University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.
A YANKEE PEDDLER.

On Broadway, about half-way between the
Park and Battery, where at present stands
that beautiful edifice of modern construction,
known as Trinity Church, with its needle-shaped
steeple towering to the very clouds,
there was, at the time of which we write, an
open space, used as a parade ground for the
soldiers, and called by the British the Mall.
Here, in pleasant weather, detachments of
soldiers, under subalterns, were drilled and
paraded daily, to the amusement of such adults
and children as felt disposed to view them
from the opposite side of the street; and such
is the penchant of all classes for military display,
that the Mall never lacked spectators, of
all ages, sizes, and colors, but mostly of the
female sex.

The afternoon of the same day on which
Captain Milford had his interview with Rosalie
Du Pont, as he was sauntering down
Broadway, in a musing mood, he approached

the Mall, and perceived a sergeant drilling
some raw recruits. Mechanically he paused
to look at their maneuvers, which were so extremely
awkward as to cause him to smile involuntarily.
While gazing at them, and
wondering where so many ungainly, clumsy
fellows had been picked up, he became aware
of some one standing beside him; and on
turning to look at the new comer, he was surprised
to find in him a brother officer, who
had been made prisoner at the same time as
himself, namely, at the taking of Charleston,
the May previous. Of these prisoners, numbering
some five thousand, rank and file,
many of them had been brought to New York,
and the subalterns and privates had been
placed aboard the prison-hulks, of which
mention was made in the “Female Spy,”
though most, if not all, of the commissioned
officers, had been alowed the range of the city
on parole. Thus it was, that Captain Milford
so unexpectedly came in contact with Liutenant
Harden, who was at liberty, in the heart
of the British camp, though in neither
the capacity of a deserter or spy.

“Why, as I live, it is Captain Milford!”
exclaimed the Lieutenant, extending his
hand, as a mutual recognition took place. “I
am delighted to see you, Captain, though I
would rather it had been in a rebel camp, as the
red-coated gentry here have termed our quarterings.
But where on earth have you come
from, Captain? It was reported you had escaped—it
is not possible you are again a prisoner?”

“What news since I saw you, Harden?”
inquired Milford, evading the other's question.

“O, well, we have no news here of any
eonsequence; and what we do get, is of course
the English version. Things with us jog on
much as usual. The men are dying by hundreds
in the prison-ships, and we officers are
gradually getting thinned every day.”

“How do you mean—sickness?”

“Ay, sickness, assassination, and duels.”

“Good heavens! assassination, say you?”

“Ay; you seem surprised—but we are getting
used to it here. Many of our officers
here are sons of gentlemen, and have money;
and money, united with idleness, begets dissipation,
and dissipation here leads to the most
deplorable results. To American officers, the
British officers are very insolent; and beside
refusing to associate with them, they embrace
every opportunity to insult them. The consequence
is street encounters and duels; and
by some strange fatality, the insolent red-dogs
almost invariably come out triumphant.
Then let one of us get a little intoxicated, and
stray away from his companions, in the night,
and the chances are ten to one that he never
returns alive.”

“This is horrible!” exclaimed Milford.
“Can nothing be done to remedy the evil?
Would not a complaint to General Robertson,
the Commandant of the city—or to His Excellency,
Sir Henry Clinton, Commander-inChief—.”

“It was tried,” interrupted Harden, “and
the answer received, was to the effect, that
the British commanders would do what lay
in their power; but that it would be impossible
for them to prevent gentlemen from resenting
insults—that if we did not wish to be
killed in duels, we should not fight them—and
that the best way to keep from being assassinated,
would be to remain at our quarters, or,
if we must needs go out, to go out in a body,
and strictly sober.”

“Well, much of it is good advice, I must
admit,” returned Milford.

“But you have not told me of yourself,”
puesued the other. “Is it true you escaped
at the time it was so reported? for we did not
know whether to rejoice at your liberty, or
mourn for your death.”

“It is true I escaped then,” answered the
other.

“How is it, then, I again find you here?
have you been taken prisoner a second time?”

“No!” said Milford, abruptly, the color
mounting to his forehead.

“Ho!” exclaimed the other, as a dark suspicion
crossed his mind; “surely, I am not to
be allowed to suppose you have deserted? O,
no—no—that could not possibly be!”

Milford turned away his face, in much confusion,
and pondered rapidly on his reply. It
would not do for the other to know he was then

as a spy, and he had already denied he was a
prisoner; there was therefore no alternative;
he must admit himself to be a deserter; and
he further reflected, that this admission,
thouge humiliating to his feelings, would be
beneficial to his scheme, in so much that, being
treated with coldness, and even disrespect,
by his brother officers, would give an air of
truth to his story of desertion, and lessen the
chances of his detection. He therefore answered
the other rather haughtily.

