University of Virginia Library

17. CHAPTER XVII.
RESCUE OF WIRY WILLY.

It was just as the first streaks of morning appeared in the
East that Wiry Willy rode along the highway near the
Delaware river. The place was at no great distance from
New Castle, and his destination seemed a few miles below
the encampment of General Crook, where the naval officers,
who were with the President the preceding evening, had
been landed.

Willy, supposing he had passed the last sentinels in that
direction, which he desired to avoid merely because he might
be temporarily detained by them, and not that he apprehended
serious molestation from the Southerners, began to
whistle a lively tune, for his affairs seemed in a prosperous
condition. Mary was at his grandame's, and he had seen
her the day before, on his return from Philadelphia; and, if
nothing untoward occurred to disappoint his expectation,
he would be likely to see her again the day following. He
was bearing a despatch from the President to Commodore
Stout, which he had been told was of an important character,
as it related to a matter of startling moment just communicated
to the President by an express from Washington.

But just when Willy was passing a dilapidated barn on
the wayside, four men, armed with muskets, rushed out

and seized his pony, which strove in vain to elude their
grasp by dint of kicking and biting.

“Dismount, sir!” said one of the men.

“Willy hasn't time,” said Willy.

“Willy! Wiry Willy! The very man we want. Come,
sir!” And the soldiers led him in the direction of the
Southern encampment.

“Gentlemen!” said Willy, “I hope you will not detain
me. I am on important business for the President.”

“No doubt of it!” said the other. “And we are on important
business for General Crook.”

“Very well,” rejoined Willy; “and is General Crook
an enemy of the President? Did we not assist him at
Bladensburg?”

“Very true—but now we're afraid you'll assist the other
side. You say you are now on the President's business.
Well, what business can he have in this direction?”

“His fleet is down yonder.”

“And the British fleet is only a little lower down. We
are just returning from it. The British are our friends, and
the President is their enemy. Admiral Bang says the
President has taken Lord Slysir prisoner.”

“Can I see General Crook?”

“Most assuredly, if you have the use of your eyes. He
is in yonder mansion, and we shall conduct you into his
presence.”

In the course of fifteen or twenty minutes they arrived
at the mansion indicated, the orchard and out-houses around
it being filled with soldiers preparing their breakfast. But
no sooner was Willy recognised by several of the subordinate
officers, who recollected having seen him at Bladensburg,
than they began to express sorrow for his
fate.

“Gentlemen,” said Willy, “I cannot see why you should
be so very sorry for me, since I am sure General Crook will
order my release immediately.”

“I hope so,” said one of the officers, “but I doubt it
very much, for within the last half hour we have received
news of the attempt to capture General Blount.”

“Well—did I not assist in his escape?” said Willy.

“Carlisle tells quite a different story. He says you were
in the city yesterday and gave information of the intended

interview between the President and the General to the
infamous Snare.”

“Yes, sir!” said General Crook himself, approaching from
the house, “that is the story, and an ugly one it is. I fear
you are a spy, Wiry Willy. You vanished very mysteriously
the night before my attack on the Federal Departments;
and several of my wounded men left on the ground
have testified that they saw you enter the White House
after the engagement.”

“That is true, sir; I do not deny it,” said Willy; “but
did I not serve you afterwards, when the President was not
your enemy?”

“He did, gentlemen,” said Crook, turning to the officers
that had collected around them. “Nevertheless this last
act merits death. Willy, you shall have a fair trial, but it
must necessarily be a brief one.”

“General, I hope you will not credit the story of Carlisle.
He has always been my enemy, because Mary Penford disliked
his attentions. Let him be brought before me, face
to face.”

“That shall be done. You shall confront the witness,
and if innocent, I shall be truly rejoiced. But if guilty,
Willy, I cannot save you.”

“If I could see General Blount himself,” said Willy, apprehensive
of the effect of Carlisle's testimony, “I am sure
he would acquit me.”

“No, Willy; he might pardon you, but how could he acquit
you? How could he know that you did not betray
him? No—no! He has released several under the death
sentence already, who proved ungrateful afterwards, and
wrought us injury; and, when informed of the evil effects
of his ill-judged clemency, he requested that no more such
cases might be referred to him. Let us enter, and Carlisle
shall be brought in.”

