University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER XIII.

The storm had passed away when our hero awoke;
the sun glanced his golden beams even into the deep
recesses of the cellar, and the busy racket of the town,
announced that the greatest of all slaves, the civilized
man, had commenced his daily round of money-making
and money-spending. Each one, among the many
thousand citizens, was chacing the phantom happiness
under a different disguise, unconscious that in every
shape, and under every mark, it was only a spectre
he was pursuing. The shopkeeper was marshalling
his wares at the windows in showy array; the cartman
was rattling over the pavement; the milkmen
cudgelling their ponies, or beating up their tin pails,
and calling up the loitering kitchen maids in a language
not to be found in any of the books; the market-women
and butchers, were cheating the citizens, the
citizens cheating each other; and the stiff, upright

red-coat soldiers, were strutting about, thinking of love,
glory, and plunder, or running in debt without paying.

The day was to John one of alternate impatience
and depression. He had in some measure reconciled
himself to his old quarters in the sugar-house; but the
short glimpse of liberty he enjoyed, even in the
midnight storm, was inexpressibly welcome, and only
made his present confinement more intolerable. As
a last resource, he resorted to the file of Rivington's
Royal Gazette, where he was greeted with such dismal
accounts of the defeats, the sufferings, and cowardice
of his countrymen, coupled with remarks so
contemptuous and irritating, that he felt his blood
boiling and bubbling in his veins. Judging from these
relations, he feared it was all over with his country,
and that should he escape his miseries now, it would
be only to become the slave of a power content with
nothing less than absolute supremacy. Coming at
length to on exquisite specimen of scurrilous loyalty,
he could contain himself no longer, but dashsd the
papers to the ground, kicked and stamped on them, and
almost annihilated various and special transendentalisms
of loyality, as well as veracity, that would have
done credit to a British traveller, and not disgraced
the old termagant of the London Quarterly Review.
After this victory he felt considerably relieved, and
passed the rest of the day with a tolerable degree of
quiet resignation.

When night came, and the shops were shut, when
the streets no longer echoed to the footsteps of the
busy throng, the stranger paid his guest a visit, bringing
with him a bundle, which he announced as containing

a suit of women's clothes, which he spread
out before our hero, who demanded for what purpose
they were intended.

“You sir,” replied the other, “It is quit eimpossible
you should escape in that white dress, which can be
seen half way across the island in these moonlight
nights. You must put these on, and pass for a
woman.”

“Excuse me my good friend, I shall do no such
thing. If I am taken it shall be as a man, not as a
woman. No, give me a sword, only give me a sword,
and let me fight my way if necessary. I am determined
never to be taken alive again, if any chance is
left me to sell my life. Besides, as a woman, I shall
certainly be stopped, for what business can a woman
have to be wandering alone at midnight. If I am
seen, my walk will be sufficient, and if I speak, my
voice will betray me.”

“I believe you are right,” answered the other, after
pausing a few moments. “And now I recollect, there
is in my possession a suit of British uniform, which—
which I sometimes find useful,”—he said this with a
significant smile—“if you prefer it.”

“By all means,” cried John, interrupting him, “let
me have that, let me wear anything but petticoats.”
Heavens! thought he, what would Jane say if she
saw me in petticoats!

“It will do,” cried the stranger. “You shall, if seen
or intercepted, pass for a messenger carrying a letter
from the commander-in-chief to the officer commanding
the outposts. Wait a moment, and I will go and
write one, and bring the uniform.”

He returned in a few minutes with the letter and
the uniform, which John eagerly seized, and disrobing
himself, put on the red-coat and its appendages, which
he found fitted tolerably well. But one thing was
wanting, and that was a sword, which he was assured
would not be necessary, and perhaps only bring him
into trouble. On this point, however, he was peremptory;
he would not stir a step without some means
of defending himself, and the other at length assented.
When the sword was brought, John seized it eagerly,
at the same time exclaiming, “now I am a man, and
have the means of dying like a man! but hark!”

“It is only the patrol going the rounds. It has
passed, and now is your time. Come, rise and go
forth, and God speed you.” John followed him out of
his den, and the stranger cautiously reconnoitring from
the front door, ascertained that the coast was clear,
and the sky becoming cloudy.

