Rosalie Du Pont, or, Treason in the camp :: :: University of Virginia Library

hour of one of those mild days of October,
which are so delightful in our northern climate,
that two individuals were walking slowly along
the eastern bank of the Hudson, about a mile
above what was then regarded as the northern
limit of the city—though, at the present day,
the same spot is in the very heart of the town,
and far below the imaginary line drawn by
the bon ton, to separate themselves from the
vulgar hum of business. The elder of these
two persons was still a young man, of about
twenty-five, and of a fine, noble, commanding
appearance. He wore a military undress,
and carried in his hand a pole, around which
was wound a line, with a fishhook attached,
the point of which was imbedded in the float-cork.
His companion was, to all appearance,
a negro lad of eighteen, with just enough of
while blood in his veins to redeem him from
thick lips, a flat nose, an impenetrable skull,
and give him a look of intelligence. He carried
in one hand a small dish of bait, and in
the other a basket, evidently intended to bold
the fish when caught.

We have said these two individuals were
walking slowly along the bank of the stream;
and so they continued to walk, for several
minutes, the white man going before, and
carefully parting the bushes to the right and
left; for strange as it may seem to the deni-zens
of the great Emporium of this continent,
at this day, there was a heavy wood, with
thick undergrowth, at the time of which we
write, on the very ground where thousands of
human beings are now so penned in with brick
and mortar as scarcely to find wholesome air
to breathe.

At length he of the rod came to a large
rock, which so overhung the stream, as to leave
quite an open space between it and the water;
and clambering to the top of this, he stood up,
and looked carefully around, while the other
stopped at its base, and seemed to wait for his
superior to speak first. This rock was so surrounded
on three sides by a scrubby undergrowth,
which took root below its base and on
the very margin of the stream, that nowhere,
save from on the water, could it be discerned
at the distance of ten feet. Only a few paces
from these bushes, huge trees, of perhaps
many centuries' growth, reared their giant
trunks high in air, and stretched their hundred
limbs, heavy with foliage, far over the
edge of the river, forming a leafy canopy to
the rock, through which only here and there
a silver ray of the meridian sun penetrated.
As a natural sequence of such dense foliage,
all below it was in a deep shade, resembling
twilight; and no one, however cautiously he
might make the attempt, could approach this
spot, without first being heard and seen by
those already there.

“Well, George, what think you of this
place for our purpose?” at length inquired
the one on the rock, who, as we do not wish
to mistify the reader, we may as well state
here, was none other than our veritable hero,
Captain Milford; while we will also add, that
the color of the black he addressed, was not
skin deep—the latter in truth being neither
more nor less than George Nugent, the noble
youth whom Carlini rescued from the prison.

“I do not think a better could be found,”
said the pseudo-black, in reply to the question
of the other. “But did I understand you to
say the skiff is already here?”

“Look, and see if you can find it; but be
careful about beating down the bushes too
much; for should any one chance to pass
through here, I would have no mark to arrest
attention, and perhaps excite curiosity or suspicion.”

George Nugent, in compliance with the request
of Milford, now made a careful search
along the bank, for some ten rods, on either
side of the rock, and then said:

“I can find no traces of a hoat.”

“Did you peer under the rock?”

“As far as I could see.”

“Well, look again!”

“It is useless.”

“I wager, if you look long and steadily under
the rock this time, you will see a skiff;”
and as the youth got down on his knees, on
the very verge of the banks, and bent his
head almost to a level with the water, the
other made two or three gathers on a small
cord at his feet, and a beautiful little boat
slowly made its appearance, something as a
cunning fish glides out from under a bank,
with its eye fixed steadily on a baited hook,
that is gradually made to retreat by the angler.

“Nothing could be better for our design,”
said George, “for no person, not in our secret,
would ever think of looking here for a boat.”

“You must be careful how you approach
and leave it,” rejoined the Captafn; “for discovery
might not only prove fatal to our hopes,
but to ourselves.”

“Rest assured, I shall not be imprudent,
Captain,” answered the other. “Am I to go
now?”

