University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

John mourned over his father, though his sorrows
were assuaged by the thought, that he had gone from
a scene of hopeless suffering to receive the rewards
of an honest life and faithful services to his country.
But it cut him to the heart to see his honoured remains
carried the next morning, without shroud or coffin,
wrapped in the blanket on which he died, to be buried,
without a prayer for the repose of his soul. Not being,
however, permitted, and, indeed, altogether unable
from weakness to attend the ceremony, if that
may be so called which was done without any of the
usual accompaniments of Christian burial, he was
spared the pain of seeing his father interred more like
a beast of the field than a human being.

In the course of time, however, he began to think
of himself, his situation, and his future prospects.
Gradually, as he recovered from the effects of his

wound and fall, by the force of a most excellent constitution
and a self-supported mind, he adopted a settled
determination to escape from this den of misery
the moment an opportunity offered, however desperate.
Being now permitted to go on deck during the
day, and obliged to take his turn at the pumps, which
were perpetually going to keep the hulk from sinking,
he found great relief from inhaling the breeze from
the salt water, and regained his vigour surprisingly.
Still, as during the mid-day heats, he sat, or stood at
the pumps, panting and sweltering in the burning sun,
without awning or protection of any kind, and looked
at the green meadows and waving groves, that seemed
almost within reach of his hand, his heart throbbed
with indescribable yearnings to taste their refreshing
coolness, and lay himself down in their shade.

The deck of the Hunter was guarded during the
day by vigilant sentinels, and at sunset the prisoners
were all ordered below. Night was the only period
that seemed to afford any chance of escape, and a few
days observation convinced him even this was a forlorn
hope. The passage leading to the upper deck
was strictly guarded, and the old port-holes secured
by strong iron bars. The result was a conviction that
if he escaped at all, it must be from the upper deck,
and to do this in the daytime seemed all but impracticable.
True, he was an excellent swimmer; but
unless he could get out of gunshot before he was discovered,
the chances were a hundred to one that he
would be killed by the sentinels, or overtaken by the
boats before he reached the land. Night, therefore,
was indispensable to his plan, but unless permitted to

remain on deck after dark, he saw little prospect of
carrying it into execution.

Still he cherished the design, and at length adopted
a course which seemed to present a faint hope of ultimate
success, if adroitly and patiently pursued. He
began to distinguish himself at the pumps, by not only
labouring with hearty willingness, but by taking the
turn of some of the sailors. He was always in a
good humour, jesting with his fellow-labourers, and
conciliating the sentinels and petty officers by humourous
stories or merry songs. Gradually, he established
something like that good fellowship which admits a
free interchange of sentiment and opinion. This
brought him to the point he wished.

He began to talk slightingly and sneeringly of his
countrymen, and their cause, though it cut him to the
heart to do so; adopted the phrase of rebels in speaking
of them; affected to sympathise with his new associates,
in exultation at the hardships they suffered,
and every day gratified them by drawing extravagant
caricatures of the rags, distress, cowardice, and disaffection
of the soldiers of freedom. In speaking of
their general, he always called him Mr. Washington,
and sometimes almost choked himself by naming the
rebel congress.

His next step was to insinuate something like a
willingness to change his colours, and serve under the
banner of old England. He was tired, he said, of
fighting for shadows, and receiving nothing but continental
money for his reward. He affected to be
convinced not only of the badness, but hopelessness
of the cause, to the support of which he had been seduced

by the precepts and example of his father; and
finally consulted one of the sentinels, with whom he
was most confidential, on the probability of being permitted
to serve his Majesty, George the Third. By
degrees he began to be viewed as a convert to loyalty,
and by a course of judicious experiments, every
day acquired new confidence, as well as additional
freedom of action.

On one occasion, he made a trifling bet that he
would jump over the barricades, and swim around the
Hunter in so many minutes, which he performed, to the
great admiration of the spectators, and without any
attempt to take advantage of the freedom thus permitted.
This, and similar incidents, not only contributed
to an increase of confidence, and a consequent
relaxation of vigilance in the sentinels, but created a
friendly and social feeling on their part, that greatly
aided his final effort. He now began to be considered
more in the light of a messmate, than a prisoner, and
was permitted to remain on deck of evenings, after
his companions had been ordered below, that he might
amuse the sailors and petty officers with stories about
the cowardly Yankees.

