University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.

It was night before Affidavy returned again to
the prison; a circumstance that might be supposed
to puzzle the brain of the jailer not a little, whenever
he happened to cast his eyes upon the bottle
provided at the lawyer's own expense, and considered
the notorious degree of attraction existing
between the material spirits of the one, and the
immaterial spirit of the other. Before he had yet
determined whether the phenomenon should be
attributed to the disorder of mind he was first disposed
to suspect on the part of Affidavy, or to
some uncommon display of his zeal on the prisoner's
behalf, Affidavy made his appearance, and
notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, was immediately
admitted,—not so much, however, as a
man of law visiting his client, as an old friend and
crony, whom Lingo introduced for his own private
satisfaction. The attorney, nevertheless, after
squeezing the jailer's hand, and giving way to a
grin of extraordinary friendship, averred he must
see his client, before indulging a moment in pleasure;
and assuring Lingo, with uncommon spirit

and generosity, that he designed treating him like
a prince, bade him, out of the funds he had placed
in his hands, lay in a store of all drinkables he
could devise, with pipes and tobacco, and so forth,
so that they might have a jolly time of it together.
Then, after remaining half an hour with the prisoner,
he returned to the jailer's private quarters,
snapped his fingures, as if exulting at being delivered
from toil and restraint, swore he was the busiest
dog that ever slaved at a case, but would take his
comfort and his ease, without troubling himself
farther for the night, were all the gallows-dogs in
the world calling on him for assistance. “Drink,
Lingo, you rogue,” said he; “give me a pipe, and
snuff the candle; for I abhor taking the first whiff
out of a greasy old cotton-wick. Drink, you bigfisted,
honest old sly-boots; and I'll tell you all
about the case.”

“Well, squire, I'm for you,” said Lingo, swallowing
a draught that showed him to be serious;
“but I reckon I know all about the case; and it's
a clear hanging matter, as you must own.”

“If I do, botheration on me!” said the lawyer.
“There's two sides to every case; and all killing
a'n't murder, nor manslaughter neither, for the
matter of that.”

“Well, it's well to keep a good heart—I always
said you had good pluck, Affidavy, especially in
desperate cases: but there was old Timberkin
here this afternoon, who went off with a long face;
and there was Pepperel, who as much as confessed
there was no hope for the young one. And
why should there be? For my part, I don't reckon
it any great matter to have plumped a bullet into
one of the Falconer kidney; but when it comes to
a bloody refugee playing such outdacious tricks,
why there, Affidavy, I stick; it's clear ag'in all

principle; and there's ne'er a man of any jury you
can pack in the country, but will say—Hang!”

“Tush, drink—here's to you. You've been
gabbling with Pepperel and Timberkin—numskulls,
Lingo—between you and me, numskulls.
What do they know about the case? what have
they been doing to study it? Here have they been
all day laying their fool's pates together over it, like
two owls at mid-day over a dead bull-frog, not
knowing what to make of it. Drink, you rascal.
Now had you but been at old Schlachtenschlager's
last night! Ah!—However, that's neither here nor
there. Now,I,my boy,botheration,I study my cases
in another manner, and I have been studying this
hard all day. But how? Ay, there's the question,
tush. Riding about, hunting witnesses from post
to pillar, serving subpœnas, and all that, and smelling
out the intents of the prosecution.”

“What witnesses do you want?” said Lingo:
“it's a clear case, and the younker owns to it. I'm
to swear myself, that he admitted the murder: he
made no deninal”—

“He's an ass,” said Affidavy; “a fool and a madman,
who would knock his head against a post,
sooner than go round it, were his skull no thicker
even than a pumpkin-shell.”

“Oh, ay!” said Lingo, nodding over his glass,
“I see what you're at: you'll make it out a non
cumpuss case? But that won't do, squire; I swear
ag'in' you there: there's no mad in him; there's
more in some of the witnesses. But I suppose you
have been raking up for witnesses about old Elsie
Bell's? The lad begged I would send for her; but,
they say, she is in a dying way?”

“Bad enough, bad enough,” said the lawyer:
“and a good witness, too; but we can do without
her.”