“Yes; there are no gun-boats in this part
of the river, and no sentries posted in Hoboken,
so that I think, if cautious, you will run
very little risk. And now for your instructions.
Do you see that point of land yonder,
on the opposite side, a short distance higher
up, which projects into the stream and is covered
with scrub-oaks?”

“I do.”

“Well, passing around that point of land,
you will discover a beautiful little cove, and,
in the center of that cove, a rock, not dissimilar
to this, where you will be enabled to
secrete the skiff. Having done that, you will
next look for the post-office, so that you will
have no difficulty in finding it when needful.
By going due west from the center of that
rock, some twenty-five paces, you will come
to a large oak tree, which has one dry limb
projecting toward you. When you have
found the tree in question, imagine a plummet
suspended from the end of the dry limb,
and go exactly ten paces north of that, at a
right angle with your course from the river,
and in the very center of a small cluster of
bushes, you will find a flatstone, which
covers our post-office on that side of
the river. This stone you must turn up
frequently—daily, if possible—and whenever
you find a letter under it, bear it to its
address with all haste. Should you find nothing
there by the day after to morrow, and you
think you can cross the river without too much
risk, you may visit this spot, as it is possible
I may not be able go over, even though the
matter to communicate be important. If you
do cross the river, let it be in the night, and
be very guarded against a surprise. If you
have any communication for me, do not put
on a superscription, nor allow any thing more
than the initials of the writer's name to be affixed;
and also have it worded so as to be
understood only by those for whom intended
—this is to doubly guard against a fatal accident.”

“But you have not told where to find our
post-office on this side of the river.”

“True; well, suppose we have it here? I
do not know of a better place. Let me see!”
and Milford descended from the rock, and began
to search about among the bushes. “Ah!
here is a stone that will serve our purpose,”
he said, stooping and raising one of some fifty
pounds weight. “Five paces north of the
largest chesnut,” he added, looking up to a
huge tree, and measuring the distance with
his eye, in order to fix in his mind a proper
direction to the exact spot, should he have occasion
to send a person to find it. “This will
do,” he continued; “but be careful, George,
to make no mistake on either side of the
river.”

“Shall I enter the skiff now?” asked the
other.

“I think you may as well,” replied Milford.
This letter,” he continued, taking one from
his pocket, without superscription, “I wish
you to place in the hands of his excellency,
General Washington; but should any thing
occur to prevent your seeing the commander-in-chief
by to-morrow night—or, at the farthest,
the morning after—you will seek out
Major Lee, and give it to him yourself—in no
case trust it to the care of a third person
This letter is loaded with lead, so that, should
you drop it into the water, it will instantly
sink to the bottom—a precaution you must
adopt with all letters you may bring, as of
course you run more or less risk of being
overhauled by the water-guard. Should any
thing occur, obliging you to destroy this mission,
you will say to General Washington, or
Major Lee, that the plot regarding Arnold is
in active operation, with good prospects of
complete success being the result. Tell them
the traitor suspects nothing, and is narrowly
watched, day and night, and should no unforseen
event mar our plans, he will probably be
in our hands in the course of three or four
days. Say to Lee, that if he can hover

around yonder wood, with some three or four
discreet and daring fellows, so that our dispatches
can have a speedy answer, it will materially
forward our design, as at present we
know not the precise moment for executing
our project. I believe that is all of importance.
Oh, you may mention that the general
suspected is not guilty. Now go, and may
Heaven preserve you to execute your mission.
You had better take this pole with you, I
think, and appear to be fishing, as you slowly
cross the river, so that, should you be observed,
you will not be so likely to excite suspicion.
I will remain here until I see you land on the
other side; and should you be overhauled and
questioned, remember that your name is Tom,
and that you are for the present my servant:
if they wish to know more, refer them to me.
There, good-by, and God bless you!” and
Milford shook the youth warmly by the hand.

The latter now proceeded to enter the boat,
and, with a final adieu, shoved out into the
stream. Following the Captain's instructions,
he baited his hook, and began to fish, gradually
propelling his boat to the opposite shore.
So show was his progress, that it was at least
an hour before he disappeared around the
point of land which Milford had pointed out
to him. Disappear he did at last, in safety,
and the Captain who still kept his gaze fixed
in that direction, soon had the pleasure of seeing
a handkerchief flutter among the bushes,
which he took to be a signal that all was right.