“Now is your time,” said he, “no thanks—away,
and my best wish is never to see you more, until this
city returns to the hands of its lawful owners. Here,
take this,”—handing him money—“you may want
it by the way. Now go, and again I say, God speed
you.”

“I'm off,” replied the other; “but before I go, let
me assure you of my grateful recollection of your
kindness. I know what you risk by it, and so sure as
I live, if I escape this night, I will never cease to
serve you with my heart, my hand, and my sword.
Should you get into any difficulty on my account, let
me know it, and I swear by my Maker I will give myself

up to old Cunningham in exchange, fight for you,
die for you, if it be necessary to your—”

“Get away with your long speeches,” interrupted
the stranger, half jesting, half earnest; “never fear
for me, but look to yourself. You are a brave lad,
and I hope we shall meet again. In the meantime,
get about your business.” Saying this, he fairly pushed
our hero into the street, and shut the door in his
face.

His object was to make the best of his way to Harlem
river, and swim it at some point where it was
narrowest. Once on the other side, and his escape
would be almost certain, as the enemy had no post
beyond York Island in that direction. Fortunately,
or unfortunately, as the case might be, the night became
dark, and though this circumstance embarrassed
his progress, it at the same time diminished the chances
of discovery. He found little difficulty in clearing the
city, the extent of which was not what it is now, and
soon found himself on the road to Kingsbridge. Nothing
happened to impede his progress, or excite apprehension,
until he came to the lines extending from
the East river to the Hudson. Here, he paused, to
reflect on the course most proper to pursue; and having
decided this point, he crept cautiously along, under
cover of darkness, gradually approaching the lines
with the intention, if he found a chance which was
not desperate, to attempt passing through them. But
his scrutiny only ended in perpetual disappointment,
for the sentinels were placed at such short intervals
from each other that the prospect was hopeless.

It more than once occurred to him, to present himself

boldly under cover of his disguise, exhibit his letter
to a sentinel, and demand permission to pass. But
when he reflected on the probability, if not certainty
of being taken before the officer of the guard, and his
utter inability to undergo the slightest examination,
he decided to make this the last resort. He now resumed
his peregrination, and traversed from one extremity
of the lines to the other without success, when
the crowing of a cock warned him of the approach
of day. It smote on his ear like a passing bell, and
announced the absolute necessity of seeking some
place of concealment, as well as rest; for he was not
the man he was before his long confinement, which
had for the time impaired his vigour, and now found
himself almost overcome with fatigue.

The crowing of a second cock, which was answered
by others, warned him that not a moment was to be
lost, and he hastily turned away from the vicinity of
the lines to seek some place where he might hide himself.
Groping his way among the swamps, and thickets
of vines and briars, in the interior of the island,
he, just at the dawn of day, suddenly came upon a little
hut, which sufficiently indicated the poverty of its occupants,
if such it had, and retiring behind a tuft of
alders reconnoitred the premises. Nothing about the
hut, however, indicated that it was inhabited. Neither
domestic animal, nor domestic bird, appeared, nor
any garden, or cultivated spot of any kind, gave token
of human labour. He was about to advance and try
the door, when at that moment it was opened by a female,
who stepped forth, and after gathering a few
dry sticks, returned into the house. She seemed of a

middle age, and was poorly clad; but her garments
were neither ragged or dirty, and her face, so far as
he could distinguish through the gray dawn, was free
from those strong, indelible marks, which so unerringly
indicate bad passions and a dissolute life.

In a little while, the smoke curled forth from the
chimney of sticks and clay, and a savoury incense,
proceeding from broiled salt fish, saluted the nostrils
of the tired and hungry wayfarer, sorely tempting the
inward man to the imprudence of entering and partaking
thereof. There seemed no other human being
about the place but this lonely female, and he asked
of himself, when it was that a woman refused kindness
and relief to the hungry or distressed wanderer.
Encouraged by the reply of his own heart and his own
experience, he came forward with confidence, and presenting
himself at the door requested shelter and food.
The woman seemed neither alarmed or surprised,
while she made him this reply—

“I have nothing to give you. You have made me
a beggar already.”

“I will pay you for your kindness,” said John, showing
her a piece of gold.

