The prisoner of the border :: :: University of Virginia Library

When Harry missed the negro from his side in that moment of
horror which has been described, the latter flew to the ponderous
bin, which, in his excitement, he thrust aside as if it had been a
basket, and standing beside it, with his watchful eye upon his
master, he waited coolly for the moment when he might raise the
door without detection. The confusion was momentarily increasing,
and those who were not pressing forward to surrender, were
anxiously watching both the threatening guns and the still silent
lips of their leader, who hesitated to speak the painful word of
submission. Brom saw that the favoring moment had come, and
noiselessly raising the trap-door, he hurried back to the side of his
master, whom, without addressing, he began gently to drag toward
the rear of the room.

“What is it, Brom?” said Harry, in answer to the violent pantomime
of the negro. “You need not be afraid to speak in this
Babel—nobody will hear you.”

“Come wid me, Massa, come wid me,” were all the words which
the African could be induced to utter.

Vrail suffered himself to be led as far as the open door, which
he no sooner saw than he fully comprehended the plan of escape,
and his heart leaped with sudden joy at so unexpected a hope of
deliverance. But his thoughts instantaneously reverted to Tom.

“Not without Tom,” he exclaimed, and darting off from the spot,

he dashed off in pursuit of his brother, whom he had seen last at
nearly the extreme opposite end of the room, and near to Col.
Allen. When he reached that spot, however, his brother was no
longer there, and at the very moment when he was hastily searching
for him among the crowd who were stacking their arms (for
the word of submission had at last been spoken), Thomas had glided
around to the rear of the mass in search of him, with no other
design then that of keeping near him in their common calamity.
He was met by the negro, who hastily whispered to him the
chance of escape, and implored him to assist in finding Harry.

“It is death to go back,” exclaimed the terrified and pusillanimous
youth; “let us fly; he will be sure to follow us, since he
knows the way. Come, be quick.”

So saying, he dashed forward to the trap-door, while Brom
turned back in eager pursuit of his master. His excited and
nearly frenzied condition was unfavorable to the successful result
of his search, and threatened momentarily to arrest attention and
defeat his efforts, for that portion of the apartment nearest the door
was fast filling up with the enemy. But fortunately as yet, there
was a general confusion, in which the shouted orders of the leader
of the victorious band, the rattling of the grounded muskets, and
the groans of the wounded were the principal sounds.

While Brom was thus wildly seeking for his master, the latter
was as earnestly pursuing his quest for the recreant Tom, who had
selfishly deserted both. Mingling in the crowd of surrendering
men, and borne by the mass toward the fatal point where, with
them, he must become a guarded prisoner, the gallant youth did
not falter in his resolute purpose, nor once think of turning back
alone to seek the means of escape. Of course his search was vain,
and while closely scanning every face in the throng of which he
could catch a view, his attention was arrested by some execrations
behind him, bestowed apparently by different parties, upon some
one who was pressing eagerly forward towards the front.

“Blast the blackamoor!” said one, who could jest in his calamity;
“he steps on a dozen of us at once, with his elephant
feet.”

“Stand back, Cuffy; don't be in such a hurry; you'll be hung
soon enough to suit you,” exclaimed another.

“Why don't he go and walk over the Britishers?” said a
third, whose toes had felt the heavy heel of the African; “hang
me, if I don't believe he would drive them all out in a few minutes.”

Harry could not doubt as to who was the subject of these
remarks, and in the next moment he caught a view of Brom, who
was, however, too far separated from him by the crowd, to admit
of any communication passing between them. As soon, however,
as he caught the negro's eye, its expression, together with some
significant pantomime, convinced him that his brother was found,
and he managed by great effort to commence a retrograde motion
against the strong tide which had before borne him onward to a
point of such dangerous proximity to the foe. Warning the sagacious
negro by a sign to go back, they both succeeded in working
their way to the rear, which was as yet unguarded.

“Where is he?” whispered Vrail.

“He's gone long ago—Massa Harry—this way—come along
now, I say.”

Astonished, bewildered, and half incredulous, the young man
hesitated to advance.

“It's sartin sure,” repeated Brom; “come quick, now, or you'll
be too late. See—see—there comes a lot of red coats this way.”

“Don't run, Brom,” said Vrail, “or we are lost. Go slowly,
and we may not be noticed, or it may seem as if we were only
going back for something that has been forgotten.”

The negro obeyed, and tremblingly they succeeded in reaching
the trap-door, apparently without observation.

“Massa must jump so,” said Brom, skillfully letting himself down
by his hands, and dropping into the lower apartment.

Vrail followed his example, and they stood together on the
lower floor.

“He is not here,” said Harry, glancing quickly around the
room. “Brom, if you have deceived me, I will not stir a step
further.”

