker still retained his hold of the boy's ear, and one of the officers was grasping him by the collar, while on every side the throng was so dense that there appeared little hope he could force his way through, even though no one tried to detain him.

It was, perhaps, because of this fact that the officer's hold was by no means firm; but the Quaker was clutching his ear as if anticipating an attempt at escape.

The gentleman in the broad-brimmed hat was, therefore, the greatest obstacle in Enoch's road to freedom, and he it was who must be vanquished before further move could be made.

One of the officers had gone in search of the guard, and Enoch resolved on making a desperate effort.

Hanging back as far as possible in order to give greater effect to the blow, he suddenly lowered his head and darted forward at full speed.

The Quaker was taken by surprise, and could make no effort to protect himself. Enoch launched against him with all his strength, bringing forth a shrill cry of pain as the man of peace was doubled up like a pocket-knife, giving the boy an opportunity to leap directly over him.

Two other men were thrown down, and those who had been on the outskirts of the throng rushed quickly toward the immediate scene of action, thereby preventing the officer and his companion from giving chase.

Enoch ran as he had never run before, knowing full well that his life depended upon fleetness of foot, and before the excited men were fully aware of what had happened he was out of sight around the corner.

A pile of logs an hundred yards distant seemed to offer a temporary hiding-place, the whole being stacked up so loosely that he could readily make his way among them, and here he crouched, understanding that if he threw the pursuers off the scent now there was a fair possibility of escaping.

Nothing could have been done better on Enoch's part.

Such of the throng as were first around the corner shouted that the boy had taken refuge in the rear of the house, as seemed to be the case since he was no longer in sight, and the building was instantly invaded by a mob eager to hunt down a spy.

The shadows of evening were gathering, and Enoch knew if he could remain hidden half an hour longer his chances of escape would be good; but yet it was not safe to stay amid the logs.

As soon as it was learned that he had not taken refuge in the tavern, it would be suspected that he must have hidden in the immediate vicinity, and every nook and corner would be searched.

He began to have some idea of how a fox must feel when the dogs are on his scent, and the knowledge that he was battling for life removed, for the time being, all sensation of fear.

Creeping out to the very end of the logs he looked ahead.

In that direction was no place where he could be hidden.

In the rear two or three men at the corner of the building stood as if expecting he would appear at one of the windows.

"My only show is at the river," he said to himself. "If there's a boat afloat I may get away, and must take the chances."

Waiting only long enough to make certain no one was looking toward the log-pile, he darted out, stooping low that he might be the less likely to attract attention, and bending all his energies toward maintaining a swift pace.

Once he heard a loud shout, and he leaped forward yet more quickly, believing the pursuers were on his trail; but as he ran the noise died away in the distance, and he understood that he was safe for the moment.

There was no question in his mind but that every effort would be made to capture him.

He was suspected of aiding in Seth's escape; the Quaker declared he had brought to General Lafayette the first news of General Howe's advance, and he had been caught while trying to overhear a conversation which was intended to be private.

"They've got proof enough that I'm a spy," he said to himself as he ran, "and the hanging would come mighty quick after I was caught. I shall be in a bad fix if I don't find a boat."

On arriving at the water's edge his courage failed him, and he looked wildly around, seeing no hope.

The only boat in either direction was hauled high up on the shore, and was so large that the united strength of two men would be no more than sufficient to move her. A short distance away, to the right, was a small sloop heeled over on the sand as she had been left by the workmen engaged in caulking her bottom.

Unless he made the desperate and dangerous attempt to swim across the river, this sloop was the only available hiding-place, and he was so nearly out of breath that it was absolutely necessary he should halt a few moments before continuing the flight, if indeed that would be safe now so many were undoubtedly searching for him.

There was no one to be seen on the land, and the ships of war lying at anchor in the river were so far away that he knew those on board could not distinguish him in the gloom.

He clambered up the almost perpendicular deck of the sloop, and from thence through the open hatchway into the hold.

Now he could rest, but it must only be until night had fully come, and then the flight was to be continued, unless before that time the enemy had captured him.

Crouching in the darkness of the tiny hold, panting so loudly from his severe exertions that it seemed as if the pursuers must hear him, Enoch tried to decide what his next move should be; but without arriving at any satisfactory conclusion.

Unless some one came to the shore in a small boat, leaving the craft afloat, he could not escape to the Jersey side of the river, and even if he gained the opposite bank there was no guarantee of his safety.

He was not acquainted with any one there, and would be forced to take refuge in the woods.

It did not seem possible he could make his way to the house where Greene professed to be working, for every patrol and sentry would be on the alert to prevent his escape in that direction.

"I shall have to go down the river, and take the chances of hiding in the woods," he said to himself. "It's a mighty slim show, but is considerably ahead of a Britisher's prison. I'll start in ten minutes, for by that time the night will have fully shut down, and trust to the chance of making my way along the shore."

He had hardly thus decided upon his course of action when the sound of footsteps on the sand caused his heart to beat yet more furiously, and it surely seemed as if fate was against him when he heard voices near at hand, as if the speakers had halted close beside the sloop.

While one might have counted twenty Enoch was in such a tremor of fear as not to understand what was being said, and then he was aroused to a sense of duty by hearing the words:

"I have a copy of the order which will be issued on the sixteenth, and until then it must remain a profound secret, for Sir Henry is determined the rebels shall have no information of this move."

"Already it is common talk that we are to evacuate the town, and the boy who was detected listening in front of the tavern had probably been sent to learn the date of the movement."

"Did they capture him?"

"No; but it is only a question of time, for men are out in every direction, and it's certain he can't make his way toward the American lines unless all our patrols are asleep."