“Well, I reckon you'll want all you have,” said
the jailer; “for they're strong for the commonwealth.
There's Dancy Parkins, they've taken
him for state's evidence, along with this here gallivanting
fellow, Sterling, that came in for quarter,
and a power of others beside. I dunna why
they're so easy on Dancy; but they say, he's not
deep in for't; and the prosecution's ag'in' hanging
him. They say, Colonel Falconer has sworn he
will have the youngster's blood, if it costs him the
price of Hawk-Hollow twice over.”

“Tush, what care we? The devil take Falconer,
and the witnesses too,—as undoubtedly the
devil will. As for your Sterling, I can smash his
testimony as I would a rotten apple. Botheration,
the man has a neck of his own.”

“Oh, ay, in the matter of the spying?” said
Lingo: “but they say, they will wink and let him
off, if Colonel Falconer be so minded; and they
say, too, he was promised protection by the soldiers,
and a clear pardon, on condition he fetched
'em into all Oran Gilbert's hiding-places. I don't
see, for my part, how a soldier can promise any
such thing, seeing that a soldier is neither a judge
nor a governor. And moresomover, there's the
matter of the attempt to do murder on Colonel
Falconer; for, I reckon, that can be proved on
him; and how he is to get clear of that, if the
Colonel pushes him, I don't know. Howsomever,
his case is bad—the man has a bad conscience;
though, perhaps, 'tis only a small touch of the horrors,—for
he has been drinking hard ever since he
has been in prison.”

“Oh, the devil take him, base turncoat and betrayer,”
said Affidavy: “I hold honour among
thieves to be as good a rule as honesty between
friends. And between you and me, Lingo, he has

served the Hawks a turn they will not forget. You
know how they hanged that soldier, Parker? Well
now, two pigs to a pound of butter, as the saying
is, you'll hear of this fellow swinging in a swamp,
some time before doomsday.”

“Ay; when they get him,” said Lingo, “and
with all my heart. But, you see, there's no talk of
proceeding against him; and when the trial's over,
I reckon he'll show the county a clean pair of
heels—that is, if he ever gets over his hurts; for,
you must know, there's something of the staggers
about him,—a sort of horrors, as I said,—but I
don't know; and if you stay here long enough,
you'll hear him squeal out in his sleep, like a choking
dog. Ods bobs! he made a squeak last night,
and I thought the devil had him: so I runs into his
room, and there I sees him sitting on his bed-side,
all of a shiver, and as white as a sheet, singing out,
as if he was talking to old Nicodemus,

or something of that natur', I dunna what, but it
was about locks and bolts, and the lord knows
what; but I fetched him a box on the ear; and
that brought him to, and he fell to groaning. And
now, Affidavy, here's to you; and I don't care if I
do you a bit of a service, though I don't see what
good can come of it. If it will do your cause any
service, to knock this here testimony on the head,
why a hint's as good as a long sermon, as the saying
is. Just 'validate him on the p'int of his upper
story, and call me and Hanschen to swear to his
doings and sayings; for I reckon, he's a clearer
non cumpuss case than the prisoner. Howsomever,
that can't do no good; for I'm clear in for swearing

to the youngster's admitting he killed the deceased,
which is quite a settler of the whole hash.”

“Tush,” said Affidavy, “let him swear, and
swear his best. There is testimony enough to do
the business, if we trust to that. The devil take
the case; I won't bother my brains with it any
further. However, Lingo, my boy, it was a queer
thing of yours, that letting the prisoner go clear of
gloves and garters. He might break jail,—eh, my
boy!”

“As how?” said Lingo. “No, squire, you don't
come over me there. I clapped the irons on him
at first; but, you see, poor fellow, I saw he was sick,
and just as weak and heavy-hearted as a pipped
poult, and no more fear of dodging in him than an
old horse: so I knocked the clinkers off, and let
him have the swing of the room, poor fellow;
and there he's safe enough. Moresomover, I
never heard tell of his being much of a Hawk, only
in blood and name; and I have a sort of pity on
him.”

“Ah, yes,” said Affidavy, with a melancholy
stare; “if you were to hear his story, Lingo, it
would melt your heart; for you have a soft heart,
Lingo, a merciful heart, Lingo; and it will go well
with you, Lingo; for there's something said in the
Bible about the merciful.”

“Well,” said Lingo, “I don't set up for much of
that, nor for much religion neither; but I never
beats a prisoner, except when he's contrary; and
this here youngster seems much of a gentleman;
and I have a notion, if he's well treated, he may
leave me something; for he has a gold watch,
(howsomever, the Sheriff's got it;) and, they say,
he's well-to-do in the world.—But, squire, drink
on; it's getting late.”

