Robert W. Chambers,
The Reckoning
“ For Sir Henry Clinton I do not care a damn; like a headless chicken he tumbles about New York, seeing, hearing nothing, and no mouth left to squawk with. His head is off; one of his legs still kicks at Connecticut, t'other paddles aimlessly in the Atlantic Ocean. But he's done for, Carus. Let his own blood cleanse him for the plucking!" The gaunt Colonel replaced his pipe between his teeth and gazed meditatively into the north: "But where's Walter Butler?" he mused. "Is he not at Niagara, sir?" I asked. Willett folded his map and shoved it into his breast-pocket. ”
