University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.
A BOLD STRATAGEM AND ITS RESULT.

It was about ten o'clock on the evening fol
lowing the events recorded in the foregoing
chapters, that the keeper of the prison, wherein
George Nugent was confined, being seated in
his office, and in a comfortable doze, was suddenly
aroused by a heavy double-knock on
the outer door.

“Well,” muttered the jailor, yawning, and
rubbing his eyes, “I suppose he's come at last;”
and he proceeded to unbolt and throw open
the door, disclosing a stranger in the garb of
a Roman Catholic priest. “I thought it was
you—come to see George Nugent, I suppose?”
pursued the keeper, addressing the new-comer.

“You have divined my purpose, sir,” replied
the other, in that precise tone, and with
that air of religious sanctity and austerity,
which so many ministers of the Gospel, of
every sect, see proper to display, perhaps with
a view to impress the sacredness of their calling,
and their own superiority; upon the minds
of the vulgar. “You have divined my purpose,
sir; I, indeed, have come to behold that
poor unfortunate youth, and, in his last hour,
minister to him the holy consolations of the
true faith. Will you be so kind as straightway
to conduct me to his abode?”

The speaker was a tall, well-formed personage,
between forty and fifty years of age.
His skin was as dark almost as that of a mulatto;
large, bushy, iron-gray whiskers, and
mustaches, in a great measure concealed his
features. His hair was of the same color as
his beard, and, being short and bushy, made
his head seem much larger than it really was.
His eyes were black and piercing, and the
general expression of his countenance was
severely austere.

The jailor, in compliance with the other's
request, immediately lighted his lantern, and
proceeded into the interior of the prison.

“This way,” he said, and led the priest
down into the dungeon, and to the cell of
George Nugent. “What time shall I come
for you?” he inquired, while he busied himself
in unlocking the two doors.

“I can not say,” answered the priest, “when
I shall have finished the sacred duty enjoined
upon me—it depends much upon the state of
mind in which I find the penitent—but if you

could make it convenient to call in half an
hour. I think that, if not ready to depart then,
I shall be able to specify the exact time.”

“Well, your reverence, I will call in half
an hour,” returned the jailor; and throwing
open the cell door, he motioned the other to
enter, adding: “Do you wish a light?”

“Of course, sir,” replied the priest, with an
air of surprise—“how else am I to see?”

“Well, then, take this—I think I shall be
able to find my way back in the dark;” and
handing the lantern to the priest, the jailor
withdrew, locking the doors after him.

As soon as he found himself alone with the
prisoner, the priest turned to the former, who
was reclining upon his straw, eagerly watching
every motion, and, in a solemn tone, said.

“My son, I am truly sorry to find one so
young, and apparently intelligent as yourself,
incarcerated in so gloomy and loathsome a
place.”

“Who are you, sir? and what is your business
here?” demanded the young man, assuming
a sitting posture.

“I, my son, am a priest of the true faith,
come to confess you, and prepare you for your
long journey.”

“Who sent you?”

“Sir Henry Clinton bade me come, saying
you were anxious to confer with a priest of
your own faith.”

“But, sir, I am not a Roman Catholic.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed the priest, with a
start: “then there has been a mistake somewhere.”

“So it would seem,” replied the other, drily.

“But since I am here, will you not make a
clean breast of all your errors, and so prepare
yourself for true repentance and Divine
mercy?”

“You evidently mistake my character,” returned
George Nugent, looking keenly and
scrutinizingly at the other. “If you are only
here in the spiritual capacity of a priest, you
have made a journey in vain.”

“And in what capacity, save that of a spiritual
adviser and confessor, did you suppose,
my son, I would come to you.”

“I did not say I supposed you would come
in any capacity—for the truth is, I did not
suppose you would come at all, having never
seen or heard of you before.”

“Well, my son, I can not return the compliment
in the same words, for I have heard
of you before, and that it is your deliberate
intention to escape from your prison to-night,
assisted by a certain Signor Carlini, some what
known as an astrologer, which is synonymous
with imposter, swindler, cheat, etc.

“Good heavens!” cried the youth, turning
deadly pale, completely thrown off his guard
—“how learned you this?”

“Then I am right,” rejoined the priest,
quickly, with a triumphant smile. Come,
young man, acknowledge you are caught at
last.”

“I will acknowledge nothing, but that you
are a low, base-born scoundrel!” cried the
other, indignantly.

“Rail on, young sir—but already your
friend is safely lodged within these walls, and
you and he must leave them together. Do you
understand?”

“Alas! and so my noble benefactor is a
prisoner, and must die to-morrow? On what
charge was he arrested?”

“On what charge should he be arrested,
but that of being a spy in the British camp?”

“Alas! then we are doomed!” groaned the
youth.

“You, at least, may escape,” said the priest.

“How?”

“By confessing all you know.”

“Villain, begone! or I shall be tempted to
strike you with my chains!” again cried the
young man, growing furious.