“So you often told me before. The king pays you,
but you never pay anybody. Your coat is a license
for plundering us poor women. You will find breakfast
at your quarters, not here.”

“But I am starving.”

“So am I. This is my last meal, and you see there
is nothing to spare. You red coats have taken care
of that.”

She spoke with such bitter emphasis when alluding

to the red coats, that John began to hope she was a
rebel in her heart, and communed with himself whether
it would not be his best policy to disclose his real
character, and at once appeal to her sympathy as an
American soldier. It was a dangerous experiment,
but his case was desperate, and, as he decided, justified
the experiment.

“I suppose,” said he, “you have heard that the rebel
general is flying on his last legs through the Jerseys,
and that the cowardly Yankees are coming in by thousands,
with halters about their necks, to throw themselves
on the mercy of King George?”

The good woman, who was at that moment turning
a piece of salt fish on the gridiron, if three ribs, without
any legs, merit that respectable name, gave a sudden
irritable start, dropped the fish in the ashes, hastily
snatched it up, and turning full upon him, exclaimed,
echoing John's words—

“Rebel general—halters about their necks, do you
say? You'll be hanged before you see that day.”
There was no mistaking the action, the look, or the
tone, accompanying these words. “It is useless to
stay here,” continued she, “you get nothing from me,
for I have nothing left for you to buy or steal. If you
insult me, you will get as good as you bring; and if
you dare to use me ill, though I am but a woman, a
wretched, lonely woman, I have the will and the
strength of a man to defend myself. Go away, and
get your breakfast from King George.”

“King George owes me no breakfast. Though I
wear his livery, I am not his servant.”

“No! Well, now I come to look at you a little, you

don't look as if that coat was made for you. If you
hadn't shown me your gold, I could have almost sworn
you was an American. But the defenders of their
country have no money but rags.”

Being now fully assured, he at once disclosed his
name, the purpose of his disguise, and his present critical
situation. The woman listened with a friendly
interest, and at once offered him what food and shelter
it was in her power to afford. During their homely
repast, they talked over the best means of securing
his safety during the day, and his escape the ensuing
night. She declared that both would be exceedingly
difficult. Her hut was frequently visited by straggling
soldiers, who, in the wantonness of lawless power,
played those pranks which so often degrade the dignity
of that profession, which, more than any other,
should elevate men above robbing the weak, or insulting
the defenceless.

“But why do you remain alone in this wretched
hut, exposed to these insults and outrages?” asked
John.

“Because I have an only son, a prisoner in the city,
and go every day to carry him such little things as I
can procure for his comfort; and when I have nothing
to bring, I can still weep for him. I have tried to get
him released, but I fear he will at last be carried to
the hospital-ship, and die, as all do who go there, for
he is every day growing more pale and weakly.” The
poor mother wept as she told her story, and John, not
knowing how to comfort her, remained silent until she
recovered herself. He then told her he was very much

tired with his night's ramble, and asked permission to
rest on the bed standing in a corner of the room.

“Not there—not there!” exclaimed she, eagerly.
“You may be discovered. Can you sleep upon
straw?”

“Aye, on a rock!”

The good woman then pointed him the way up a
ladder into a little garret, where was a quantity of
straw, and strictly enjoining him not to stir whatever
might happen, left him, removing the ladder, which
she secreted outside the hut, after which she resumed
her household occupations. In less than ten minutes
our adventurer fell into a profound sleep, and for a
while forgot all his troubles.

From this blessed oblivion he was roused, after a
nap of some hours, by the tramp of horses about the
hut, mingled with the voices of his hostess and that
of men. Listening with intense and breathless anxiety,
he could distinguish the purport of their conversation.
The voice of the man was that of one inquiring
after himself, and that of the woman was disclaiming
all knowledge of such a person as he described, which
she could do with a safe conscience, as the fugitive
was represented in the dress in which he escaped from
prison.

The morning had disclosed his departure, and spoiled
the ghost story of the trusty sentinel, who never lived
to hear the last of that affair. The circumstance of
the sawing of the iron grating, produced a conviction
of his having had accomplices without, and this, together
with the zeal of old Cunningham to recover his
prey, caused more than usual solicitude for his apprehension.