This was what he had long been labouring to bring
about. The crisis to which he so anxiously looked
forward, had at length come, and he resolved to avail
himself of it without delay. Accordingly, one calm
evening, having been more than commonly severe
and sarcastic on his countrymen, and actually persuaded
the corporal of the guard to propose him as a
recruit to the regiment of loyal Americans the next
day, he set them all in a roar of laughter by a description

of the manner in which a party of the rebels to
which he belonged, had run away on a certain occasion.
They insisted he should give them a specimen
of the figure and gait of the Yankee captain, who he
stated was lame of one leg, and limped in the most
ridiculous style. At first he affected to demur, on the
score of its impossibility; but being pressed on the
subject, rose from his seat, bent himself almost double,
and shuffling off in a gait which was applauded by
bursts of laughter, made one leap over the stern of
the vessel plump into the river.

The moon shone bright as day, and the hulk, owing
to the turning of the tide, lay athwart the river, her
stern towards Long Island. The distance was not
great, and his hopes were sanguine that he might
reach the shore before a boat could be got ready to
intercept his escape. Accordingly, he bent his sinewy
limbs to his purpose, and, without pausing to look
back, swam towards the land, while the shouts of approbation
at his successful personification of the lame
Yankee captain, still rang in his ears. In a short time,
however, the merry party began to inquire what had
become of him, and his friend, the corporal, going aft,
climbed up the barricades to take an observation.
The bright, glassy stillness of the waters, soon enabled
him to discern our hero swimming with all his might
towards the shore, and at once the whole truth burst
upon him.

Levelling his piece, he discharged a bullet, which
whizzed past John's ears, and skipped over the surface
before him. The report of the gun roused all hands;
a fire was commenced that made his situation very

critical, and a boat got ready with as little delay as
possible, which started in pursuit of him. He could
soon near the dashing of the oars; and the approach
of his pursuers was announced by the sounds becoming
every moment more distinct. Those who were not
rowing, from time to time discharged their pieces, and
the leaping and whistling of the balls told him they
were within gunshot. He redoubled his efforts; he
strained every nerve, and reanimated his remaining
strength by the thought of the prize for which he
was contending, and the forfeit to be paid for losing
it. He could now distinctly hear the threats and maledictions
of his pursuers, and occasionally tried to feel
the bottom. But no bottom was to be found, and once
more he tasked his vigour for a last effort. The boat
now gained rapidly upon him; his limbs began to stiffen;
his heart almost burst with the violence of his
exertions, as well as the excess of his emotions, and
once more he felt for the ground. He determined to
let himself sink to the bottom, though ever so deep,
rather than be carried back to the floating hell, from
which he had just escaped. This time his feet touched
the ground, leaving his arms, head, and shoulders above
the water, and fortunately, the shore being very bold, a
few steps brought him to the beach, so exhausted that he
could barely stand. It was no time, however, for rest,
and rallying the last remnant of his strength, he cried
out to the party in the boat, “Good night, friends! what
do you think of the Yankee captain's retreat?” and
made the best of his way towards a wood, which he had
often contemplated with longing eyes, from the broiling
deck of the Hunter. His farewell was answered
by a volley, which he luckily escaped, and he proceeded
onwards, for some time distinguishing the voices
of his pursuers behind him. At length reaching the
wood, he sought its recesses, and soon losing the sound
of their voices, sat himself down to reflect on his future
course of proceeding. It cost him but little time to
decide on making the best of his way until he came
opposite the mainland beyond Harlem river, and there,
if possible, pass over into Westchester county, either
by the aid of some fisherman along shore, or by seizing
a boat, should there be no other alternative.
Should this resource fail him, he had nothing left for
it but to hide himself, until an opportunity of crossing
presented itself, or boldly attempting to swim over;
for he was aware that he would be hotly pursued next
day. It was, therefore, of the last importance that
the mainland should be gained before, or at least by
daylight, and soon as he was sufficiently recovered,
and had settled his plan of operations, he set forth on
his journey.