“But your silence will not avail your friend,
since he, like yourself, is already in a dungeon.”

“Then why are you so anxious for my confession?”

“Suppose I tell you Sir Henry has taken a
fancy to you, and is desirous of some excuse
to pardon you!”

“I am obliged to Sir Henry; but he shall
never have the excuse that I turned traitor to
my friend, even though it be proved, to my
satisfaction, that I could do him no injury
thereby.”

“Well, enough of this mummery,” returned

the priest, with great animation. “George
Nugent, you have been sorely tried, and found
in every respect worthy to live, and become
one of a little band secretly fighting for
liberty.”

“What mean you?” asked the other, in
amazement.

“That in the person before you, you behold
no priest, but Carlo Carlini himself.

“Gracious, heavens! you?”

“Ay, I am again disguised. My face and
hands are colored, and my hair and beard are
false.”

“Is it possible! Ah, now I perceive you are
indeed my friend. How strange!”

“But the chains, lad! the chains!”

“See here!” and as the youth spoke, he
snapped then in twain, and stood before the
other, free of any incumbrance.

“Heaven be praised! so far my plot works
well. Should kind fortune still continue propitious,
in a few minutes you will be at liberty.
Now let me tell you the rest of my plan;” and
Carlini, for a short time, spoke to the other in
a low, hurried tone.

When, at the expiration of the half hour,
the jailor returned to the door, Carlini bade
him enter. The moment he stood within the
cell, he was seized, gagged, and bound, ere he
had time to cry out for help, or make any effectual
resistance. Depositing him on the
straw, and seizing his keys, Carlini now bade
the young prisoner follow him; and taking up
the lantern, both went out, carefully locking
the doors behind them. Having ascended to
the corridor above, and secured the trap
Carlini whispered to his young companion to
remain where he was, till he should go forward
to the keeper's room, and ascertain if
the coast were clear. Carefully unlocking
the iron door, he peered in, and, to his surprise
and dismay, beheld a large, athletic, rough-looking,
fellow, seated in the jailor's chair,
evidently awaiting his return. Who he was,
he did not know—but thought it probable he
was either a turnkey, or one of the night
watch. But how he was to get past him, with
the prisoner, was a matter for the most serious
consideration. Carlini was fertile of invention
in a difficult emergency, as we have al
ready shown, and he now thought rapidly,
running a dozen plans through his mind in
almost as many seconds.

“Well, Governor, is any thing the matter?”
inquired the fellow, in a gruff voice, supposing
he was addressing the jailor.

Carlini made a rapid signal for his young
companion to step behind the door, then
throwing it partly open, he entered the keeper's
room, with a smile, and in a bland tone,
said:

“I think, sir, the Governor, as you term
him, finds some difficulty in securing the door
leading to the dungeon. There appears to
be something the matter with one of the blots
—perhaps you had better step in and assist
him.”

“O, yes, certainly;” and the brawny fellow
arose from his seat, and advanced to the door
opening into the corridor.

As he crossed the threshold, Carlini, who
stood by the door, struck him a violent blow
with his fist, on the back of his head, which
stumbled him forward, and nearly stunned
him. At the same instant, and before the
fellow could recover himself, George Nugent
sprung into the keeper's office, with the lantern,
and the astrologer instantly closed and
locked the door. By the time this was compleled,
the entrapped turnkey conprehended
the trick that had been played upon him, and
began to curse and rave in a way that bade
fair to alarm the prison, if not the town.

“Quick! quick!” said Carlini, in a low
hurried tone: “be ready here to take advantage
of our so far remarkable success;” and
he proceeded to unlock the door leading to
the street. “There is a sentinal without here,”
he added, “and unless we can entrap him, we
are not safe even now.”

He threw open the door as he spoke, and
called out, in an alarmed tone:

“Quick, sentry—this way—hasten—there
is a prisoner loose, and I fear he will escape.”

There was a patter of feet on the pavement,
and the next moment the sentry, with his
musket, sprang into the room, crying:

“Where? where? what is the trouble?”

“There!” answered Carlini, hurriedly; “do
you not hear him?” as the cries of the entrapped
turnkey resounded in the corridor.

`Stand by that door while I open it;” and as
he soldier, not suspecting a trick, darted forward
to it, Carlini and Nugent bounded into
the street, the former jerking the door to after
him, and locking it, as he had done the others.

Scarcely was the bolt turned, when the sentry,
perceiving too late that he had been duped,
discharged his musket. There was a mighty
uproar now in the prison, and as the noise
could be distinctly heard outside, our friends
well knew there was no time to be lost.

“We must fly, George, we must fly! said
Carlini, in a startling whisper, grasping the
arm of his companion; and the next moment
both were speeding down the street, but running
so as to make as little noise as possible.

