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“You tell me your name is Jacob Manning and that you are acquainted with every inch of the country between here and Montreal. I will give you a horse from my own stud, which no Canadian can come within wind of, and you will go to the British camp and bring me word of its strength?”

“No, sir,” replied the backwoodsman.

“You will be richly rewarded.”

“That’s no inducement.”

“Fellow, you forget you are my prisoner, and that I can order you to be shot.”

“No, I don’t, but I’d rather be shot than betray my country.”

“Your country! You are American born. What’s Canada to you?”

“True enough, General, I was brought up on the banks of the Hudson and would have been there yet but for the infernal Whigs, who robbed us first of our horses, then of our kewows, and last of all of our farms, and called their thievery patriotism. If we Tories hadn’t had so much property, there wouldn’t a ben so many George Washington-Tom Jefferson patriots. When we were hunted from our birthplace for the crime of being loyal to the good King we were born under, we found shelter and freedom in Canada, and, by God, sir, there ain’t a United Empire loyalist among us that wouldn’t fight and die for Canada.”