University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.
AN UNWELCOME VISITOR.

“I think we are frightened without a
cause,” said Champe, in a low tone, as he and
Milford made a hasty ascent to the cock-loft,
and drew the ladder up after them, preparatory
to laying down the loose boards, which
would effectually conceal their retreat, even
should the closet itself be searched by prying
eyes. “Doubtless the applicant for admission
is a no more alarming personage than honest
Josh himself.”

“So I think, Sergeant, but it is well enough
to be on our guard, for we have a great deal
at stake. A bold, daring general is not
always the wisest, and a prudent retreat is for
better than defeat.”

“That is true, so let us block ourselves in
here, while we can do it without being overheard,”
returned the Sergeant, as he began
to lay the floor with great care, feeling along
the edges of the boards, to ascertain if the
joints were good, for it was too dark to see,
the only light admitted into the place being
through too very narrow crevices just under
the eaves. “By the by,” he continued, in
the same low, guarded tone, which was
scarcely above a whisper, “did it never strike
you, Captain, that will all our caution, our
lives are already in the hands of this woman?
and that should she choose to tell what she
knows, our necks would be in the halter in
less than twenty-four hours?”

“Yes, we are in her power, and have been
from the first; but I have no fears on that
account; for if she were not to be relied
upon, in any and every emergency, she would
hardly be likely to be in the confidence of
General Washington.”

“Ah! if she is in his confidence, that is

proof enough of her honesty and fidelity. I
knew nothing of her. I was made acquainted
with her through you, and I asked no questions,
for, knowing you to be cautious and
discreet, I doubted not you had good grounds
for every thing you said and did.”

“Yes, in my instructions received from the
General himself, I was directed where to find
her, and also told that I could rely upon
both her discretion and integrity, should I
require her assistance. Her history, what I
have been able to glean from her, is briefly
this: When the war broke out, she had a
husband and son, both of whom joined the
American army. Her husband was killed in
the battle of Saratoga, and her son afterward
deserted to the British, from his post of sentry
on the lines. Subsequently he fell into the
hands of the Americans, was tried, and condemned
to be shot. Washington was with
the division that took him prisoner; and the
mother of the boy, for he was a mere youth
then, was there, also, as a camp-follower.
As a mother, of course she felt for her son;
and she flew to the noble General, and plead
so earnestly for his life—representing her
lonely condition, the youth of her child, the
gallant deeds of his father—that the heart of
our humane commander melted with pity, and
her prayer wes granted. In return for this
generous conduct, she vowed to devote her
whole energies, her life, to the cause of liberty.
Shortly after, she was missing from the
American camp, and it was soon ascertained
she had taken up her quarters with the
British, where she was among the loudest in
denouncing the rebels. Washington only
knew why she was there. Her son went with
her, but she would never tell what became of
him.”

“Hist!” said Champe, in a whisper. “I
hear voices, and one of them is unknown to
me.”

“We need not regret our precautions,
then,” returned Milford. “Hark!”

Our friends now heard steps approaching,
and immediately after the door of the room
below them was thrown open, and the voice
of the fortune teller was heard saying:

“Well, you see there aint nobody here—so,
if you please, we'll pass on to the next
room.”

“Stop, hold 'ooman, not so fast!” was the
gruff reply; and our friends could hear a
soldier-like tread across the floor, and a clinking
sound, as if a musket was being shifted
into different positions. They could see nothing,
and consequently remained in suspense
as to what was taking place below; but their
feelings may readily be imagined, for they
believed their plot had, by some means, been
detected, and that an officer was already in
pursuit of them.”

“Well, be you satisfied now?” inquired
the dame.

“Why, there's nobody in this hold rag of a
bed, that's sartain,” growled the corporal,
(for such the new-comer was) as he thrust
his bayonet several times into Dame Hagold's
rade pallet. “But hit don't follow that he's
not in this hold shanty, for all that. Come,
hold 'ooman, you'd best give him hup, while
I'm civil, for I'm bound to 'ave him, d'ye see?
He can't git away, for I've got half a dozen
fellows below, on the watch, that wouldn't let
a mouse escape, if hit was a mouse we's
hafter.”