“Let it,” said Affidavy; “here am I fixed for the

night; for how do I know but that you may be in
trouble before morning, and may want a friend to
help you?”

“Trouble! and help!” said Lingo, looking up
with surprise. “If you mean that Sterling and his
squeaking, why, ods bobs, it only needs a cuff or
two to bring him about. Ods bobs, Affidavy,” he
added, with a grin, “if you stay, I reckon, it's you
may want a friend to help you. I don't say nothing;
but he that's got a speech to make before
court and jury to-morrow, should not be too free
of the creatur' to-night.”

Affidavy, who had not yet betrayed any strong
symptoms of being affected by his good cheer,
shook his head mysteriously, and then replied,

“There's no telling what might happen, Lingo.
These refugees are devils incarnate, as far as daring
goes. The whole regiment here is out in
chase of them, and all the able-bodied men of the
village in company; so that there's nothing left to
keep guard over us but old women and young
ones. Now, Lingo, we'll suppose a case—how
many men, armed with muskets and axes, would
it take to sack your stone jug here, smash open a
door, and let out the prisoners?”

“Ods bobs!” said Lingo, “I don't know: but I
reckon I could hold out, me and Hanschen, until
we had assistance. But, howsomever, that's supposing
a case that can't happen.”

“Don't be too secure,” said the attorney, with a
solemn voice; “for there's no saying what may
happen, when there's such a man as Oran Gilbert
in the case. I reckon, an axe and a few crowbars,
with an auger or two, might soon make way
through the yard-gate; and then, the back-door
would be but a mere joke; and then, Lingo, why

surrender, or hard axe and soft head would be the
end of it.”

“Ods bobs!” said Lingo, “what puts such a
notion as that into your head? There's ne'er a
tory, now, within forty miles of us!”

“Ah, Lingo! This is a wicked world, with a
good many crooked ways in it; and there's a deal
of 'em lead to the jail-door. My own notion is,
that Oran Gilbert is lying where no one would
think of disturbing him. Now, Lingo, you and I
are friends. You're an honest fellow, Lingo, but,
botheration, you're mortal. And so, Lingo, I
shouldn't trust you too far, if Oran Gilbert came
to the wall-gate, about the time of cricket-cry,
chucked you over a purse with a matter of ten
guineas or so in it, while you stood peeping at the
key-hole.”

“Oho!” said Lingo, staring at the attorney with
that sort of perplexity which a stupid man betrays
when endeavouring to fathom the point of a jest,
which he is sensible ought to be laughed at; “Oho,
squire, I see what you are after,—he, he, he!” he
said, beginning to giggle, and lifting a glass as he
laughed. “I'm a mortal man, sure enough, and
might take a fee, as well as e'er a lawyer in the
land. But ten guineas is a small sum, Affidavy;
and as for opening a jail-door for such a small
matter, why, Affidavy, that's only—he, he, he!
And so you've been retained by the tories? he, he,
he! Well, I was wondering where the yallow boy
came from,—he, he, he!”

“Tush! retained by the tories? I!” said the
man of law, somewhat disconcerted.

“Oh, squire, a joke for a joke's all fair; tit for
tat, you know,—

as the saying is;” and the worthy Lingo again
burst into a peal of mirth, which allayed the sudden
alarm of his companion. Affidavy looked him
in the face, and became satisfied from the air of
stupid glee which invested the jailer's features,
that the liquor was suddenly beginning to fill his
noddle; and in this conceit he was confirmed by
Lingo adding, after another preliminary giggle,

“Well now, Affidavy, I'm an honest feller,—as
you say, but I scorn being a fool. I know what's
what; and I wish somebody would chuck me ten
guineas over the wall-gate; I wouldn't ask him
whether he was a tory or true American; for, you
see, a guinea's a guinea, and clean stuff, no matter
what pocket it comes from. But then, squire, as
to opening the gate for such a small matter, he,
he, he! why, I'm too honest for that. I'm a poor
man, but, as I said, he, he, he! I scorn being a
fool; and so, he, he, he! as you and me is friends,
Affidavy, why, if the man was to chuck about fifty
more to the back of 'em, why, he, he, he! I don't
know what might become of my prisoners.”