Not being found in the city, patrols of horse
had been sent out in various directions, and the doughty
provost-marshal himself promised five guineas for
his body, dead or alive. One of his favourite experiments
on the powers of human endurance, had been
brought to an untimely close by the abrupt, unceremonious
evasion of his guest, and he felt all the mortification
of a scientific devotee at the failure of a pet
theory.

The colloquy between the hostess and her visiters,
became more and more interesting as it approached
the crisis, and the tenant of the garret felt his heart
die away, as he heard the leader of the party declare
his intention to carry his investigations into that quarter.
His detection was in that case inevitable, unless
he escaped beforehand. But the invention of our
hero was as quick as a hair-trigger, and he determined
on his course in an instant. He had noticed that there
was an opening in the old weather-beaten roof, close
to the chimney, apparently large enough for him to
pass through; and that the chimney, being such as
was once common in houses of the ordinary kind, was
composed of pieces of wood laid crosswise, the interstices
being filled up with mortar, and the ends projecting
out at the corners sufficiently to form a sort of
ladder, affording an easy ascent to the top.

The moment the real ladder was found, and applied
to the opening in the floor of the garret, he rose swiftly
and silently from his bed of straw, tripped on tiptoe
to the chimney, which he climbed up without much
difficulty, and emerged through the opening in the
roof to the top of the hut. Peeping warily round for

an instant or two, he saw with great satisfaction that
the whole party had left their horses, and were engaged
in the search, being confident that no enemy
could surprise them within their own lines. Quick
as thought, he slid down the roof to the ground,
and in a moment was on horseback, skirring like the
wind, while the party remained unconscious that he
had been there, or that he had escaped.

“What can that fellow be riding after at such a rate
over the common?” said the officer, who, having finished
his search in the garret, was looking out at the
door.

“What has become of my horse?” cried one of the
troopers.

“That fellow must have stolen him,” exclaimed another;
and in a trice, all but the unfortunate owner of
the horse, mounted in pursuit of the thief, or, as they
all believed, of some mischievous fellow-soldier who
was playing them a trick. And now commenced a
chase, such as had not been seen for many a day in
the renowned island of Manhattan, which, in compliance
with a vulgar custom, we have hitherto called
New York. John had made a fortunate selection, and
his horse kept the lead handsomely until he reached
the British lines, where a sentinel was on duty. Here,
holding up the letter with which he had been furnished,
and crying out, “For the commanding officer at
Kingsbridge,” he darted past without stopping, and
without any attempt to stop him, the sentinel having
either been taken by surprise, or presuming he was
the bearer of important despatches.

The arrival of the pursuers a few moments after,

explained the mistake, but threw little light on the
real state of the case, and at all events, it was now
too late to stop the fugitive, who continued on full
speed, while the others followed in his rear without
gaining upon him until he came to Harlem river, where
the stream was narrow. Here, he plunged in, and
had got nearly half-way over, when he heard a discharge
of pistols, and the bullets whistling about his
ears. Taking the hint, he urged forward his steed by
every means in his power, and had nearly reached the
opposite bank, when a fresh party arrived, and taking
for granted that he was a deserter, fired with better
aim. One of the balls struck his cap, and without
penetrating, occasioned such a sudden dizziness, that
as he mounted the bank of the river, he fell from his
horse, and, stunned with the blow and the fall, remained
insensible. In this helpless state he was easily
taken, and when he came to himself was carried back
to New York, not as the prisoner who had escaped
from the old sugar-house, but a British soldier who
had stolen a horse, and attempted to desert to the
rebels.

What might have been his ultimate destiny under
this misconception, no one can tell, had he not been
recognised by the soldier who had stood sentinel over
him while a prisoner, and subsequently, by the renowned
provost-marshal, who never forgot the face of
one whom he had marked out as a victim. Being seriously
ill from the effects of the blow on his head, his
fall, and the disappointment of all his hopes just at the
moment they seemed about to be realized, he was consigned
to the Hunter hospital-ship, which was moored

in the East river, near the Wallabout. What happened
to him on this transition from purgatory to the
regions of darkness, despair, and death, the reader
will know in good time, should he deign to peruse the
next chapter of our humble tale.