“I tell you he's not here, sir,” returned the
the dame, tartly; “but if you don't believe
me, jest look till you're blind.”

“Well, somebody's 'ere—who his it then?”

“I tell you nobody's here.”

“ 'Twon't do, hold 'ooman—twon't do; I'm
too hold for that. Where's that door go to?”

“That's a closet.”

“Hopen it.”

“What for?”

“I want to look in there.”

“It's locked,” said the dame, trying it, and
thus purposely delayed, that her guest might
have time to make all right, in case they had
at first neglected her instructions.

“Well, if hits locked, I 'spose you'd better
hunlock it,” perisisted the corporal, “and
that'll save me the trouble of smashing it
down—d'ye see?”

“Ah, here's the key,” rejoined the dame,
who had been fumbling about in her pocket
for some time.

She applied it to the door, but the lock must

have been very old and in bad condition,
judging from the trouble she had in forcing
back the bolt. At last, after repeated trials,
and much shaking of the crazy old door, a
proceeding duly appreeiated by our friends
above, the inside of the closet was disclosed
to the eager eyes of the expectant corporal.

“You satisfied now?” queried the dame,
with a triumphant look, as a single glance assured
her that all was right overhead.

“Don't talk so much, hold 'ooman—don't
—'cause I likes silence in the ranks, d'ye
see!” said the corporal, as he thrust his
bayonet into the walls, and tried the floor
with the breach of his musket. “Somebody
might be hover'ead,” he said, looking up, and
even punching the loose boards with the
point of his bayonet, but which, to the surprise
of even Dame Hagold remained firm in
their places—our friends having taken the
wise precaution to stretch themselves across
them.

Had the Corporal turned suddenly upon
the dame, as he made his last remark, he
would have seen enough, in her changing
countenance, to rouse his suspicions; but,
fortunately, he was otherwise occupied; and
in another moment she was sufficiently nerved
to have braved, unflinchingly, unchangingly,
the most piercing scrutiny of an experienced
inquisitor.

“Somebody might be up there,” she repeated,
with a taunting laugh, when she saw
the boards did not move, as the Corporal tried
them with the point of his bayonet. “Hadn't
I best git some tools and help you rip up the
ceiling? you look like as though a little work
wouldn't hurt you much.”

“Silence, hold 'ooman!” returned the Corporal,
angrily, withdrawing rather quickly
from the closet, as though he feft half ashamed
of what he was doing. “Silence, I say!
them's the orders d'ye see?”

“I'll not be silent for such a contemptible
scamp as you!” replied the dame, bristling up
savagely, no longer having any dread of the
Corporal's anger, now that she felt that her
friends were safe. “Don't tell me to be silent,
in my own house, you mean, contemptible,
good-for-nothing, white-livered scoundrel!”
she continued, striding up to him, with the
look of a fury, and holding up her hands, with
bent fingers, as if she were about to bury her
long nails in the flesh of his face. “Don't
talk to me that way, you walking automaton!
or I'll leave my marks on your ugly phiz, as
sure's I'm a living woman!”

“There, that'll do, hold 'ooman,” rejoined
the Corporal, beating a hasty retreat, and
bringing his musket to a charge, to protect himself;
“that'll do; let's 'old a parley. In the
king's name, I command ye halt! Now attention
the 'ole, till we make a treaty of peace.
In the first place, let me tell you, I've got to
search this 'ouse, from cellar to garret; and
hif you let's me do hit quietly, well and good;
but hif you don't, I 'ave to call in a couple of
my men and take you prisoner. Now what
do you say to that, hold 'ooman?”

“As I told ye afore, sarch till you're blind
—I don't care a rap; but don't go for to tell
me to hold my tongue agin, you jack-a-napes!”

“Well, then, we'll sign a treaty, hon these
conditions; you're to talk has much has you
please, and I'm to prosecute my search, hunmolested.
Now this his settled, hold 'ooman,
d'ye see? So right about face—march!”