“He is gone, Massa Henry, I swear it. See here,” and he pointed
to the raised window, through which the fugitive had doubtless
passed. Convinced at length, that Tom was really out of the immediate
scene of danger, Harry gave his mind wholly to securing the
escape of himself and his faithful companion. Hastening to the
window, he saw that it opened upon the river, at the distance of
only a few rods from its margin, and that the shore, in that immediate
vicinity, appeared to be entirely unguarded. The conflict,
indeed, was yet waging in some parts of the encampment, as occasional
shots and shouts were heard, and the moment certainly
seemed a favorable one for successful flight.

If Harry could have joined any portion of the patriots who
were yet making a stand against the enemy, he would certainly
have done so, but this was clearly impossible. Leaping, therefore,
from the window, and calling upon Brom to follow, he hastened
to the shore, with the intention of following the course of the river,
and keeping close to its edge. In the opposite direction, which
led toward Prescott, of course he could not flee with any prospect
of escape. But he had no sooner reached the shore, than the fallacy
of his hope to elude observation became apparent.

A little way down the river, but at considerable distance from
the shore, lay an armed steamboat, which had been engaged in
bombarding a portion of the barracks, before the contest had
become so close on land as to render its fire dangerous to the
attacking party, and which now seemed to be either guarding the
coast, or waiting in inaction whatever duty might be assigned it.

However this might be, no sooner had the flying lieutenant and
his servant appeared upon the shore, than a shout from the deck of

the distant vessel reached their ears, and at the next instant a cannon
ball came booming over the water and buried itself in the
bushes behind them. A rattling fire of musketry followed, and
Harry dropped upon the beach, to the boundless terror of the
negro, who rushed quickly up to him.

“Oh, massa—massa—are you really dead?” exclaimed the poor
fellow, frantic with fright.

“Follow me,” said Harry, creeping rapidly behind the shrubbery
which grew thickly at a little distance from the shore.

“Where did they hit you, Massa Harry?”

“They did not hit me at all, Brom,” replied Harry, coolly; “and
I do not mean they shall. I wish I knew where poor Tom is.”

“Never mind Captain Tom, Massa Harry—we've got our hands
pretty full enough now, I think, to take care of ourselves. Golly,
massa, look at that!” he exclaimed, springing suddenly aside, and
pointing at the cannon ball they had so narrowly escaped, and
which now lay harmless beside them. “Let us get away from here.”

“Never fear, Brom. Sit down on it, if you wish to be quite
safe. Lightning never strikes twice in the same place, nor cannon
balls either, I presume.”

Harry spoke lightly, in hopes of allaying the alarm of his companion,
but he felt all the peril of his position, and while he talked
thus calmly, his mind was rapidly devising means of escape, and
calculating the chances of finding his brother.

“We shall have to skulk around here till midnight, I suppose,”
he continued, “and then either swim across the river, or find some
other means of making the passage. How far can you swim,
Brom?”

“Oh, I can swim all night, I spect; I've swum across the Hudson
river, many's the time, where it's wider than this here St.
Lawrence—though 'tain't so swift, to be sure.”

“It's a pretty long stretch,” said Harry, after gazing a few
moments at the opposite shore, with a longing to place himself

beneath the protecting ægis which seemed to canopy every inch
of American soil.

“I wish we was there,” replied Brom, following the direction
of his master's eye; “we should not have any Britishers bombarding
us over there, should we, Massa Harry?”

“I don't think I can swim it.”

“I can help you, Massa Harry.”

“I don't know about that—I do not see how you can swim for
more than one. If you can swim all night, as you say, you might
carry me over in pieces.”

“I can help you,” reiterated the negro, not heeding the jest;
“when you are tired, I can hold you, and let you rest.”

“And who will hold you in the meantime.”

“Oh, I'll be walking up stairs,” replied the negro, alluding to a
feat well known to swimmers, by which they sometimes sustain
themselves for a considerable time in the water while giving rest
to the arms.

“More likely we should both be going down stairs to Davy
Jones' cellar. No, no, it won't do, Brom—at least, not for me,”
said Vrail, now speaking more seriously; “I must find a boat of
some kind, or I must trust to some of the Canadians for assistance.
If I were confident you could succeed in crossing, I would insist upon
your doing so alone; but it is an unknown stream, and its waters
might prove as treacherous as the people upon its shore, who have
lured so many of our brave countrymen to destruction. The darkness,
too, would quadruple the peril, as you could not see the
opposite shore, and if you became bewildered and frightened, you
would be sure to be lost.”

“You need't preach all that to me, Massa Harry. I shan't go,
'less you do, any way—so that pint is settled.”

A second volley from the steamboat, which sent a few scattering
balls among the shrubbery around them, reminded them that they
were watched, and induced them to change their position.