“Fifty guineas!” cried Affidavy, grinning in return,
but with a sort of scorn; “that's putting
your honesty at a higher price than your soul, for
which, botheration, I would not give half the
money.”

“He, he!” said Lingo, slapping his boon companion
on the knee, and nodding and winking in a
manner meant to be exceedingly significant; “but
come now, what'll they give? for I'll stand to
reason.”

“Give! who give?” said Affidavy, affecting surprise.
“Oh! the tories, you mean. Tush, how do

I know? Perhaps you might get twelve or thirteen
guineas out of them; and that's a good round
sum.”

“He, he, he!” said Lingo; “but what do you
get yourself?”

“I!” said Affidavy, again alarmed. His trepidation
was however driven to flight by another fit
of laughter, in which Lingo's honest countenance
indicated the most expressive innocence of all
suspicion.

“Ods bobs!” said he, “I wouldn't sell a prisoner
under fifty pounds; and if they'd talk to me
about that, he, he, he!”—and here he could scarce
proceed for laughing: “No, no; if you'll strike a
bargain for me for fifty pounds, in hard money, why
then, he, he! they may take my prisoners, and hang
them, if they will. But it's all one; there's no such
luck for poor Bob Lingo: honesty won't fetch any
thing worth having now-a-days. Fifty guineas! a
small sum: why one could get more for letting a tory
in jail. But, he, he, he! it's all one to Bob Lingo.
I'm 'mazing sleepy, squire! But I know what'll
keep me awake, he, he! I've got a barrel of wonderful
fine cherry bounce; and, he, he! I'll go
fetch a pitcher of it, and we'll make a night of it,
I warrant me.”

With these words, he left the apartment.

“Bravissimo!” said the attorney, as soon as he
had departed; “I'll cheat the unconscionable rascal
out of every penny. He's as drunk as a pig already.”

He stole to the door, peeped out, and then, satisfied
that Lingo was beyond observation, proceeded
to pour into a glass, from a little vial he drew
from his pocket, a goodly dose of laudanum, to
which he forthwith added sugar and brandy, muttering
to himself all the while, “Here's a dose for

the dog will make him sleep like a wood-chuck at
Christmas; but 'twont hurt him. Botheration, I'm
sleepy myself, the lord knows: but two thousand
guineas! Two thousand devils! I'm a made man,
even if the young ass repents his bargain and
makes me 'bate one half!—Give him fifty guineas!
pearls before swine! He'll sleep like a top; and as
for Hanschen, why he's fast already—Devils!
what's that?—Oh, the drunken fool has tumbled
over a chair, and smashed the pitcher!—Could
hear the clink and clatter together. Am somewhat
drunk myself; but a little does me good.”

Having completed the soporific potion so kindly
designed for Lingo, and not without producing
some clattering of glasses, for he was far from
being sober, he sat down and prepared a second
glass as much like the first as possible, except that
he took good care not to qualify it from the vial,
which he restored to his pocket. He then began
to hum, and kick his heels together, wondering
what kept the jailer away so long. “The town is
already fast asleep,” he grumbled, “and my three
jolly tories will be whistling at the gate like seven
thousand katydids. Poor Mrs. Affidavy! how she
will stare and scold in the morning! Odd rabbit
her, she has a tongue might suit a judge on the
bench; and, botheration, it will be a lucky day for
me, when I'm well quit of her.”

While he rejoiced over his prospect of deliverance,
Lingo re-entered the apartment, bearing a
huge pitcher, from which he contrived, at every
step, to discharge, so wide and uncertain was his
gait, no mean quantity of its purple contents. Indeed,
if appearances were to be trusted, he was
already so far gone in intoxication, that it needed
but one glass more to stretch him on the floor; and

Affidavy hailed his infirmity as the herald of success.

“Ods bobs!” said the jailer, staggering up to
the table, and depositing his burthen with so little
dexterity that half its contents went splashing over
his friend, “here's stuff for you! But a jail's a bad
place to keep liquor. Ods bobs, I broke my shin
over a fetter-bolt, and, ods bobs, I broke my new
blue pitcher; but, ods bobs, who cares for expense?”

“Botheration,” said Affidavy, “here I've mixed
you a brandy cock-tail, and you've spilled the
bounce into it. However, I warrant, it's all the
better.”