A drum-head court-martial was summoned, before whom
Carlisle testified, with great circumstantiality, to the guilt
of Willy. It was in vain that the prisoner solemnly protested
his innocence, and asserted that every material particle
of the testimony was without foundation in truth. Although
accused of deliberate perjury, Carlisle affected to
maintain an even and amiable temper, theeing and thouing
his victim with imperturbable gravity. Poor Willy was

condemned to die upon the gallows within the space of three
hours!

“General,” said he, “will you permit me to send a note
to General Blount? I have served him likewise.”

“I cannot, Willy.”

“Or to the President?”

“Impracticable. His authority would not be acknowledged.
Besides, it is doubtful whether the messenger
could return before the hour of execution. I would pardon
you myself, had I not declared that all such sentences as
these should be executed. And I must say, though reluctantly,
I cannot avoid believing you guilty.”

“Mary! Oh, sir! it will break her heart! And she could
save me!”

“How, sir?”

“She possesses a paper, which I left in her keeping, written
by General Blount, in which he desires any one friendly
to him to render me protection.”

“The validity of such a document would be acknowledged,”
said the General. “Look round and select any one
to go on this errand for you. If he can return before the
expiration of the third hour, with the paper you mention,
you will be saved.”

Willy selected the one most familiar with the country,
by whom he sent a few lines, written with a pencil. In the
meantime the gallows was erected, and every preparation
made for the execution; for no one supposed that such a
paper as Willy had mentioned could be produced.

It was during these hours of agonizing suspense that
several communications were received by General Crook
from Admiral Bang; and these, if anything, operated greatly
to the prejudice of the prisoner, who had intimated that his
destination, when taken, was the American fleet, which the
British, anxious to co-operate with Crook, desired to have
removed.

“Wiry Willy,” said General Crook, “you must deliver
into my hands the despatches for Commodore Stout.”

“Pardon me, General,” said Wiry Willy. “If it were
true that I have such despatches, they would not, I think,
be subject to your inspection. They would be from the
President, with whom you are not at war.”

“In times of Revolution the strongest arm is the highest

authority, and the will of every commander is the
law. Search him, gentlemen,” he continued, addressing
those who attended him. This was done carefully and
thoroughly, but without success.

“Willy,” said the general, “I cannot break my word by
pardoning you. But deliver up the despatch, or tell where
it can be found, and you may regain your liberty.”

“General,” said Willy, his eyes steadily fixed on the
floor, “I have neither destroyed any despatch, nor thrown
it away since my arrest. And you have searched me in
vain. If I were to say that none had been sent by me,
would you credit my word?”

“Will you say so?”

“I say I am innocent of the charge for which I am condemned
to die.”

“This is trifling with me! But if the messenger returns
not with the paper from Mary Penford, Commodore Stout
will behold you swinging between heaven and earth near
the brink of the water.”

Saying this, the General shook Willy's hand, and mounting
his horse, rode away after the troops, all of whom, with
the exception of a small party, were now marching towards
the main body of the army in the immediate vicinity of
New Castle.

The scaffold was near the water, in full view of the
American frigates.

“There are no signs of salvation, Willy,” said the Sergeant,
“and only five minutes remain. I would give this
hand to save you, but I fear it is impossible.”

“Must you be punctual to the moment, Sergeant?” asked
Willy, casting down his eyes on the watch in the Sergeant's
hand.

“I must obey the order or take the consequences. You
must forgive me, Willy.”

“As freely as I hope to be forgiven. I can reproach no
one but Carlisle, who bore false testimony against me.”

“You still deny the charge. Remember, Willy, that
although I may delay the execution a few minutes, there
is no probability that you will escape the death penalty.
Learn, Willy, that the messenger was intercepted on the
way and captured by some of General Ruffleton's men. This
news I did not intend to impart, for I thought I would

spare you as much pain as possible. But such is the fact.
Now, when there is no hope, do you still persist in asserting
your innocence?”

“Before God, I do! I would as soon have betrayed the
President himself as General Blount!”