After watching some fifteen minutes longer,
and seeing no other signal, Milford withdrew
from the thicket into the body of the wood,
and took a course leading directly away from
the bank of the river. In this manner he
proceeded leisurely, in a thoughtful mood, for
seme time, and gradually drew near an opening,
which reached down to the city.

Suddenly he was aroused from his meditations,
by hearing the patter of a horse's feet;
and as the sound drew nearer, he felt some
curiosity to see who was the rider. For this
purpose he quickened his pace toward the
clearing, but had not reached a point whence
be could see the galloping steed, when the
latter appeared to come to a sudden halt, and
he heard a female shriek for help.

This was a call that could never pass unheeded
by the brave and chivalrous Captain
Milford; and like the startled deer flying
from the huntsman, our gallant hero bounded
through the bushes to the clearing, where, at
the distance of about a hundred paces, he beheld
a female, seated on a horse, the bit of
which had been seized by a coarse looking
ruffian, who was dragging the animal toward
the thicket near by; while another ruffian
had hold of the terrified lady by the wrist,
and, with uplifted knife, was threatening her
with instant death, if she dared to scream
again, or make the least noise. But these
threats were unnecessary; for while he was
yet speaking, the lady fainted, and lopped
over the saddle-bow, toward the neck of the
horse, where she remained, steadied in this
position by the ruffian at her side, who also
aided his companion in urging the beast into
the wood, by giving him a smart slap on the
flank with his hand.

All this occurred so quickly, that to Milford
it seemed but a moment, from the time he first
beheld the party, till all had disappeared from
his sight into the thicket. What must he do?
was the question he now asked himself, as he
hastily retreated into the wood, so as not be
observed, as he fortunately had not been,
while standing exposed, owing to the pre-occupation
of the villains. What must he do?
was a question easier asked than answered by
one in his situation; for he was only one
against two, and his only weapon a large
clasp-knife (he having given his pistols to
George), while it was almost certain the ruffians
were armed to the teeth.

The first impulse of Milford was to rush to
the rescue of the female, at all hazards; but
a single reflection convinced him of the folly
of so rash a proceeding. Milford was no coward,
neither was he fool-hardy. He feard not
danger, because of danger, but merely summed
up the probable consequences of aeting
without prudence. To plunge madly forward
to assist the distressed lady, and get a bullet
in his brain for his foolish daring, might he considered
very heroic and all that; but Milford
was one to ask himself a sober question, what
good could result to the unknown female from

his untimely death? Would her captors be
likely to treat her more leniently, from knowing
that she had such a gallant champion? to
say nothing of dying himself, at this time, and
in so inglorious a manner. He thought not,
and he thought wisely.

But the reader must not infer, from this
hesitation on the part of our hero, that he had
any idea of deserting the lady—abandoning
her to her fate—leaving her solely to the
mercy of her captors. O, no—so base, so
cowardly, a thought as that, never dawned,
with the faintest glimmering, upon his mind.
No! if he thought of self-preservation enough
to be prudent, it was with a view to the saving
his own life, that he might really be of
service to her.

There are two classes of individuals, both
of whom would have acted otherwise than
our hero. One of these, Hotspur-like, would
recklessly have darted forward to save the
lady; and the other, like fat old Jack Fallstaff,
would have valiantly run away; but
which of the two, all things considered, would
have rendered her the most effectual service,
it is impossible for us here to decide, the trial
not having been made.

But doubtless the impatient reader thinks
that, while we are wasting our time and his,
in talking in this manner, the captured female
is in most imminent danger. But he must recollect,
withal, that we are not exactly Captain
Milford, and that the safety of the fair unknown
depends upon him, and not on us—
otherwise we might have acted differently—
that is, done more and said less.