Fortune still favored them; for the heavens,
which but an hour before were brilliantly
studded with stars, were now overcast by black
clouds, rendering the night extremely dark;
and as the streets were not lighted save by an
occasional gleam from the upper window of
some dwelling, and as the fugitives took good
care to keep in the deep shadow of the buildings,
there seemed little danger of their being
successfully followed, save by the sound of
their footsteps. But though they at first ran
swiftly, yet instinctively, as it were, both ran
on the balls of their feet, and thus greatly lessened
the danger in respect to sound. And
danger there was in every quarter; for
the night-patrols were on duty, and it would
require the utmost circumspection to elude
their vigilance. For some fifty yards, the
progress of our friends was rapid; and then
Carlini suddenly grasped his young companion
by the arm, and with a low “Hist,” drew
him close up against an old building, where
both came to a dead halt, and held their breath
in fearful suspense.

The cause of this new movement I was the
quick steps of a sentry heard approaching
them; and a minute after, a dusky figure was
seen gliding quickly forward. H passed
them, without looking either to the right or
left; and immediately the fugitives again
darted away. The noise at the prison still
continued, and presently a voice was heard
shouting:

“The spy has escaped! the spy has escaped!”

As may readily be imagined, this startling
cry did not tend to slacken the pace of the
fugitives, who` making as little noise as possible,
soon turned out of the main street into a
dark alley, up which they sped with all their
might. The cry, that the spy had escaped,
was taken up by others; persons were heard
running in various directions, and it now become
painfully evident to the fugitives, that
unless they soon found a hiding-place, they
would be captured. Every nerve was strained,
and every sense kept keenly alive to the danger
that menaced them. In ten minutes from
leaving the prison, they had entered the street,
unobserved, where Carlini resided. If now
they could reach his dwelling unseen, both
felt that they would be comparatively safe.
At this moment a sentinel suddenly sprang
out from the deep shadow of a building, and
presentiug his musket to the breast of Carlini,
cried:

“Stand! and give the countersign!”

Knowing that delay would be fatal, the astrologer
and his companion bounded aside,
and attempted to pass without speaking. The
sentry pulled the trigger, and the musket went
off, but fortunately doing no other harm to
our friends than creating a new alarm. With
the fierceness of the tiger, the speed of lightning,
and the power of a giant, Carlini sprang
upon the soldier, wrenched the weapon from
his grasp, and, clubbing it, struck the poor fellow
on the head, who fell like an ox, with a
single groan, apparently lifeless. Darting
away again, Carlini and his young friend
reached the private door of his dwelling, just
as the roll of a drum was heard sounding a
fresh alarm. In every direction windows were
now raised, and many a head, white with a
night-cap, was seen protruding, to learn the
cause of the tumult; and more than one female
voice was heard to shriek forth her fears,
that the enemy had beseiged the town, and
that all were about to be massacred by the
hateful French and the barbarous rebels.
But most fortunately for our friends, no one
of the many on the lookout observed them
owing to the darkness; and with a private
key Carlini unlocked the door, and, almost
breathless, glided into the house with his young
friend. Then, for the first time since setting

out on his perilous mission, the astrologer
breathed freely; and sinking down upon his
knees, he ejaculated:

“Almighty God be praised! we are saved
at last.”

The commotion without increased, rather
than subsided, and persons were heard running
in various directions, perhaps in search
of the fugitives—perhaps to learn the cause of
the alarm.

“Come, my lad,” said Carlini, “let me conduct
you to a safe retreat.”

He then led the way up stairs, followed by
his young companion, and entered the black
Chamber of Fate, which we described in the
first portion of this true history. Crossing this
to the black hangings farthest from the door,
he lifted the dark curtain, and feeling about
on the wall, at length touched a spring, when
a small door opened, and disclosed a neat little
room, containing a bed, and other necessary
articles for a comfortable lodging apartment.

“Here, George,” he said, “must be your
abode for the present—or, in fact, till I can
find a way to get you out of the city. You
perceive you have only changed one prison
for another, though I trust you will not find
the charge to your disadvantage, nor me a
harsh jailor.”

“God bless you!” cried the young man,
grasping the hand of the other, and pressing
it to his lips. “God bless you! I owe you
more than ever I can repay, even with the
sacrifice of my life, since I have but one life
to offer, and that you have twice saved.”

Well, well, I trust even that sacrifice will
not be needed now, my friend,” replied Carlini.
“I consider the obligation, if any there
were, more than canceled, by the noble manner
in which you have conducted yourself
during your perilous and fearful trials. Adieu,
for to-night; I will see you again to-morrow;”
and with this he drew the door to its place,
and the spring instantly secured it.

“Now let the hirelings of King George
search to their hearts' content,” he muttered
to himself. “As they have been foiled now,
so shall they ever be; and nothing shall triumph
in this glorious land, but that liberty
for which we have periled our all, and for
which all true hearts are ready to suffer,
even to the death.”

And now, taking a short leave of Carlini
and his friends, let us turn to another scene.