“It is strange. And will you deny having been a spy in
General Crook's camp the night before his attack on the
Government?”

“That I will not deny, Sergeant. But then it was not
war, but a conspiracy. The President sanctioned my act.
And since then I have rendered good service in General
Crook's behalf.”

“True!”

“Your reluctance to take my life, Sergeant, and pity for
my condition,” said Willy, “is some alleviation. And the
messenger did not reach his destination?”

“No—Ruffleton's men intercepted him.”

“Did you learn where this happened?”

“It was near the railroad station. If he had not been
taken, there would have been ample time for him to have
returned ere now.” As the Sergeant said this he held the
watch before Willy's face. The hour had arrived.

“A few minutes more, Sergeant,” said Willy.

“Five more, Willy; but hope not.”

They were standing under the gallows, and the Sergeant
beckoned one of the men to adjust the rope.

“Hangman ahoy!” cried one from under the river bank,
a little below. “Stay your tackle. What are you going to
hoist that man for?” And the next moment a midshipman
sprang up and approached the party.

“What right have you to know, sir?” was the Sergeant's
reply.

“The Commodore's orders,” said the youthful officer,
pausing.

“What right has he to order?” continued the Sergeant,
motioning his men, just eight in number, to present arms.

“That's a matter I've never thought about once,” said
the young man. “All I have to do is to execute his orders.
Why, it's Wiry Willy!” cried the midshipman, recognising
Willy. “Sergeant!” he added, “if he were even guilty of
the assassination of General Crook, you should not hang
him!”

“That's brave language, sir,” said the Sergeant, “but my
duty must be done, however irksome it may be. Therefore,
men, take hold of the rope, and when my hat falls, hoist
him up.” The Sergeant took off his hat and held out his
arm.

The midshipman gave a signal, and twelve marines sprang
up the bank and presented their Minié rifles.

“Sergeant,” said the young man, “will this force suffice?”

“I think not, sir. It may prevent the execution at the
present time, but not save the prisoner. But if you attack
us, we'll fight!”

“I like that fellow!” said the old Commodore himself,
scrambling up the bank a short distance above, followed by
some half-dozen more men. “You're a brave lad, Sergeant,”
he continued, advancing, “but we are too many for
you.”

“I will surrender now, Commodore, if you demand it,”
said the Sergeant.

“You must surrender the prisoner—that's all we demand.
Throw off that tackle, Willy,” he said, turning to the prisoner.
But Willy's hands were tied, and the Commodore
dashed off the halter himself, and then cut the cord that
bound his hands. “Now, sir, you are free. But what
brought you here?”

“I have a dispatch for you, sir.”

“Let me have it! I have been waiting for it.”

“Pardon me, Commodore,” said Willy; “but the Sergeant
and his men saw the search ordered by General
Crook—”

“They searched you, and found it?”

“No, sir; they did not find it. But if they were now
to see where I conceal it, at some future day they
might—”

“I understand. Come on board. Sergeant, give the old
Commodore's respects to General Crook, and say the guest
on the flag-ship expects his company soon.”

The boats, for there were two, returned to the ship,
while the Sergeant, not at all distressed at the occurrence,
gazed after them.

“Now, sir,” said the Commodore, when Willy was conducted
into the cabin, “let me see how you contrived to

conceal the despatch, so that the land-lubbers couldn't
find it.”

Willy ran his fingers through his hair, and touching some
hidden springs, removed the scalp from his crown. Between
that and the shaven skin the paper was concealed.

“Oh, you wear a wig!” said the Commodore. “But
how the — could one so young have—”

“I had it shaved off, sir, by a barber,” said Willy, “expressly
for the purpose of carrying despatches.”

“And you were going to let them run you up to the
yard-arm, when the production of these few lines would
have saved your life! They are very important. Up
anchor!” he continued to the first Lieutenant. “I must
run up to the city. The rest of the squadron is to
remain.”

The Commodore, after making signals, got under way
and steamed up the Delaware. He passed through a fleet
of barges and small boats engaged in the transportation of
Southern troops across the river. He had no orders to
interfere with these; but his eye flashed every time he
gazed in the direction of the British ships anchored down
the river.