“Ay, I warrant me, old Teff,” said Lingo, giving
him an affectionate hug round the neck, “and
we'll drink it, my boy, like a lord and a truehearted
American. But, ods bobs, my boy, gi' me
a chair; for, d'ye see, I sprained my leg, and it's
weak under me.”

“Oh, ay,” said Affidavy, dragging the jailer's
chair round to his own end of the table.—“ But
stop there, you fool, you've got my glass!”

“Hic—cup—where's the difference? he, he!”
said Lingo, yielding, however, the glass he had
taken, and receiving that which Affidavy had so
craftily prepared. “Here's to you, old Teff Affidavy!”

“Here's to you!” said the lawyer; and both
raised the glasses to their lips. The attorney
watched his victim with the eyes of a mouser
intent upon her prey. He saw him swallow one
mouthful, and then a second, and then—the jailer
withdrew the vessel from his lips.

“Botheration!” murmured Affidavy to himself,
“does the villain taste it?”

He was soon relieved from his fear. Lingo laid

the glass on the table, and turning to Affidavy,
burst into a fit of maudlin weeping, betraying, at
the same time, a strong disposition to repeat the
fraternal embrace. As Affidavy felt no inclination
to balk this friendly intention, he laid down his
own glass, and was instantly taken round the neck
by the jailer, who exclaimed, in the most pathetic
manner in the world,

“Ods bobs, old Teff, I don't know what will become
of me!”

“Why, what's the matter?” said Affidavy.

“Why, ods bobs,” blubbered the other, “one
day, when I was a little boy, I licked my father;
and there's no good can come of it.”

“Tush, you ass,” said the attorney, “you might
have trounced your mother too, if you had been so
minded. But, botheration on you, let me go, and
drink your cock-tail.”

“Well, I will,” said Lingo; “but it's a murdering
piece of business to whip one's father;
and I've a notion to give myself up, and let 'em
hang me. But I can't hang without counsel, and
I can't spare money to pay a fee. Now, old Teff,
my boy, you're my friend, and if you'll make a
speech for me for nothing—I always stuck up
for your being the 'cutest lawyer in the county,
and I'll lick any body that says No to it—now
if you'll make me a speech, I reckon I may get off
for nothing, with a clear 'quittal.”

“Drink, you fool,” said Affidavy; “I'll take the
case, and charge you nothing.”

“He, he!” said Lingo, snatching up his glass,
“we'll go 'em, then, slick as a snake in a new
skin. Here's to you, Teff, my old boy! and the
devil eat his liver that don't drink smash down to
the bottom! Hic—cup,—here's to you.”

He swallowed his potation, and the attorney,

without a moment's hesitation, drained his own
at a single draught. But scarce had he withdrawn
the glass from his lips, before he started
up, exclaiming,

“God bless our two souls! what was in the
glass? Ah, Lingo, you fool, 'twas that cursed
bounce you spilled in it! Vile trash, you dog, vile
trash!”

“What! my bounce?” cried Lingo, indignantly;
“as good bounce as was ever brewed, and, ods
bobs, a good deal better. But now, you jolly old
Teff, let's sing a song. Don't sit there staring at
me, like a starved cat; but sing, you old rascal;
let's sing `Vain Britons.' ”

“The oddest taste in the world,” said Affidavy,
in obvious bewilderment: “sure there must have
been some mistake!”—And, in effect, there was;
for at the very moment when the jailer was embracing
his friend, and beseeching the favour of
his counsel, he slid one hand behind him to the
table, and there kept it until he had effected a mutual
interchange of places between the two glasses;
the consequence of which was, that when the fondling
fit was over, and the vessels resumed, he
himself got possession of the innocent draught,
while Affidavy caught up and swallowed that designed
for his companion. Had Lingo been in any
condition but that in which he appeared, the attorney
would have conceived the trick in a moment;
but a look at the jailer's innocent visage was sufficient
to banish all suspicion of foul play; and in
consequence, he could only stare about him in
wonder and perplexity, nodding his head up and
down in a manner the most ludicrous in the world,
while Lingo testified his indifference and patriotism
together, by lanching out, in a quavering,

drunken voice, upon a camp-song, said to be then
highly popular among the continental soldiers.