He retained some recollection of the country, into
which he had occasionally rambled in his school-boy
days, and found his way with tolerable accuracy a distance
of some miles, when he made the discovery that
he was both hungry and weary—so weary, that he now
for the first time became sensible that he had not yet
entirely recovered the effects of his previous adventures
and sufferings. He was now passing an old
Dutch mansion, and though for the honour of our hero,
we would fain bury the transaction in eternal oblivion,
yet, does a scrupulous regard to that veracity becoming
every writer of romance, impel us to the con

fession, that on this occasion, either hunger, or some
unknown diabolical influence, prompted our hero to
the enormity of robbing a hen-roost; but justice imperatively
requires that he should be acquitted of the
grand larceny of carrying off the hens. He poached
a few of the eggs to assist him in recovering his wind,
they being, as is well known, a sovereign specific, and
withal a very rare article at that time, either because
the rebel pullets had come to “a strike,” or been nearly
exterminated by the determined valour of the invincible
red coats.

Though John was not, perhaps, wise enough to teach
his grandmother to suck eggs, he nevertheless well
knew their renovating qualities, and cautiously entering
the premises under sanction of the great law of
necessity, was groping about to find the sanctum sanctorum
of Dame Partlet, when the dead silence around
was suddenly disturbed by the significant cackle of a
wakeful old rooster, who, it is presumed, was deputed
to mount guard in those perilous times. This signal
roused the old lady, who was nestling at his elbow,
and who answered by a few notes of interrogation, as
much as to say “what is the matter, my dear?” The
inquiry aroused the next neighbour on the other side;
the question was rapidly repeated from one to another,
and in a few moments the entire roost was in an uproar.
The cocks screamed; the hens cackled; the
ducks quacked, and threw up their eyes appealing to
heaven for protection; an old Chinese gander, with a
voice like the filing of a handsaw, sent forth a note
that would have done credit to the Italian Opera, and
was answered by a whole generation of curs, whose

music roused a donkey, and incited him to join in the
concert. Finally, the old patriarch of the whole tribe,
Squire Van Dozer, who never before was known to
open his peepers before daylight in the morning, did
incontinently awake, and shoving up the window,
poked forth a long duck gun, with which he might
peradventure have done some mischief, had not fate
decreed that it should flash in the pan. These accumulated
warnings admonished our hero to cut a stick,
and make tracks; and according to custom on such occasions,
he decamped without beat of drum, carrying
with him three eggs, for which, in common courtesy,
we think posterity should forgive him, seeing that one
of them turned out no better than it should be. All
this consumed but a few minutes, and feeling himself
wonderfully refreshed by his stolen eggs—which, like
stolen kisses, are doubtless the sweetest—he continued
his route, without further incident or adventure, until
he passed the famous Helle Gatte, where so many gallant
apprentices, and doughty school-boys of the good
city of mud, dust, and brickbats, have run such imminent
risk of being utterly shipwrecked on the Hog's
Back, the foaming Gridiron, and the Boiling Pot.

Being now near the spot where he contemplated
crossing the East River into the county of Westchester,
he skirted the beach, in hopes of finding a boat, which,
not content with robbing the hen-roost, he was resolved
to make free with, if necessary, without leave of the
owner. For a while his search proved fruitless, but
at length he had the good fortune to discover a little,
light skiff, pulled up among the high salt grass, and
half filled with water. There was a single paddle

floating about in her, and it was doubtful whether,
with this alone, he could manage to pilot his vessel
across the strait, where the current is not only strong,
but abounding in eddies. But there was no time to
stand upon trifles, for the cool breeze which had succeeded
the dead calm of the night, and the diminished
lustre of the stars, admonished him the day was at
hand. Stepping into the crazy craft, and pushing
off, he brandished his paddle with might and main,
making at first quite a reasonable progress, considering
his boat was half full of water. But of all the
rivers, inlets, straits, arms, bays or whirlpools on record,
not excepting Charybdis and the Maelstrom, the East
River, in this vicinity, is the most capricious and perplexing.
The tide runs to every point of the compass,
invisible to all eyes but those of the experienced pilot,
and none can tell which way they are going, except
by looking at the shores, and seeing them run away
at the rate of ten miles an hour. It is the very pandemonium
of waters; and, were this the age of any
fables but those called emphatically humbugs, there
would doubtless be as many water-fiends connected
with this strait, as are to be found in the famous Hartz
Mountains.

