University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.
In which Robin Day, flying the terrors of the law, is sent out into
the world to seek his fortune.

For my own part, I was in such a horror of fright
at the idea of having committed what I now felt was
nothing short of a murder, that I betook myself to
the fields, running as if the hue and cry, the posse
comitatus, constable, hangman and all, were after
me; and it was not until I had plumped over head and
ears into a ditch, whereby the ferment of my mind
was somewhat allayed, that I recovered enough of
my wits to consider what I was about. I then reflected,
that it was by no means certain M'Goggin
was actually dead, although, to be sure, he had looked
marvellously like a subject for the undertaker, his
face being bloody, and of a cadaverous hue. I remembered,
too, that he had fallen from the rope with
sufficient force to stun him for awhile; and moreover,
that the negro-man had tumbled upon him, and so
must have beaten the breath out of his body; and,
hence, it was not improbable, he had been only
in a swoon, from which he might have revived already.
In short, I satisfied myself that I was a great
simpleton for being so much frightened, and that the
wisest thing I could do, would be to creep away
to my comfortable home, without any further thought
of leaving it, until assured I had really got myself
into trouble.

Home, accordingly, I went, shivering with wet
and anxiety; and finding the door open, though no
one was stirring, I sneaked away to my chamber,
where I stripped off my wet clothes, and was about
slinking quietly into bed, when the motion was arrested
by the sudden and unexpected entrance of
my patron. His countenance, which was pale and
disordered, filled me with alarm, and this he proceeded
to heighten into the wildest consternation by
exclaiming—“Wretched boy, you have killed a
man! Up and away: you must fly, or be seized,
tried, and perhaps hanged, as a murderer!”

I leaped up, it may be supposed, quickly enough,
and attempted to give utterance to excuses and explanations,
that were none of the calmest or most
coherent; but Dr. Howard checked me: assuring me,
in an agitated and hurried voice, that I had no time
to lose, that he had seen M'Goggin, who was dying
of his injuries—of concussion, or compression, of the
brain, I knew not which—that he had learned I was
one of the ringleaders in the affray, that some of the
citizens had gone for warrants to apprehend me, as
well as others, my companions, that he had left the
dying man, under pretence of getting his trephining
instruments, but in reality to find me, and send me
off, before it was too late; and he ended by mingling
upbraidings of my folly and wickedness, with injunctions
to put on my clothes, and pack up a change
of linen in the saddle-bags, which he had brought
with him into the room, as I must mount horse and
be gone immediately.

I stood aghast; for the sentence of banishment
from his house was more dreadful to my feelings
than my fears had been; and in my confusion, I uttered,
I knew not why, the name of Nanna. He
looked discomposed, the tears came into his eyes,

and he exclaimed with mingled grief and bitterness
—“Ah, wretch, you have lost her too: you knew
not what I designed for you!” Then, suddenly
changing to anger, he bade me not name her again;
and calling me madman, murderer, houseburner, and
I knew not what besides, he ended by ordering me
again to dress and be ready; and then left me.

I did as he bade me, slipped on my best coat,
stuffed the saddlebags with clothes, with which his
generosity had always supplied me to even extravagance
and excess; and, though I did all in extreme
agitation of spirits, I had finished before he returned;
which he presently did, bearing a letter and pocket-book,
both of which he put into my hands, saying
that I must proceed to Philadelphia, and deliver the
letter to the gentleman to whom it was directed,
who would assist to put me out of the way of danger,
at least for a time.

“He is my distant kinsman—a merchant—and
has a privateer which he is about sending to sea: he
will give you a berth in her, and you will then be
free to follow your bent, and cut throats to your
liking.”

This he said with such bitterness of sarcasm, that
it overcame my spirits, and I could not avoid shedding
tears; which seemed to soften him, and he then
spoke more gently.

“It is the last life I should have ever desired for
you,” he said, “for it is little better than freebooting—piracy
legalized. But it cannot be helped: the
emergency is too sudden for choice; there is no alternative.
The letter contains money: it will help
to fit you out: Mr. Bloodmoney,” (the merchant to
whom the letter was directed,) “will supply you
what more is needed. The pocket-book will keep
you on the road. You must ride all night: I have

ordered you Bay Tom—he will carry you to the
city: but should he fail, leave him on the road, and
hire another. You must be in Philadelphia to-morrow.”