“I'll not stir from this room,” said the dame,
resolutely: and if you want to sarch further,
you'll have to do it alone, or else call in some
of your jack-asses from outside.”

“Well, hold 'ooman, can't say I'm particular
hanxious for your company: so I'll hadvance
and reconoiter alone; but hif I sees
any suspicious hobject, you may depend,
mether Gunn, I'll charge hupon't with the
'ole column, rank and file. Hattention, Corporal
Jones! trim the line—right face—
march!” and with this, the petty officer quitted
the room, doing the mock-heroic with a
serio-comic air, that made even Dame Hagold
laugh in spite of herself, as she threw herself
into a seat to await his return.

In about teu minutes or so, he reappeared
and said:

“I don't find nobody, hold 'ooman; so I
shall leave you to your meditations, and 'ope
you'll 'ave a nice time hov't, d'ye see!”

“Well, I 'spose you won't be afeard, now,
to tell me who you've been sarching for, and
why you thought he was here?”

“Why, hold 'ooman, has I told ye before,
I've been looking for a fellow that hought to
'ave a rope round his neck, d'ye see? Somebody
told me they seen a man sneaking round
'ere, not long ago, and I thought it might be
'im, d'ye see!”

“Well, who is he? and what's he done?”

“His name's John Hagold, and—”A
cry from the other interrupted the Corporal,
who immediately added, “But what's the
matter with you? d'ye know 'im?”

“My son!” groaned the dame, covering her
face with her hands—“my son!” Then quickly
starting up, she fairly gasped: “But
what's he done? what's he accused of now?”

“Murder!” was the brief and appalling
answer.

“Oh! heaven have mercy on me!” groaned
the dame, as she staggered into her seat,
and again buried her face in her hands.

For several minutes she set rocking to and
fro, and groaning with maternal anguish; then
withdrawing her hands from her face she
continued:

“But tell me, sir, the whole particulars,
and conceal nothing!” She waited a moment
for an answer, but none came. “Do you refuse
to answer a mother's questions concerning
her child!” she pursued, again starting
up from her seat and turning to where she
supposed the Corporal was standing. “Ha!
he is gone!” and she flew out of the room
and down the stairs, to overtake and question
him.

But she was too late, not a soldier remained
in sight. The Corporal, wishing to avoid a
scene, and having no cause for further delay,
had beat a hasty retreat, but with a determination
to keep a watch upon the old building,
since he had discovered it to be the abode
of the mother of the fugitive.

How much this circumstance affected the
designs and arrangement of our little band
of heroic spies, the sequel will show.

For something like half an hour, Dame
Hagold sat on the stairs, sobbing with grief
and then recollecting her guests, she returned
to the apartment containing the closet, and
opening the door of the latter, informed them
that the coast was clear. In a few moments
Milford and Champe made their descent from
the cock-loft. It required no explanations
from the dame as to the cause of her grief
for they had overheard all that had grief
between her and the Corporal.

“I sincerely condole with you in your misfortune,”
said Milford, in a soothing tone.

“I must bear up agin it,” answered the
dame, wiping her eyes, “I must bear up agin
it. He seems predestined to die by the halter.
I've done all that I could for him, he'd
never take my advice, and now he must 'bide
the consequences. It's hard gentlemen—'tis
indeed—for I'm a fond mother; but I won'
be more weak nor foolish than I can help
There I'm right now—right as I can be—and
your business must go on afore all others.”

“Well, Champe,” said Milford, turning to
him, “something must be done—what shall it
be? Shall we make the attempt to-night!
or leave it for to-morrow night?”

“To-night, if possible,” answered Champe,
“for I have a presentiment, that any longer
delay will be ruinous. I must go back to my
quarters, however, and, on some pretense or
another, manage to obtain leave of absence
for the evening.”

“And if it be refused?”

“Then I will take it, at the first favorable
opportunity, and meet you at the oak, at the
edge of yonder wood, where we have twice
met before. In either case, I will meet you
there, as I think it less hazardous than coming
here, since it is more than likely this house
will be watched. The signal shall be the same
as before, the hooting of the owl. I must ascertain,
too, the pass-word, for the night.”

