University of Virginia Library

25. CHAPTER XXV.
Robin Day incurs a great danger, and surrenders to his unrelenting
pursuer, John Dabs; but calls his wisdom to his assistance,
and performs a wonderful feat of dexterity.

The patriotic spirit manifested by all the company
greatly increased the fervor of my own; so that having
completed my supper, I resolved at once to seek
out, with mine host's assistance, some one of the many
bands preparing to march to the field of honor, and enrol
myself among them. I left the supper table, and
proceeded to the bar-room, where I was in the act of
receiving the advice I wanted, when a new comer
brushed me aside, and engaged the innkeeper's attention
by eagerly demanding, “if there was not in
his house a young fellow that had arrived by the city
stage, and”--

But I did not remain to hear any thing further.
The first words struck me with a panic, which was
vastly increased by a look at the stranger's face, in
which I immediately recognised the well known
lineaments of a certain John Dabs, a constable of our
town, and famous for his energy and success in hunting
up transgressors and fugitives from the law,
whenever there was any thing to be gained by it. I
immediately made a demonstration towards the door;
but John Dabs whose eyes were as busy as his tongue
and speedily detected the movement, was too quick
for me.

“I've got you, by jingo!” cried John Dabs, taking
me by the shoulder, and grinning with triumph,
while I almost fainted with terror and despair. In
an instant, we were surrounded by curious spectators
some demanding “what I had done,” while others
disdained inquiry, swearing, one that I was “a runaway
prisoner of war;” another “that I had stolen
a horse, he knew by the look of me;” a third that I
was “a kidnapper, a Georgeye nigger-stealer,” and
so on; so that I soon began to believe myself guilty
of all the crimes that had ever been committed.

In this emergency, Mr. John Dabs, to my extreme
surprise, and somewhat also to my gratification, as relieving
me from exposure and the disgrace of the moment,
declared “I was no criminal, but a young gentleman
what had run away from his friends, who had
employed him, John Dabs, to carry me back to them;
and that he was very glad to find me, as I was a
young gentleman what did'nt know the world, and
my friends was all in a peck of troubles because of
me.” With which explanation, that appeared very
satisfactory to all the company, Mr. John Dabs asked,
with an appearance almost of civility and respect,
to have a little private talk with me; a proposal to
which I, of course, very courteously acceded, and accompanied
him to a private room, with hangdog
looks I doubt not, but busily plotting a thousand
plans of escape from his inexorable clutches.

The moment we had got by ourselves, Mr. Dabs
began to indulge in sundry encomiastic gratulations
on his success in finding me out, then laughed immoderately
at the alarm I had betrayed, when seized
by him, asking me “if I did not think I was certainly
to be carried to the gallows?” and ended by
assuring me I had nothing to fear in that way, or any
other; for why? Mr. M'Goggin was neither dead

nor dying, and none the worse for his broken head
—“when was an Irishman ever?” said John Dabs,
the constable; “no, he was out of danger, on his feet,
as well as ever he was, and had been bought off by
my benefactor, Dr. Howard, not to appear against me,
and sent away by the trustees, who were resolved
to have no more barbarian teachers. Upon this
happy result, he declared, Dr. Howard had come to
a determination to have me back again—for why?
he was afraid the sea would be the ruin of me; and
had sent for him, John Dabs, to hunt me up and
bring me back, offering a handsome reward if he
should find me; whereupon he, the said John Dabs,
had followed me to Philadelphia, inquired for me in
vain of Mr. Bloodmoney, lost all track of me, but
stumbled upon that of my friend General Dare, who
had, the day before, left Philadelphia by the Wilmington
road, and with whom he doubted not he
should find me; and, accordingly, taking the road
on his own horse, and making inquiries at every
stopping place, he had at last heard of me in the
stage, (“sly dog,” said John Dabs, “not to enter it
in Philadelphia!”) and so lined me straight to the
tavern, where he had me as dead as a herring, as
well as his hundred dollars from the doctor, and
something handsome from me, as he expected, for
bringing me such happy intelligence.