The third stanza of this patriotic roundelay
(there are a dozen stanzas altogether,) was sung
by Lingo with especial emphasis, particularly the
second and third line, and might have conveyed to
the attorney some inkling of the true state of the
question between them, had not his senses been
already overpowered. The strength of the draught,
aided not a little by the vigilance of the succeeding
night, was too much for Affidavy's brain; and
before the stanza was concluded, he slipped from
his chair to the floor, and there lay like a log.

The jailer concluded the song; then springing
up, he burst into a hearty laugh, exclaiming, “Ods
bobs, I've outlawyered the lawyer! and there he
is, as fast as a poker. Now, you old fool,” he
added, without a vestige of intoxication remaining,
(and indeed his drunkenness had been all assumed)
“if there was too much stuff in the mixing, why e'en

take the consequence, for it was all of your own
brewing.”

Then stooping down, he examined Affidavy's
pockets. The first thing he laid hands on, was the
vial of laudanum, which he smelt at with great
glee; he then filched out a leathern purse, containing,
according to his own verbal inventory, “sixteen
guineas in gold, two Spanish dollars, a
French crown-piece, and an English shilling—Oho
old Teff!” The next thing discovered was the
pocket-wallet, from which he drew to light the
note of hand which the cormorant had caused the
prisoner to sign in the morning. All these different
items he deposited under lock and key, in a
closet, from which he also drew a pair of horse-pistols,
and an old horseman's sword, all of which
he proceeded to buckle round his body.

While thus engaged, some one softly approached,
tapped at the door, and being bidden to enter,
disclosed the features of his assistant Hanschen.

“Done him up!” said Lingo, pointing to
the prostrate figure; and then demanded, “All
ready?”

“Yaw.”

“How many?”

“Fy, dtare's Sturmhausen, Schnapps, and tree
oders, mit guns and pistols.”

“Ods bobs, then, we'll nab'em; for they can't
muster half so many. Have you chained the prisoner?”

“Yaw; and he turned pale, and fainted afay.
Then I put polts on Tancy Parkins; and now I fill
go fix the t'oder, Shterling.”

“Never mind him; he's safe. Now, Hans, you must
fight like a bull-dog, if there's any fighting at all.
But not a word about the lawyer here. Here's a
pistol: take a swig at the bounce, and we'll carry

it down to the boys, to warm their hearts a little.
If we catch that Oran, ods bobs, I don't know' what
the reward is, but it will be the making of us.”

“Yaw,” said Hans; and picking up the pitcher,
he followed the jailer into the yard. Here they
found five stout men, with whom the jailer conversed
in whispers, and then, after all had drunk of
the pitcher, he led them towards the gate, saying,
as he bade them lie down on either side of it,—
“Now mind ye, men; I hold to the lock, and here's
my cue: If any enters, why I claps the gate to
behind them, and then outs with the key; and then
you're to jump up and on em, taking 'em alive, if
you can. But mind ye, you're not to stir, till you
hear me give the signal to fall on; and the signal
is, You're welcome, gentlemen. Don't forget it.
Now, 'taint sure they'll come; but if they do, ods
bobs, we've got 'em!”

Having thus received their instructions, the
whole party squatted down on the ground, and
awaited the issue of their adventure in silence.
The village jail was a small, though strong, building
of stone, and the yard, therefore, on the rear,
in which the prisoners were sometimes allowed to
air themselves, was of no great extent. It was
surrounded, however, by a high and strong wall,
the gate to which was of heavy double planking,
strengthened with bars of iron; and the lock was
of weight sufficient to make any prisoner despair
of forcing it.

It was perhaps midnight, when these silent
guards,—seven in number, including the jailer and
his assistant,—took their places. The night was
perfectly clear, and so far unfavorable to the
assailants, if assailants they really were; of which,
it must be confessed, honest Lingo could not affect
to be certain, his whole information amounting to

no more than the few ambiguous phrases he had
caught from Affidavy. But then this fellow, under
a stupid countenance, concealed an astonishing
fund of quickness and cunning, of which the attorney
little dreamed; and long before Affidavy had
opened his lips on the subject, Lingo had seen and
noted enough to give edge to the native suspiciousness
of his character. The appearance of
Affidavy himself, claiming to be one of the prisoner's
counsel, instantly set his wits to work; he
marvelled who had retained him, since he knew he
had not yet seen the prisoner. Then the appearance
of the guinea, a rare coin in such hands, and
devoted with such magnificent nonchalance to the
purpose of doing honour to him, was not without
its virtue in stirring his conjectures, especially
when it came to be added to the invitation Affidavy
so coolly gave himself to repeat his visit, and
spend the night in the jail. He ascertained without
trouble, that the attorney soon after leaving
the prisoner, had ridden into the country, where
he remained all day, without once seeking a conference
with either of the prisoner's original counsellors;
and one or two other little circumstances
he discovered, which prepared him to understand,
and make the most of what Affidavy afterwards
divulged in the form of supposition.

