26. CHAPTER XXVI.
SAMSON UNBOUND.
On the ensuing morning, while Captain Vrail sat reading an
Ogdensburgh gazette, in a public room of the Eagle Tavern of
—ville, he was informed that a Mr. Miller was inquiring for,
and wished to see him, and while wondering that he should have
any acquaintances in a part of the world in which he had never
before travelled, he was approached by a well dressed-man, apparently
of about middle age, whose hair was very black and glossy,
and whose whiskers, of the same hue, were very bushy and very
abundant. The stranger wore spectacles and carried a light ratan,
and when he offered his hand to Vrail, it was without removing
its close-fitting beaver glove, and without speaking.
Tom was quite at a loss.
“Mr. Miller?” he said, inquiringly, as he took the proffered hand
of his visitor.
“Yes,” was the short reply.
“I do not know that I have the honor”—
“Captain Vrail forgets his friends quickly,” replied the stranger,
smiling.
“Oh, ho!” cried Tom, “what a dolt I am, or rather, what a
genius you are, Mr. Miller—or rather, Mr. Wind-Miller,” he added,
sinking his voice. “Why, the transformation is complete.
You might go to Canada, and dine with Sergeant Ward in safety.”
“It was to try my disguise that I approached you thus,” replied
the outlaw; “and as to going to Canada, I have been there more
than once in this character, and I may possibly receive tidings at
Ogdensburgh, which will require my presence there again this very
week, even at Kingston.”
“Is it possible? And would you really take so great a risk?”
“If it would materially serve the cause, I would not hesitate.
Our other leaders are venturing as much everywhere. How often
has the great Mackenzie perilled his life! And think of poor
Van Shoultz, our noble and gallant ally, and of your own unfortunate
brother, both probably in the hands of a government, which,
tottering to its fall, dares not, if it would, show mercy. I have
but one life, and it is at the service of this cause and its friends.
If our leaders on the other side can show a satisfactory reason for
failing to join us at Windmill Point, and if my presence among
them is necessary to concert and effect another joint attack which
promises to be more successful, I shall certainly go, without counting
the risk. I hope you do not think of throwing up your commission.”
“I scarcely remembered that I had one. No; I do not wish
to resign it, as long as there is any prospect of a well planned and
successful expedition; but I shall never again be one of a few hundreds,
to cross the St. Lawrence, and set myself up for a target for
British muskets.”
“You are quite right in that.”
“I have been reading this journal in hopes of finding some tidings
of the prisoners, but I can learn nothing, excepting that all
who were taken were sent to Kingston. No names are mentioned,
excepting of the principal officers.”
“Have you really the news there so soon? How many of the
enemy were killed? How many of our men were taken? How
many escaped? Let me see it.”
Johnson spoke eagerly and quickly, taking the offered journal
from his companion, and perusing it hastily.
“The tidings are meagre, and probably unauthentic,” said Vrail,
“but they are correct enough in ascribing great deeds to the Hero
of the Thousand Isles.”
“Tut—tut—they are determined on making a lion of me,
whether I roar or not. But I hope yet to do something worthy
of the distinction they force upon me.”
“The United States Marshal was at Ogdensburgh a few days
since, and may be still there. Will it be prudent for you to go
there?”
“Quite, there is not a person there who will know me in this
guise, and there are dozens of hunters who would swear to me as
Mr. Miller, for by that name I have mingled with them in their
lodges, and have partaken of their deliberations. They know,
indeed, that I often see Bill Johnson, and that I speak his views
by authority, for when I visit them in my true character, I always
fully endorse my supposed envoy.”
“Is it possible that you can successfully keep up this twofold
character?”
“Not only there, but in other places. My secret rests with
you alone, and I do not fear that you will betray it.”
“You need not, on the honor of a very poor soldier, who has
run away from the only battle in which he was ever engaged,”
replied Tom, laughing.
“Yet who fought well while fighting was of any use. I wish
your brave brother was with us.”
Tom colored at the allusion to his brother, but a moment's reflection
convinced him that no innuendo was designed, and that he
had as yet only the reproaches of his own conscience to bear for
his disgraceful desertion of so noble a friend.
The companions proceeded the same day, by public conveyance,
to Ogdensburgh. Vrail carefully schooled himself to address the
outlaw, at all times, by his assumed name, yet scarcely restraining
his laughter at the dignified and eminently pacific deportment of
the man whom he had so lately seen rushing, tiger-like, upon a
British sergeant, and carrying him off bodily into a cave of the
earth. They took lodgings at different hotels, the young man
stopping at the most central and public house, where he would be
most likely to gain the intelligence he sought, while Johnson
chose the safer obscurity of a quiet and more retired inn.