The question, what must he do, soon found
an answer in our gallant hero's quick and active
mind. Who the lady was, and what object
the ruffiians had in capturing her, and
dragging her into the thicket, were matters
unknown to him; but from the fact that they
did not kill her instantly, he inferred her life
was only so far menaced, as to make sure of
all the plunder they could lay their hands on,
and escape without trouble. Acting upon this
idea, which, if correct, would doubtless give
him time to carry out a plan that immediately
suggested itself, Milford at once darted into
he wood, making as little noise as possible,
with the intention of taking a slightly circuitous
route, and stealing upon the villains unawares,
then and there to be guided wholly by
circumstances.

The lapse of time between forming his
plan and putting it in execution, was very
short; and Milford was so fortunate, as to get
within a few feet of the party, without being
observed, or without arousing suspicion of
any formidable antagonisti being in the vicinity.
In gaining so close a proximity, he
was unconsciously aided by the robbers themselves;
for they had not only stopped in the
middle of a dense thicket, which prevented
them from seeing ten feet on either hand, but
they made so much noise, in stamping about
and talking loudly, that the rustling of the
bushes, as Milford, on his hands and knees,
cautiously worked his way through them, was
unheard.

At the precise moment our hero gained a
position whence he could command a view of
all that was taking place in the covert, the
two robbers were standing in the center of a
small open space, which they had made by
cutting away some of the bushes and trampling
down others, and both were occupied in
scrutinizing a couple of rings and a large diamond
brooch, which they had already purloined
from the unconscious lady, who, still in
a swoon, was lying at their feet, she having
been removed from the horse, which was
hitched to the limb of a tree close by. The
lady—for lady she evidently was—was dressed
in a beautiful riding habit, of dark silk velvet,
whose glossy folds, and rich, blending shades,
were conspicuous, even, in the gloomy light
which stole in from overhead. Her features
were not discernable from Milford's position,
for her back was toward him, and she lay almost
upon her face; but that she was young,
and not unlikely beautiful, he judged from
the raven tresses, of bright glossy hair, which
floated in careless profusion over her shoulders,
from underneath her velvet cap, which
had partly fallen off. He caught a glimpse,
too, of her neck, through the curls, and of
one hand that was thrown back; and the skin
of both he fancied was smooth, and fair, and
clear as alabaster.

But he did not contemplate her long, for

his immediate business lay with her captors—
though we will not deny, that, being of a poetic
temperament, what little he did see of
her, made him feel strengly romantic, and
brought to mind the tales he had read and
heard, of how gallant knights, in olden times,
were wont to rescue ladies fair from armed
banditti, and bear them off in trium, h, to be
in turn rewarded by their hearts and hands.
But then, he reasoned—that is to say, if he
reasoned at all on the matter, which is so very
doubtful, that we will substitute recollected—
he recollected, we say, that one part of his romance
could not be like those of old, insomuch
as, if he proved so fortunate as to bear the lady
away in safety, he could not claim her hand,
nor accept it if offered, being already engaged
to the only being on earth he truly loved. But
nothwithstanding this, he was no less compelled,
by a manly sense of duty, to do all that
lay in his power in her behalf. He therefore
turned his whole attention to contemplating
the robbers, who seemed to be in fine spirits
at the success which he had so far attended
their operations. Both were athletic men,
with coarse, villainous-looking countenances,
on which only the baser passions had any play.
Exposure to all kinds of weather, to all degrees
of hardship, together with a total disregard
of eleanliness, had given their dark complexions
a begrimed, tawny hue, resembling
the pictures we sometimes see displayed of old
savages without their paint. A long, dirty
beard, of several days' growth, and coarse,
black, matted hair—which fell around their
faces and over their low foreheads, down to
their sullen, blood-shot eyes—did nothing to
redeem their otherwise repulsive appearance.

“We've made a splendid haul this time,”
said one, closely examining the rings. “If
them aint real diamonds, then say that Jack
Sharp's lost his peepers—eh! Jemmy Balter?”

“The real trinkets,” replied the other, holding
the brooch in such a way that the diamonds
threw out all the colors of the rainbow. “I
knowed we'd make our expenses off from her,
if nothing more. But I say, Jack, what'll we
do with the young woman? for when she
comes to, there'll be more yelling. Wasn't it
lucky she went off into this here nap? I hope
her yell warn't heard.”

“What d'ye think we'd best do with her,
Jem?—gag her, and let her go, or—” and he
gave his companion a wicked look, and suddenly
drew a hand across his throat.