“Lieutenant Harden, what you think could
not possibly happen, has happened. I am
tired of rebel glory; and if I again enlist in
military service, it will be in that of my liege
and royal master, King George.”

“Heavens have mercy! what do I hear?”
cried Harden, with a mingled look of aston
ishment, scorn, and disgust. “Another traitor!
God save my country!” and wheeling on
his heel, without another word, he strode
away.

The first impulse of Milford was to follow
him, and explain all, for he felt cut to the
quick; but remembering it was necessary to
his object for Harden to believe as he did, he
restrained his inclination, and allowed him to
depart without a word. The reader will
readily perceive how severe a trial this was to
a sensitive man of honor.

“Well,” muttered Milford, to himself, “I
am serving my country, and there is more
than one who knows I am not so base as I
seem, and this must satisfy my conscience, if
not my feelings.”

He then walked musingly away, the drill
no longer affording him the slightest amusement.
He had scarcely gone a dozen rods,
however, when he found himself approaching
a group of persons congregated around some
object, which seemed to excite their risible
faculties to a great degree, for they occasionally
laughed loud and boisterously. In his
present state of mind, Milford felt no disposition
to join them, and no curiosity to learn
the cause of their mirth; and he was already
in the act of turning abruptly away, when a
familiar voice struck on his ear, and caused
him to alter his intention. With an accellerated
step he now approached the crowd, to
ascertain if his surmise were correct.

As he drew near, the by-standers gave another
merry shout; and the moment their
laughter had subsided, he heard that same
familiar voice again; and this time he felt sure
of the identity of the individual in question;
though, so compact was the circle around him,
that it was some moments ere the Captain
could get a glimpse of his person. But when
at last Milford did behold him, he found he
made no mistake, though how and why he
was there, was a matter of surprise and wonder.

In the center of a circle, composed of some
twenty or thirty persons, of both sexes, all
ages and sizes, and whose numbers were fast
augmenting, stood our old acquintance, Joshua
Snipe, as large as life. In one hand he held
a razor, and in the other a cake of shaving
soap; while at his feet was an open wooden
box, displaying not only many duplicates of
the articles in hand, but also various other
simple “notions,” such as thread, tape, needles,
pins, lace, sewing silk, coarse jewelry, etc.
Josh was, to use one of his own qeculiar expressions,
“wide awake,” and was descanting
in very earnest tones upon the merits of his
valuable commosities, but more especially
upon those he held in his hands, which he
seemed determined to sell, whether the spectators
would buy or not.

“Now I tell yeou,” he went on. “my kit is
jest a leetle the putiest, and slickest, in the
hull united kingdom of North America, and
if you was to walk from sunrise to sundown,
you couldn't find the beat on't. Come, mister,”
addressing a tall, sallow, cynical individual,
“you want that are razor and soap, I know
you dew, for you've got lots of hair on your
face, that haint no business there, not a darned
bit. Now, if you've got a wife, jest you buy
these ere, and use 'em, and if she don't bless
the day you ever seed Josh Snipe, the peddler,
why, the next time I see you I'll give
you tew rows of pins, free gratis, for nothing.”

Here the crowd gave another shout, and
the tall, cynical individual growled out,

“Better mind your own business, you—
Yankee jack-a-napes!”

“That's jest what I'm doing,” returned
Josh, good-humoredly, winking at others of
the by-standers—“that's jest exactly what I'm

doing; for this here is my business, and the
only business I've got to dew, without 'tis to
serve King George on all occasions, bless his
reverence! But I axes pardon—for maybe
I hurt your feelings, for may be you haint got
no wife, and can't git one; but jest you buy
one of these here razors and soap, and lather
and scrape that are hair off, and I'll bet tew
to one—tew tenpenny nails agin a meeting-house—that
the first gal you court 'll fall in
love with ye, and have ye right straight off.”

Here the crowd uttered another yell of delight,
and the cynical man grumbled out something
about the peddler being “A—Yankee
fool,” and hurried away, amid the jeers of the
whole party, who seemed disposed to take sides
with the one who caused them so much mirthful
amusement.

“Wal,” said Josh, “he's gone, and good
riddage, for his face fairly set my teeth on
edge, it looked so tarnal, all-fired sane-like.
Come, good folks, who's the next buyer? I
don't like to recommend my own notions, jest
because some folks might think as how I'm interested
in selling 'em, that's a fact; but I
dew say, that for soap and razor, these here is
just the slickest fixins as can be found out of
Bosting, where they fit Bunker Hill, and got
most consumptiously lick tew.”

Here a voice cried out, rather sharply,

“Who got licked?”

“Why the rebels did—darn it! didn't you
know that?” returned Josh, assuming a look
of superiority.

“Good! good! Bravo! bravo!” cried several
voices, accompanied with laughter.