In despite of all his efforts, he was at length sucked
into the eddies of the Boiling Pot, whence, after whirling
about at random, he was consigned to the martyrdom
of the Gridiron, and finally into the Frying-Pan,
where his frail barque continued to revolve in an
endless circle. Never was man so bedeviled and
bamboozled by eddies and currents, and counter-currents;
and such became his perplexity and vexation,

that more than once he was sorely tempted to throw
himself overboard, and take the chance of sinking or
swimming. At length, however, by one of the caprices
of the water-sprites, his boat was shot precipitately
high and dry ashore, and he once again found himself
on the soil of Long Island just as the sun rose.

There was no staying here in safety, and tired as
he was, there was absolute necessity for renewed
efforts. Laying hold of the rope by which his skiff
had been fastened, he towed it along the shore with
great labour and difficulty, until he believed her beyond
the insidious wiles of the diabolical strait. Then,
grown wiser by experience, he did what he ought to
have done before, namely, pulled the light skiff to the
land, and turning it over, discharged its cargo of
salt water. Again launching her on the waves, he
had the good fortune to reach the opposite shore in
safety, just as the proprietors of the boat discovered
the liberty he had taken with their property, and were
calling after him lustily, with many unseemly expletives,
not worth repeating. He did not think proper
to return their morning salutation, but fastened his
boat securely, and pointing to where she lay, bowed
his thanks, and made the best of his way towards home.

Preferring the byways to the highways, least he
might meet with some straggling parties of the enemy,
he took his course along the bank of the little river
Bronx, which flows through a retired part of the county,
among hills, woods, and valleys, without meeting with
any interruption. At length, finding himself excessively
fatigued, and somewhat hungry, withal, he determined
to seek refreshment and repose at an old,

weather-beaten mansion, separated from the road he
was travelling, by a long lane of nearly a quarter of
a mile. It seemed retired and lonely, and he resolved
to cast himself on the charity of its inmates, whoever
they were. Approaching the house, he perceived a
female face reconnoitring him from a broken window,
and the sight of a woman seemed the signal of welcome.
Meeting her at the door, he stated his wants,
and after some little hesitation, she invited him in,
saying in a tone of languid indifference, she would
give him what she had.

This was indeed little, and homely enough; but the
hungry traveller is no epicure, and beggars should not
be choosers; so he ate his allowance with a good zest,
and thankful heart; while at intervals they talked of
the times, and other matters, until they seemed almost
like old friends. Each had paid a portion of the
price of liberty, for one had lost a husband, the other
a father, in the contest. At length he began to feel
the effects of his exertions, and want of rest the preceding
night, added to a fatiguing day's journey, for
it was now verging towards sunset. He asked permission
to lay down and rest himself, but she seemed
unwilling to grant his request, and on begging more
earnestly, shook her head, and replied:

“It is dangerous to sleep here. The Skinners and
tories sometimes pay me a visit, against my will, and
you know what sort of people they are.”

“I know,” said he, “the Skinners are the worst
and basest of all God's creatures, a disgrace to their
country, and a curse to this miserable district. Many
of the tories are not much better; but I have nothing

to lose but my life, and that I can defend against such
cowardly villains.”

After many entreaties, and much reluctance, she at
length consented that he should go and take his rest
in the barn, which stood at some distance from the
house. Here nestling himself in the new-made hay,
he dropped at once into a sleep, such as is seldom enjoyed
on beds of down. The reader is strenuously advised
to follow his example, that he may be better
prepared for what follows.