“Why, yes, that there's the safest, no
doubt,” replied Jem; “'cause, ye see, dead
folks tell no tales. But then I kind o'hate to
kill her, too, Jack—for she's about the purtiest
piece of human flesh I've handled for some
time. If we could only carry her off now,
she'd make a right nice wife for one on us;
and when tired of her, it'ud be an easy matter
to send her to heaven;” and the ruffian
gave his companion a peculiar look, and closed
with a brutal laugh.

“I don't exactly like that,” said Jack,
“'cause it's too risky; but I'll tell you what
I will agree to;” and he made the other a
proposition too horrible for us to chronicle.

Milford shuddered as he heard it, and he
clutched firmly his knife, which he already
held open in his hand, ready to strike, in defense
of the unfortunate lady, whenever he
should see a good opportunity for making his
blow effectual. The attention of the ruffians
was now turned upon the female, who uttered
a low moan, and was evidently about to return
to consciousness. The backs of both robbers
were toward Milford; and one of them stooping
down, now put his rough hand upon the
victim's mouth, and said to the other,

“Quick, Jem!—we must gag her before she
screams.”

Milford thought this moment favorable to
his purpose—or, at all events, that it was best
to be up and doing—and scarcely had the
words, just recorded, passed the villain's lips,
when, like a tiger leaping upon its prey, he
made a clean bound into the open space, and
fairly alighting upon the back of the speaker,
drove his knife into the neck of the other, before
the astonished ruffian had time to know
what was taking place. The stabbed villain
uttered a yell of pain and rage, staggered back,
laid his hand on the butt of a pistol, reeled,
and finally fell to the earth, discharging the
weapon in the air.

But though the Captain had disabled one,
he now found himself in a very perilous situation;
for the robber, on whose back he alighted,
shook him off, as though he were a feather,

and, springing to his feet, at the same instant,
threw his huge arms around him, in such a
way as to pinion his own, and, gnashing his
teeth with rage, and uttering a deep, horrible
oath, fairly bore him to the earth. He fell
heavily upon his back, and, his head striking
a stone, so confused and bewildered him, that
for a single moment he lost consciousness.
This moment, so favorable to his design, the
robber improved; and jerking his hands from
under the Captain, he seized the bloody clasp-knife
(still retained by the latter), as being
easier to get hold of than his own, and, throwing
his right arm up, exclaimed, with an oath
between his set teeth,

“Now,—you! take your deserts.”

Milford saw the blow descending, but without
power to ward it; and he instinctively
closed his eyes, as he believed for the last
time. At this critical instant, the arm of the
robber was seized from behind, the stroke of
the knife was turned aside from the heart of
the Captain, the report of a pistol resounded
through the wood, and a well known voice at
the same time exclaimed,

“There, darn your old picter! how do you
like that?”

The head of the robber dropped forward,
and he rolled over on the earth, beside the
Captain, without even a groan. His brain
was protruding through his skull, and his soul
had gone to give an account of its sinful deeds
at the bar of the most High. Milford looked
up, and, to his surprise and joy, beheld the
lank, ungainly figure of Josh Snipe, standing
quietly by his side.

“God bless you!” he rather gasped than
said, with that choking sensation, which is produced
by either intense grief or joy.

“I hope you aint hurt, Capting,” returned
the other, stooping down, grasping his hand,
and assisting him to rise; “though, I swow to
guinea, I don't think I was a minute tew soon
in doing that chap's business.”

A shrill, piercing scream, at this moment,
drew the eyes of both upon the lady, who,
having recovered consciousness, had just risen
to a sitting posture, and was staring wildly
upon the Captain.

“Merciful God! what do I see?” cried Mil
ford, staggering back, as he caught a view of
her pale, lovely features.

The reader will readily understand the
reason of Milford's exclamation and emotion,
when he learns, that in her he had just rescued
from a fate worse than death, the gallant
Captain beheld the idol of his heart, the beautiful
Rosalie Du Pont.

	CHAPTER XI. STARTLING INCIDENTS. Rosalie Du Pont, or, Treason in the camp