But this happy intelligence, which the reader may
suppose, filled me with joy and transport, did not
by any means produce the agreeable effect that Mr.
John Dabs anticipated. I had not yet forgotten the
events of the preceding night, with my reflections
thereon, and especially the resolution I had so lately
framed not to be made a dupe a second time by mortal
man. I saw very clearly that Mr. John Dabs
was a very cunning personage, an experienced thief-taker,

who very well knew how to manage a prisoner
with the least trouble to himself, by flattering
away his fears, and lulling him into a false security.
In short, I did not believe a word of his story, being
convinced, in my own secret heart, that it was a villanous
fabrication from beginning to end, devised
for the purpose of deluding me back to New Jersey,
or to the nearest prison, like a lamb to the butcher,
unsuspicious of evil, nay, dreaming, like that woolly
representative of innocence and simplicity, only of
green leas and enamelled meadows, while capering
onwards to the slaughter-house. “No, no, Mr. John
Dabs,” thought I to myself, “you'll not catch me
napping so easy.”

Perceiving, therefore, Mr. Dabs' true drift, I was
by no means enraptured at the account he gave me;
though, after a moment's consideration, I feigned to
be. It occurred to me, moreover, that while Mr.
John Dabs was so busy cajoling me, I might profit
somewhat by playing the same game with him. So
long as he should think it proper to have me believe
I was not his prisoner, it was manifestly necessary
he should act the character rather of a friendly
emissary than a jailer, avoiding, as far as possible,
the appearance of constraining, or watching, my
motions; and, it was equally clear, that he would
allow me a longer tether, the more he was satisfied
I was the unsuspecting dupe of his cunning. I was
resolved to have him think I entertained no doubt
of his story whatever.

Acting upon this resolution, I told him I was very
glad to see him, and asked, with feigned composure,
the news from our town, and above all, how my
patron did, how Don Pedro, and how—sinner that I
was that I could not name her whom I should have
most desired to hear about—how every body else?

“Oh,” said Mr. John Dabs, “all well enough,
except the Doctor and his daughter, Nannie;” (so
the scoundrel called her:) “both of whom is quite
killed up about you—if they ain't I'm blowed—the
poor gal in partickilar; and they do say,” continued
the villain, with an air of the most sympathetic condolence—“it's
all on account of her true love for
you; and old Mammy Jones, the baker's wife told
my wife Sue, `she reckoned she'd die, poor soul,
for grieving after you,' and she reckoned that was
the reason the Doctor was so mad to have you back
again.”

I was so much affected at the mere thought of
Nanna being sick, that it was not until a moment or
two I remembered this was but an additional falsehood
contrived by Mr. Constable Dabs to help him in his
business of getting me safely back to New Jersey;
but when I did remember it, I was so much incensed
at the freedom with which he had spoken of
her, that I longed to knock him over the head with
the chair, from which his cruel fiction had startled
me. I recovered myself, however, in an instant,
told him “care killed a cat,” (for which sagacious
observation I know not how to account for my using
on such an occasion, unless it was that I modestly
wished to deprecate the idea of any body dying for
me,) and then proposed to show my gratitude for
the good news he had brought me by treating him to
a bottle of wine, the best the inn could afford.

“With all my heart,” quoth John Dabs, “but,
considering the hard ride I've had over this cruel
bad road, I don't care if you call it a quart of brandy
toddy.” On my agreeing to which, Mr. Dabs got
up to ring the bell for a servant; an operation that
he repeated thrice over without the least effect, the
house being in such a hubbub of confusion that it

is doubtful whether any sound would have been
noticed, short of a flourish of British trumpets, or
the sudden cannonade of besiegers.

Seeing this, I was resolved to try my hand at a
stratagem; and complaining suddenly of feeling sick
and faint, at which Mr. Dabs expressed as much
concern as if he was not engaged in the very act of
leading me to the gallows, I begged he would do
me the favour, as no servants appeared likely to
answer the bell, to step to the bar-room and order
the brandy toddy in person, together with a little
peppermint and sugar, which I had no doubt would
soon render me able to join him in discussing the
better beverage.

To this Mr. Dabs assented with the most benevolent
readiness, and immediately, to my inexpressible
satisfaction, and almost wonder, (for I could hardly
believe the duper would allow himself to be duped
so easily,) left the room, and went down stairs, assuring
me he would be back before I could say
Jack Robinson.

It is highly probable he kept his promise; but I
did not remain to verify that important particular.
The moment Mr. John Dabs's figure vanished from
the door, that very moment my own slipped softly
out of the window, taking a leap of some twelve or
fourteen feet, for the window was at least so high
above the street, of which, under other circumstances,
I should not have been at all ambitious to make
trial. But I was leaping for freedom, for life; it was
my only chance of escaping the halter, which my
rencontre with Mr. Dabs had conjured up before my
imagination, the noose already yawning for my neck.
Nor did I receive any injury from the fall, except
jarring my legs a little; though even this was an
evil that passed off, and was forgotten, in a moment.