ms: I was now overcast in spirit, tremulous, full of
misgivings.

The moon did not disappoint us as we set out for the tavern. There
were but a few fleecy clouds, and these not of an opaqueness to darken
its beams when they passed across it. The snow was frozen hard in the
fields, and worn down in the road. The frost in the air bit our
nostrils, and we now and again worked our countenances into strange
grimaces, to free them from the sensation of being frozen hard.

"'Tis a beautiful night," said Tom, speaking in more composure than he
had shown during the early evening. The moonlight had a calming
effect, as the clear air had a bracing one. His eyes roamed the sky,
and then the moonlit, snow-clad earth--hillock and valley, wood and
pond, solitary house bespeaking indoor comfort, and a glimpse of the
dark river in the distance--and he added:

"What a fine world it is!"

When we entered the warm tap-room of the tavern--the house above
Kingsbridge, outside the barriers where the passes were examined and
the people searched who were allowed entrance and departure; not
Hyatt's tavern, South of the bridge--we found a number of subalterns
there, some German, some British, some half-drunk, some playing cards.
Our Irish surgeon sat in a corner, reading a book--I think 'twas a
Latin author--by the light of a tallow candle. He nodded to us
indifferently, as if he had no engagement with us, and continued to
read. Tom and I ordered a hot rum punch mixed for us, and stood at the
bar to drink it.

"You look pale and shaky, you two," said the tavern-keeper, who
himself waited upon us.

"'Tis the cold," said I. "We're not all of your constitution, to walk
around in shirt-sleeves this weather."

"Why," says the landlord, "I go by the almanac. 'Tis time for the
January thaw, 'cordin' to that. Something afoot to-night, eh? One o'
them little trips up the river, or out East Chester way, with De
Lancey's men, I reckon?"

We said nothing, but wisely looked significant, and the host grinned.

"More like 'tis a matter of wenches," put in a half-drunken ensign
standing beside us at the bar. "That's the only business to bring a
gentleman out such a cursed night. Damn such a vile country, cold as
hell in winter, and hot as hell in summer! Damn it and sink it! and
fill up my glass, landlord. Roast me dead if _I_ stick _my_ nose
outdoors to-night!"

"A braw, fine nicht, the nicht, gentlemen," said a sober, ruddy-faced
Scot, very grave