All his discoveries, however, went no further
than to induce a belief that some design for rescuing
the young Gilbert was on foot; but where,
and in what manner, the enterprise was to be
attempted, he was left to infer as he could. He did
not doubt, indeed, that the attempt was expected
to be made with his connivance, and that Affidavy
had been bought to bribe him into compliance;
though the covetousness of this unworthy and degraded
limb of the law had led him upon a device

for dispensing with the jailer's services, and so
clapping the additional reward into his own pocket.
This circumstance convinced him the force of the
conspirators could not be very great; and besides,
he had good reason to suppose that not more than
two or three could succeed, whatever might be
their boldness, in making their way to the village,
while the band was so closely beset at a distance.
“At all events,” he muttered to himself, as he sat
by the gate, listening for the sound of footsteps, “if
there should come even a dozen of them, and
there's not so many left in the gang, I can let in
just as many as will serve my turn, and then slap
the door to on the rest.—Hist! It sounded like the
tramp of a horse; yet 'twas only the splash of the
river over the stones. Well now, if they shouldn't
come, here's so much trouble for nothing, and the
lord knows how much cherry-bounce. Silence
there, you Hanschen! you're asleep. Ods bobs,
men, don't scratch your heads so hard!”

He kept watch for perhaps the space of an hour,
without hearing the stir of man or beast, or indeed
any other sound besides the rush of the river, which
rolls down a pebbly declivity hard by, and the
chirping of numerous field-crickets on the trees of
neighbouring gardens; when suddenly one of these
insects; tired, as it seemed, of its dewy perch,
which it had exchanged for the dry planks of the
gate, or perhaps just waked up in the key-hole,
began its nocturnal cry with a zeal and energy
that instantly captivated the jailer's attention. It
now struck his recollection that the attorney had,
in some way or other, drawn these minstrels of the
night into his suppositions; and he began to fancy
the sound might be a signal made by the tories,
though he could not imagine how the organs of a
human being could be ever taught to imitate a cry

so peculiar. He felt his own inability to answer it
in the same tone; and not knowing how otherwise
to bring the affair to a point, he replied by a goodly
whistle, which his companions supposed to be the
signal of the enemy, and therefore prepared to
start up at a moment's warning. The whistle was
instantly followed by a slight tap on the gate, and
Lingo, waving his hand to his backers to be silent,
boldly turned the key. Then slipping the bolt
aside, he saw three human figures on the outside,
ready to enter. “Two to one,” he muttered to
himself, opening the gate wide enough to admit one
to pass at a time. One actually entered, and was
moving aside, without speaking, to make way for
the others, when Lingo's scheme was defeated by
a sudden rattling of chains at the window of Hyland's
cell, and by a voice crying out, “Beware!
beware! you are betrayed!”—“Up and on 'em!”
cried Lingo—“Gentlemen, you are welcome!” and as
he spoke, he made a grasp at the first comer,
which was answered so effectually, that he instantly
found himself sprawling on his back, with
such a blaze of lights dancing in his eyes, that
he thought his whole brain had been converted
into a ball of fire. The next instant, there was
a loud cry of voices, and a roar of pistols, which,
reverberating from wall to wall, filled the narrow
yard with the most dreadful din; and Lingo started
up just in time to behold a tall figure darting
through the gate into the open air.

“Fire and furies!” he cried, rushing after the
fugitive; “I'll pay you for that touch of the tomahawk,
you bloody tory!” and the next moment
coming up with his chase, he struck him a blow
with his heavy sword, that brought him to the
ground. Then pouncing upon him, and assisted
by another who ran to his assistance, crying that

`all were taken,' he dragged the prisoner into the
yard and secured the gate. “Lights, Hanschen!”
he cried, “Yaw,” said Hanschen; “but fat's the
use? Here's one teadt, and anoder tying. And
here's Sturmhausen has his headt proke; and
here's me mit my finkers chopped off by the tamt
schelm rogues. But I have kilt vone, mine Gott be
thank'd! and I fill hang the t'oders!”