“Now this here soap and razor is them kind
that does their own work, and don't have to
keep no help,” pursued Josh, seeming all intent
on disposing of his wares. “Now mind,
good folks, I don't calculate to praise anything
I've got beyond its desart—but I must say,
that that are razor is worth a dozen barbers—
cause when you go to sleep, you're only got
to put it under your piller, with the soap along
with it, and when you git up in the morning,
you'll find all the hair off your face, as clean
as 'twas the day you was born.”

As soon as the laughter, following this
speech, had subsided, one of the by-standers
inquired the price of the self-shaving razor;
and being duly informed by Mr. Snipe, he
drew out his purse, and threw down the
money, observing at the same time, that if the
razor proved to be worth nothing, he thought
the amusement so far afforded him, would still
leave him the Yankee's debtor. Snipe's next
customer was an old woman, who inquired the
price of a paper of pins.

“One shilling, marm, and warranted gine
wyne,” replied the dealer in small notions.
“And I dew say,” he continued, “them is
the greatest pins ever made. Why, marm,
you jest git them are pins attached to you, and
they'll stick to you through thick and thin, as
long as you live; yes marm, they'd sooner lose
their heads than let go of your dress in a
wrong time—darned if they wouldn't, that's a
fact. Them's what I calls courting pins,
marm.”

“Why so?” asked a voice.

“Because, all a gal's got to do, is jest to
put 'em in thick round her waist, and tell 'em
she wants pertection; and if they don't bring
the courting feller up to the scratch, then I'll
agree to measure tape with a bean-pole, or
chop wood for a shilling a day in haying time.”

“I'll take a paper on 'em,” said the old woman,
fumbling in her bosom for a shilling,
which she found at last, and paid over to the
pedler, who received it with a polite bow and
one of his blandest smiles.

Here another female customer selected a
few yards of tape, when Josh, ever ready to
recommend his wares, proceeded,

“That's lacing tape, marm; and though I
dew say it myself, for want of somebody else to
recommend it, its the greatest tape as ever was
made. Why, you've only got to put a few
yards in your corsets, and it'll naturally draw
your waist up jest like a wasp.”

Here the male portion of the spectators
roared with laughter, the old woman grinned,
and the younger females simpered, and hid
their faces—while Josh, with a very grave
look, continued, in a way to make the mirth
convulsive.

“You needn't laugh, good folks, 'cause
what I tell you's true as thunder. Why, I
sold a few yards of that are tape to a fat woman
once, in the country, and I didn't see her
agin for three months; and when I did see

her, she'd got so thin round the body, that I
didn't know her. `What's the matter with
ye, mother?' says I. `Matter enough,' says
she. `Ever since you was here, I've been
dreadfully troubled for breath, and I'm monstrously
afeared I'm agoing to lose it altogether,'
says she. `I've got such a tightness
around my waist.'

“I tuk, in a moment.

“ `What did you do with the tape I sold ye?'
`That's a fact,' says she. `I didn't think on't
afore, but now I see as how it is that tarnal
tape, and nothin' else—it's been squeezing me,
till I'm e'en a'most dead;' and with that she
got out her shears, and gin it a clip; and you
oughter jest heard her bones crack, as they
kim back to their places agin. It was the
tape that did it, that's a fact; she'd got in a
yard teu much.”

Josh had now several laughing customers
for his lacing tape; and when all that wanted
it had been supplied, he went on to dispose of
his other articles, recommending each with
some droll story, similar to the specimens we
have given.

For a small business, his sales were quite
extensive; but at last they came to an end,
and Josh closed his box, preparatory to taking
his departure. It was at this moment,
that, glancing around the circle, his eye encountered
Milford. Without showing any
sign of surprise, he merely said:

“Yes, mister, I'll take them are things down
for you now, I guess.”

The Captain, who was not slow to take the
hint, that Josh wished to speak with him
alone, readily answered:

“Very well—the sooner the better.”

Milford now left the crowd, and walked
leisurely past the Mall, up Broadway. In a
few minutes he was overtaken by Josh, with
his box slung under his right arm, in true
peddler fashion.

“Well, Josh,” were the first words of Captain
Milford, spoken in a low, guarded tone—
“how is it that I find you here?”

“Why, Captain, arter you left the country,
it got to be mighty lonesome up there; and
hearing you'd run away to the British, I
thought I'd do so too—more particularly, as I
had a chance to buy a peddling-feller out to a
bargain, and pay him in the scrip you'd gin
me. You see, he'd got all-fired scart, for fear
he'd be robbed; and so he sold out to me on
my own terms; and I knew'd, putty wal, if I
come amongst the Britishers, I'd soon turn
my notions into the real hard silver, and make
a speek by it tew.”

“But was this your sole object in coming
hither?” inquired the Captain, fixing his eyes
keenly upon the other—for somehow he had
imbibed the idea that this itinerant occupation
was merely a cloak to cover some important
design—and he thought it not improbable,
that Josh's motives, and his own, in coming
to the city, were much the same.

