By the time George reached the drawbridge on the North River, the militia had moved the cannon and ammunition across it and assembled on the opposite bank, ready to fire if the British tried to cross the bridge.
He spotted his father-in-law at the front of his property facing the crowd and fought his way through the crush of men to stand next to him. Captain Derby also carried a musket and powder horn.
“Made it at last, I see.” Captain Derby nodded toward the raised bridge. “Son Richard is with the militia.”
George heard the unspoken rebuke that he wasn’t part of the militia. “We may be glad to have armed men on both sides of the river.”
“Damned spies!”
“Do we know who they are?”
Captain Derby shrugged. “Could be anyone and everyone. I hope whatever money they got is worth the cost of our betrayal. Windy today,” he added as a gust of it ruffled his hat. He passed George a flask.
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