Before Hanschen had wholly delivered himself
of his private ills and triumphs, a loud huzza was
set up by the others, upon hearing that all the
three assailants were secured. Lights were instantly
brought into the yard, and, sure enough,
there lay three men on the ground, one of whom
was stone dead, his head blown to atoms by Hanschen's
pistol, a second writhing to all appearance
in the agonies of death, and a third—but what
were the surprise and mortification of the jailer,
when in this third, the man he had cut down with
his own hands, he beheld the visage of his prisoner,
Sterling.

Upon this discovery being made, all was again
confusion; the gate was a second time thrown
open, but only that they might behold the whole
village in commotion, the alarm having been given
by the previous tumult. It was plain that the third
individual, and he perhaps the most important of
all, had made his escape. To add to the confusion
of the scene, the wounded tory, upon hearing
some of those who raised him pronounce the
name of Sterling, suddenly snatched a pistol from
one, and discharged it at this unlucky personage,
with a bitter oath. It was struck from his hands,
however, so that it did no hurt to any one.

The jailer, now in fear lest the other prisoners
might have broken from their cells, ran to those
occupied respectively by Hyland Gilbert and

Dancy Parkins, both of whom he found in fetters,
the former, in truth, secured by a bolt to the floor,
so that, although he had some freedom of motion,
he could not approach the window near enough
to look out, and must therefore have been led to
give the alarm to the rescuers by hearing the
crash of the bolt in the gate. This was additional
evidence of the guilt of Affidavy; but at that moment,
the jailer did not trouble himself to think of
that discomfited personage. He stared at the prisoner,
heard his beseeching demand, `Who had been
taken? who had been hurt?' answered it by a profane
oath, and then ran to Parkins's cell. He then
stepped to that occupied by Sterling, and found
that this individual, seduced perhaps by the sounds
of wassailing below, had employed his time in removing
with a knife a hinge from his door, by which
means he had made his way into the yard, where he
took advantage of the commotion so unexpectedly
displayed, to make a bold dash for freedom. What
had seduced this wretch, who was in no immediate
peril of death, or even trial, and who had freely
rendered himself into the hands of justice, to attempt
his escape, Lingo could not imagine; and
in truth he did not attempt to solve the mystery.
He satisfied himself that he had given him a severe,
perhaps a serious cut, betwixt the neck and shoulder,
and then had him carried into his cell, not
without some very hearty curses upon his enterprise,
and its effects in robbing him of a more
valuable prize. These were borne by the adventurer
without any reply save ghastly looks; and
indeed Mr. Sterling was a greatly altered man,
presenting an appearance even more wo-begone
and wretched than that of Hyland, the victim of
his anger. As if to mark the jailer's indignation
in the strongest way, the wounded refugee was
deposited in the same chamber, as well as the body
of his comrade.

Upon examining into the condition of the defenders,
it was found that Hanschen had received
a cut over the hand, which, as was discovered
afterwards, had been inflicted not by a foe, but by
one of his fellow-defenders; and this had deprived
him of a finger, and perhaps of the service of two
others. Another man had been hurt by a bullet
in the leg, and a third had been stunned, like Lingo,
by a stroke on the head. As for Lingo himself, he
discovered, with some surprise, that the blow which
prostrated him had left a wide and ugly gash on
his crown, though not one from which he had
cause to apprehend serious consequences. The
only ill effect it produced was, to sour his temper
to an uncommon degree; so that after peace was
restored in his dominions, and his aiders and abettors
all discharged for the night, he betook himself
to the sleeping Affidavy, and bestowed some three
or four such kicks upon his ribs, that it was a wonder
he left a sound one in his body. But even
these failed to rouse the stupified attorney; and at
last, calling to Hanschen for assistance, he dragged
him up into Sterling's cell, where he deposited
him on the floor, betwixt the dead man and the
dying.

“Now here are four bites for the devil together,”
he said; “and if they all die before morning, it's
all one to Bob Lingo.”

With these words, he descended to look after
his wound, which was bleeding freely.