“I think you are right in supposing the
house will be watched; for, if I am not mistaken,
the corporal will have a spy in this
vicinity; therefore, I approve of your proposition.
But I fear we shall run some risk
in leaving it, and, therefore, be obliged to
wait till night sets in.”

“I dread so much delay,” returned Champe
“but know of no better plan.”

“The night is not far off,” rejoined Milford
looking out through a crevice, “and, to all
appearances, now will be favorable to our
object. The sky is becoming overcast with
clouds.”

“I hope it will not set in to rain,” said

Champe, with considerable uneasiness, as he
also took a survey of the heavens; “for although
such an event might favor our secret
movements, it would be equally destructive to
our hopes in another quarter.”

“Ah! yes, I understand you: Arnold, of
course, would not take his usual walk in the
garden.”

The conversation was here interrupted
again, by another knock on the door below.
Again our friends hurried into the closet, and
up the ladder; and the dame, having locked
them in, went down to ascertain who was the
new-comer, and what his business. Presently
our friends heard the voice of Josh; and descending
from the cock-loft, they waited, with
some impatience, for the woman to let them
out.

“Well, Josh,” said the Captain, “we have
been expecting you some time; what news do
you bring?”

“Wal, Capting, them are chaps we peppered
up in the woods there, has got away,
and gone clean, slick, hide and hair.”

“Gone?” echoed Milford, in surprise.

“Fact, I swow to Guinea.”

“How did they get away?”

“Wal, that's more'n I know; but gone they
was when I got there; and the fellers that
went up with me wouldn't 'a believed they'd
been there at all, and that we'd lied about the
hull affair, if it hadn't been for the cut away
and stamped-down bushes, and the blood on
the ground, and some tracks, that looked like
several fellers had carried 'em off to the river.
We follered them 're tracks to the water, but
didn't find nothing o' the chaps themselves,
and so we calculated they'd put out in a
boat.”

“This is strange!” mused Milford.

“I don't see nothing strange about it, Captain,”
chimed in Dame Hagold. “I told you
them scoundrels was too cowardly to come
here by themselves; and I 'spose their cut-throat
companions warn't a great ways off;
and so arter you'd gone, they somehow come
upon their bodies, and took 'em away.”

“What a narrow escape for Rosalie!” said
Milford, thinking aloud, and fairly shuddering
as he recalled the horrid scene through which
both she and himself had passed.

“Do you think any one saw you enter
here, Josh?” inquired Champe.

“Guess not—I didn't see nobody looking.”

“Well, as you are one of us, you will understand
how necessary it is to be cautious, when
I tell you this house has been searched by a
British officer, and that we are now staying
here, to avoid detection, till night, when we
contemplate setting about putting our plan
into immediate execution.”

“What! you mean the taking of him?”
and Josh jerked his thumb over his shoulder
in the direction of Arnold's residence.

Champe nodded an affirmative.

“To-night?”

“If possible.”

“A new arrangement, then, I calculate.”

“Yes;” and Champe proceeded to explain
it, with as much brevity as the subject would
admit of. “If it does not rain before midnight,”
he said, in conclusion, “I see no insurmountable
object to the accomplishment of
our design, unless it be the want of a boat;
and I must venture to swim the river for one,
rather than let that deter us from making the
trial.”

“What sort of a boat do you want?” inquired
Josh.

“Any row-boat would answer, capable of
containing half a dozen persons.”

“Wal, as I's coming down here, along the
bank of the river, I seen one, hitched by a
rope to a tree, not fur up, that I guess 'll jest
do thething nicely,” returned Josh.

“This is good news: and we must secure
it, at all hazards.”

A general consultation now took place,
every trivial affair was duly discussed and arranged,
and, as soon as night had drawn her
sable curtain, so that they could depart without
being seen, our gallant little band of spies
separated, to meet again at a certain place
and at a certain hour.

The events consequent upon that meeting
will be detailed in their proper place.