University of Virginia Library

33. CHAPTER XXXIII.
Robin Day discovers his friend Dicky Dare; but his pleasure is
damped by a new misfortune,which separates him from his brother
adventurer, and sends him again upon the world a fugitive.

The disorder into which our company was thrown
by this furious attack, afforded me the opportunity
I had so long desired for effecting my escape—an
opportunity, however, of which I did not immediately
take advantage, owing to my fears and confusion
of mind; having no other thought at that
time but how to get out of the reach of the frantic
militia-men, who were dealing death upon all before
them. But a circumstance that befell in the battle
betwixt Tom Gunner and the young officer, which
was fought, as I may say, hard by me, startled me
from my panic, and recalled the thought of escape.
The appearance of the captain of militia presented
nothing unusual to my eyes; but his voice, proclaiming
defiance and the confidence of victory over his
opponent, electrified my inmost spirit—it was the
voice of my friend Dicky Dare! Yes! a look at him,
as his valiant arm whirled in the air to strike the
blow that brought the vanquished Gunner to his
feet, convinced me it was indeed he, whom the lustre
of a martial uniform could now no longer conceal
from my eyes. It was he, my friend and brother in
arms, fighting, like a young Mars, fighting in the
front ranks of victory, fighting, too, which was equally

advantageous and glorious, on exactly the right side,
—on the side of his country.

The apparition of my friend and fellow adventurer,
so long lost, so long sought, filled me not only
with surprise, but with joy and rapture; and shouting
his name, with a cry half plaintive, half triumphant,
I rushed towards him, to put myself under his
protection and command, with the full intention of
turning my arms against my friends of the Jumping
Jenny. But it was, I soon found, no easy matter to
claim an acquaintance, or renew a friendship, on the
field of battle.

A dozen combatants rushed between me and my
friend; and, worse than that, they turned their unfriendly
arms against me, some crying “No quarter
for the robbers,” while others more mercifully bade
me “Surrender,” which I was very willing to do.
“Surrender, you British murderer and plunderer!”
cried one, with tones of the most virtuous indignation,
clutching me, at the same time, by the collar.
The voice was another surprise; and I beheld in the
captor no less a man than the missing master of the
Jumping Jenny, the detested Skipper Duck.

The villain recognised me at the moment of speaking,
and a grin of exultation illumined his dark and
vindictive countenance. “Little Cock Robin! blast my
oyster-tongs!” he cried, giving me at the same time,
a furious box on the ear, and another at the back of
it, before I could recover from my surprise. Then,
clutching me tighter than before, he swore I was “a
valuable capture—that I was a traitor, an American-born
subject, who had volunteered with the British,
and been with them at the burning of Frenchtown,
and Havre de Grace, and I know not how many
other fields of foray beside—that he was a witness,
and could swear to all he had charged me with—that

they themselves, the militia-men, had caught me in
the very act of treason, fighting, with the British,
against my own country and fellow-citizens—for
which I ought to be hanged; as I undoubtedly would
be.” In short, I found that I had stepped from one
dilemma into another, that Skipper Duck had consigned,
or was on the point of consigning, me to
that very fate I had so patriotically proposed for
him, and that I was in the fairest possible way of
being carried to the gallows for high treason.

There was, indeed, some prospect of my escaping
this undesirable catastrophe, by being murdered on
the spot, Duck's companions, the militia-men, being
so exasperated by the charges, which I could not
contradict, (how could I, since they were all perfectly
true,) that some of them proposed to blow
out my brains, without further ceremony or inquiry.

At this moment, while I was vainly struggling to
explain away the guilt of my apparent treason, by
representing from what good motives I had acted,
my friend Dicky Dare came hobbling up, (for, it
seemed, he had taken an honorable wound in the
battle,) and, with a tremendous voice of authority,
ordered his men to continue the pursuit of the
enemy, who were still on the retreat, declaring, as if
the lives of all mankind depended upon his will, that
“not a soul of them,” meaning the British, “must
be suffered to reach their boats alive.” Upon this,
all opened their lips to boast their fortunate capture
of a traitor, and I to claim the protection of my brother-in-arms.

Dicky Dare looked astonished at the sight of me,
and was still more amazed at the charge of treason
so volubly preferred by the malignant Skipper, and
so hotly confirmed by his companions; but putting
on the look of a commander-in-chief, and swearing

like a private, he ordered his men to follow after the
enemy without further delay, and leave the prisoner
to him: “On my brave fellows!” said the youthful
chief—“the enemy is not yet cut to pieces: on,
then, and cover yourselves with immortal glory!”