“Wal, afore I answer you, Capting,” returned
Josh, guardedly, and now in turn fixing
a searching look upon the other, “I'd just like
to know if you've really deserted your country,
as they say you have?”

“Who says so?”

“Why, everybody up in your parts. They're
down mighty hard on you, Capting, and I heard
more'n one feller swear he'd like to put a bullet
through your head.”

“Yes,” said Milford, who wished to try the
other, “I have deserted the rebels, but not
my country, which belongs to my king, and
not to a rabble party of free-booters, for they
deserve no better title.”

“Do you mean to say, that General Washington
is one of these rabbles, as you call
'em?” inquired Josh, his small black e yes as
suming a fiery, snaky look.

“Of course I do, since he openly acts as
their leader.”

“Wal, all I've got to say is,” returned Josh,
in a tone of forced calmness, “that the feller
who says a word agin great General Washington,
is a scoundrel, and I'd like the fun of
licking him like darnation.”

“Mr. Snipe,” returned Milford, with savage
sternness, “allow me to say, that the language
you have just made use of, might be construed
into treason.”

“Construe it into what you darn please,”
replied Josh, sulkily; “but, I swow to Guinea,
I won't take a word on't back, for you, nor
nobody else, so there.”

“I suppose the next thing I hear, you will
be boasting that this Mister Washington, this
rebel adventurer, is a better man than our noble
sovereign, King George?”

“Wall, I don't know's I should said so, if
you had'nt put me in the way on't; but, I
swow to Guinea, I'll say so now, if I die for't.”

“You will, eh?”

“I will, by gosh!”

“You say that George Washington is a better
man than King George?”

“Yes, a better man than ever King George
dared to be—the royal old scoundrel, that
wants to make slaves of everybody.”

“Ha! this is the declaration. I wanted—
this is high treason—and for this I can cause
you to swing at any moment.”

“No you can't,” contradicted Josh, bluntly.

“Why not?”

“ 'Cause, Mister Milford, you can't prove I
said so, and I'm not darn fool enough to say it
agin, afore witnesses.”

“Please address me by my title, sirrah?”

“What! got a title a'ready?”

“Am I not a Captain?”

“You was, till you disgraced yourself, by
turning traitor, just like old Benediet Arnold,
rot his picter. I ain't wicked naturally, mister;
but, by Jehosaphat, I'd jest like to tramp
ten miles, afore breakfast, to see all you fellows
hung—I would, I swow!”

“Come, come,” said Milford, laughing, “it
is time to finish this farce, and talk seriously.
I perceive you are true to our cause, and that
is what I wished to be certain of, before taking
you into my confidence. You must know,
then, that I deserted for the purpose of accomplishing
a great design, and that I have
my country as much at heart now as ever.”

“Do you mean to say you've been fooling
me all this time, and that you really and truly
haint gone over body and soul to the consarned
Britisers?” inquired Josh, with a look
of ludicrous surprise, something between fear
and delight.

“Yes, my worthy friend, I mean precisely
so.”

“Glory, halleluiah!” cried Josh, beginning
to dance a kind of jig, actually forgetting
where he was in his hilarious excitement.

“Stop! behave yourself!” said Milford, in
alarm; “would you attract the notice of the
town?”

“Gosh! that's a fact,” returned Josh, instantly
resuming his former quiet walk. “I
didn't think 'beout my being 'mong the tarnal
Britishers, for I was so tickled to know you
wasn't a turn-coat; for though I says it myself,
what shouldn't, I think lots of you, Capting.
But which way be you going?”

“I was merely taking a stroll; but I have
much to say to you, and so suppose you accompany
me to my lodgings.”

“Where abeouts?”

“In Cross Alley. But stay—I will write
it down, and you can come in the course of
an hour; for now I bethink me, perhaps it
would be as well for us not to be seen too
much together.”

Captain Milford then took from his pocket
a pencil and slip of paper, on which he traced
a few words, and handed it to Josh, saying:

“In an hour I shall expect you.”

“And I'll be there,” returned the other.

The two then separated, Josh continuing up
Broadway, and Milford taking a cross street,
leading to Queen, up which he sauntered
past the mansion of Graham Percy, the residence
of her he loved, to Franklin Square,
when he turned off to the left, down into
what was called the swamp, and finally paused
at the door of the house occupied by Dame
Hagold, where, it will be remembered, we
once saw Rosalie du Pont, disguised as a mulatto
servant.

Rapping on the door, Milford was soon admitted
by the dame herself, to whom, as soon
as he entered, he gave instructions concerning
the peddler, who, appearing punctual to
the time, was also admitted, and the two were
closeted together till after night had set in.
What passed between these two individuals
then and there, it is not our purpose at present
to divulge.

Rather let us again shift the scene.