By this time, we could hear a trampling at the
stable, which was not far off; and my patron, saying
all was ready, ordered me to follow him; but
immediately bade me hold, while he ran to his
study, from which he returned with a memorial of
the wreck—the only one he could ever obtain—
which he had lighted on, at his last visit to the
coast, and bought for a trifle of old Mother Moll,
the first of my persecutors. This was a memento
of whose existence I had long been aware, though I
never attached any importance to it, as my patron
was sometimes inclined to do; for, in truth, I cared
nothing for my origin, and was too well content
with the protection, and, as I might have called it,
the parentage of the good doctor, to wish to exchange
it for another's, even a father's. There was,
in fact, in the relic nothing very striking or interesting.
It was a string of beads of different sizes,
of some black wood, I know not what, but they
were polished, and had a fragrant odour; and there
was a central one, in shape somewhat of a cross, of
considerable size, with grotesque carvings, that served
as a sort of locked to connect the two ends of the
string. It was, I always thought, just such a poor
trifling gewgaw as any common woman, a sailor's
wife, might wear; and I was the more impressed
that it had belonged to some such personage, as
there was roughly scratched, as with a jack-knife,
on the back of the locket, the name, as far as we
could make it out, of Sally Ann, which had decidedly
the smack of a tar's delight about it. This, to
be sure, Dr. Howard agreed was likely enough; but

the poor sailor's wife might have been my mother
notwithstanding. But what chiefly rendered the
trinket of importance in his regard, was that Don
Pedro, the Spanish negro, our cook, of whom I
have spoken, and who was a mighty good Catholic,
and had an uncommon share of intelligence for his
degree, declared it was nothing less than a Catholic
rosary, as he knew by the number and arrangement
of the beads; and in fact, having put it into his
hands, he began to tell the beads, and, as he did so,
to jabber out a string of Ave-Marias and Pater-Nosters
with great readiness and fluency; only that
he made such a hotch-potch of the matter as neither
himself nor any one else could make sense of.
This, my patron averred, was a curious circumstance;
as a Catholic child in a Yankee schooner (it
seems, Mother Moll had admitted she had taken
the beads from my neck, and Dr. Howard was convinced
the wreck had been a trading vessel from
New England,) was certainly, something out of the
usual course of things; and he therefore resolved to
treasure the beads up, hoping that they might be
the means some day of leading to the most interesting
discoveries.

This string of beads, or rosary, or whatever it
might be, he now put into my hands, bidding me
preserve it with religious care, nay, even to wear it
round my neck, for fear of accidents, as it might
conduct me perhaps to the arms of my parents;
“of whom,” he added, with some emotion, “you
have now greater need than ever, having thrown
away —.” But here he interrupted himself,
and bade me follow him; which I did, until we had
come to the stable; where we found his horse Bay
Tom, an animal that he greatly valued, standing at
the door ready saddled, and with him old Don

Pedro himself, who had long professed a great
friendship for me, and from whom, indeed, in the
course of the last five years, I had gradually picked
up some little knowledge of the Spanish tongue,
which afterwards stood me in good stead.

“Mount, and ride for you life,” said my benefactor,
with a stern voice, yet wringing my hands with
painful earnestness; “mount,” he cried; “and heaven
forgive you this fatal deed, and go with you.”

Don Pedro, also, having helped me into the saddle,
gave me a farewell shake, and blubbered, in his
own tongue—“'Adios, mi nino;—adieu, my child;
at last, you are going to the devil:” an assurance
which was by no means so pleasant as it seemed
true.

This done and said, Pedro opened a gate, leading
into the highway, (the doctor's house being seated
on the borders of the town,) that I might ride
through. But I faltered a moment, to look back to
the house, in which, notwithstanding the folly and
violence of my career, I had lived so many happy
hours of my youth. There was a light burning in
Nanna's chamber, who was as yet unacquainted
with the miserable adventures of the night. As I
looked up, the light was suddenly put out; and the
darkness that ensued smote upon my heart as a
mournful omen.

“Why do you pause?” muttered my patron with
impatience. “Begone; your life depends upon your
speed.”

Thus commanded, I turned my horse through the
gate, gave him the rein and spur, and in a moment
was out of the town, flying all the more fleetly for
the din, the cries and shouts that still prevailed; and
which, as the blast brought them to my ears, my
fancy converted into the halloos of vengeful pursuers.