“Immortal glory for ever! hurrah for Uncle
Sam!” cried the gallant ragamuffins, immediately
resuming the pursuit of the enemy—all except Skipper
Duck, who seized me by the collar again, swearing
I was “his prisoner, and he was n't going to
give me up for nobody, blast his fish-hooks—but
would carry me to head-quarters, where he expected
to be handsomely rewarded for his prize.”

“What, you mutinous rascal! do you disobey orders?”
quoth Dicky Dare, aiming with his sword
a terrible blow at the refractory Skipper, which the
latter avoided by leaping aside, without, however,
loosing his hold of me; until I, encouraged by the
countenance of my friend, took part in the affray,
and knocked the vindictive caitiff down. He then
sneaked off, swearing, as he went, that he would
report the valiant Dicky at head quarters for befriending
the renegade whom he had in vain taken
prisoner.

“A confounded insolent scoundrel,” said Dicky
in a fume;—“think, by Julius Cæsar, I have seen the
rascal before.”

“Yes,” said I, “it is that notorious villain, Skipper
Duck, that used to be of our town.”—But
Dicky's thoughts were upon more important subjects.

“I say, Mr. Robin Day, by Julius Cæsar,” said
he, in great haste, yet with exceeding dignity—
“there's no time, while the battle is raging, to talk; a
brave man, sir, can think of nothing but fighting; so

we must be short.—Do you mean to allow, sir, you
landed on this soil in company with British forces?”

“I did, Dicky. But—”

“And that you came with arms in your hands, a
volunteer in the British service?”

“I did, Dicky. But—”

“And that you fought with them at Frenchtown
and Havre-de-grace?”

“Yes, Dicky. But—”

“But what?” cried the young patriot, surveying
me with disgust, and putting on the lofty port of a
hero: “do you expect to excuse such an act, sir? an
act of treason, sir? I'd have you to know, sir, by
Julius Cæsar,” he added, with increased dignity and
emphasis, “I despise a traitor above all created things!
—My old friend Sy Tough a volunteer in the British
service!”

I explained to him that that was a mere stratagem
of war—that I had volunteered in the first place by
mistake, and then continued to bear arms only for
the purpose of effecting my escape to my friends,
the Americans.

“Hem,” said Dicky, with the snort of a war-horse
blowing the breath of contempt on his enemies,
—“and do you suppose that that excuse will serve
your turn at a court-martial? that such a motive as
that—or any motive, by Julius Cæsar, sir, will justify
you, sir, or any body, sir, by Julius Cæsar, sir,
in taking up arms against your country, sir?”

These questions fairly set my hair upon end; and
I felt that it was a great omission I had made not to
ask them of myself, when first adopting that sagacious
device by which I designed to effect my escape
from the British.

“I believe I have been a great fool, Dicky,” said

I; “but I hope you will do me the justice to believe
my motives were good.”

“Confound your motives,” said General Dare,
sublimely; “actions, sir, actions are the things the
government and people of the United States will
look to. And as for actions, here you are, sir, taken
in action, with arms in your hands, fighting against
your country! I say, sir, by Julius Cæsar!” he
cried, “do you know what will be the end of all this?
do you know, sir, what is the punishment for taking
service with the enemy?”

I stammered out a faltering hope that my case
was not so bad as he would have me believe.

“For my part,” said Dicky, “I don't know
whether they shoot traitors or hang them; but one
or the other is certain for you, by Julius Cæsar.
You are taken a prisoner to head-quarters, accused
of high treason, convicted by a court martial, and
up you go—or down, sir, I don't know which—but
hemp or lead finishes the business!”

“Alas, Dicky!” I cried, reduced to despair; and
demanded if he could not, or would not, help me
out of my desperate predicament.

“That's exactly what I mean to do,” said Dickey
Dare, with loftier emphasis than ever. “I hate and
despise a traitor beyond mention; but, for old love's
sake, and considering it is your first offence, I pardon
you. Go, sir, by Julius Cæsar; I give you your
life and liberty—I release you:—go, fly, save your
bacon—run, jump, cut stick, clear out! make streaks,
I tell you, and hide in woods and caves from the
wrath of your injured and offended country. As
for me, sir, by Julius Cæsar, here goes again for
another knock at her enemies!”

With these words, the youthful patriot ran hobbling

through the woods after his company and the
flying foe; and I, conscious of my crime and of the
imminent danger it had plunged me into, betook me
to my heels returning in another direction, in which,
I judged, there was least fear of falling again into
the hands of my injured and offended countrymen.