University of Virginia Library

47. CHAPTER XLVII.
THE EXECUTIONS.

In front of the sombre prison-house Willy beheld a vast
multitude of men, women, and children, impatiently awaiting
the hour for the prisoners to be led forth to execution.

Willy urged his way through the crowd. Presenting
the card with the awful autograph of Ruffleton, iron gates
and triple-nailed doors flew open before him.

The room in which Major S— was confined, likewise
contained other persons condemned to die for political
offences. The Major was sitting at the extremity of the
room, in deep abstraction, and did not observe the entrance
of Willy. The other prisoners were not so quiescent.
One of them, an editor, although he certainly did not look

like a man of letters, sobbed convulsively, and blubbered
like a great school boy.

“Has it come to this?” he cried. “Keeper!” he continued,
“you know I have labored for the North against
the slave-driving South?”

“Yes, I know it,” said the attendant.

“Then why should I be a victim?”

“It's a hard case, I own; but then they say you were
opposed to making General Ruffleton Protector.”

“Because it conferred civil authority as well as military.
I never dreamed of a despotism, or an absolutism—”

“Excuse me—but it may not be safe to listen to such
things. I don't intend to meddle in politics, so long as there
are guillotines about!”

“The guillotine! And must I die, and by the guillotine?”

“The time's been fixed, and the people outside are getting
impatient to see it.”

“And my friends; where are they?”

“Most of them are non est in times of danger. I thought,
when they brought you here, your friends would soon have
you out again. But it was no go. I have a brother stationed
at the door of the Protector's office, and he says not
even one of your 'prentices has ventured to beg your
life.”

“They abandon me; because to interfere in behalf of
the condemned might seem to involve them in his guilt.
But I am not guilty. My good friend, can I not write to
General Ruffleton?”

“You are allowed pen, ink, and paper.”

“But will you not have the letter conveyed to him?”

“If possible. But it may not be possible before it's too
late. My brother says he has bushels of letters, received
several days ago, not yet opened.”

“I'll put my name on the envelope! He must see it.”

“It'll do no good. The bit is in the horse's mouth, and
his master bestrides him, booted and spurred. That's what
I heard the Reverend Mr. Blood say.”

“And he? Why is he not here?”

“He? He's too smart for that! He's joined the Protector,
and says he shall be a lord, if not a king. Oh, he
goes the whole thing, guillotine and all. And he makes out
lists of the suspected, to be arrested hereafter.”

“I will do the same! Run to General Ruffleton! Say
I will support him in everything. I can rally the masses.”

“That's exactly what my brother heard Mr. Virus say.
But the Protector said the man who could do the most
good might also be able to do the greatest injury. He said
the good had been done already, and all they had to guard
against was the injury. In short, he said you had been used
quite enough in getting up the animosity, and that there
was no further use for you.”

Hearing this the editor set up a sort of howling lamentation,
and went about wringing his hands distractedly.

Willy proceeded to the corner where Major S— remained,
unmindful of everything said and done by his fellow-prisoners.

“Major,” said Willy, placing his hand on the prisoner's
shoulder, and speaking in a low tone, “do you not know
me?”

“Wiry Willy!” said the Major, starting up. “Yes, I
know you—and I am glad to see you, for I feared I should
never see another friend in this world. Oh, will you not
hear the words of a dying man? One who, although the
acts for which his life is forfeited may be termed an ignominious
crime, performed only what he supposed a duty to
his country. I regarded Ruffleton as a traitor, and the
duplicity I practised was meant to benefit the Republic.
As God is my judge, I expected not, desired not, any other
recompense but to witness the salvation of the Union.
Willy, repeat my words to President Randolph.”

“I will faithfully, Major,” said Willy.

“I have seen Mr. Lex,” continued Willy, “and he sent
you this.” He placed the note in the Major's hand. It
was a one thousand dollar bank note.

“Return it, Willy. I understand his meaning. But my
guards prefer life to money. I have tried them. There is
no escape for me. The Reign of Terror, so long predicted,
has been inaugurated.”

Willy repaired to the Park, when the prisoners were
taken thither, and, by exhibiting the signature of the
dreaded General, was permitted to stand at the side of the
Major, who promptly announced his readiness to submit
to his fate.

“I thank heaven,” said he, as he surveyed the glittering

instrument of death, “that the guillotine, and not the ignominious
rope, is to terminate my existence. Willy, say to
the President that I did not shrink from my fate; and that
I died believing my death would contribute, sooner or later,
to rescue the country from the hands of the usurping despots
and traitors. Say that I died with the consoling consciousness
that the guillotine has often put a period to the
existence of patriots and Christians; and that I go to my
God, believing in the efficacy of the merits of our Redeemer.
Now, headsman! Why do you hesitate?”

“We have sent to know which is to be served first, you
or the editor,” said one of the masked executioners.

“I would prefer to be first,” said S—.

“Oh, let me not be first!” cried the editor.

“You're a fool!” said the second executioner. “It will
be twice as bad after seeing his head fall.”

“But General Ruffleton may spare my life, when he gets
the proposition I have sent him,” said the editor.

“No doubt he will. But he will not get it on this side
of Jordan. The General is up yonder at the window of the
hotel, looking on with an opera-glass. The messenger has
gone to the Tribunal of Three, in the Court-room. The
Judges will decide who must die first; but they dare not
spare your life. The Protector has too many soldiers here
to have his pleasure interfered with. Here comes our messenger.”

The President of The Three sent back word that the
condemned might settle the question of precedence among
themselves, by lot or otherwise.

“Do you contest the Major's claim to precedence?”
demanded the chief executioner.

“No-o-o!” cried the editor.

The Major, after giving his watch to Wiry Willy, and
clasping his hand briefly while he whispered something in
his ear, ascended the platform with a steady step. It was
not necessary to pull him down forcibly. He adjusted himself
in the necessary position, and the knife descended. His
head fell into a basket, and his blood was absorbed by a
profusion of sawdust.

“Now it is your turn,” said the executioner, placing his
hand on the editor's shoulder.

“No-o-o!” said the editor, “there's another.”

This was Samuel —, the Quaker, who was to suffer
death because General Crook had spared his house. That
fact had been sufficient for his condemnation by The Three.

“Very well,” said the second executioner; “but you are
the politest man I ever saw. Come, Samuel, thee must
stand on the Republican platform.”

Placed on the platform, Samuel was bereft of the power
of speech. But he resisted with desperation, and it required
the exertions of four men to drag him forward and place
his neck under the dripping steel, which, descending quickly,
relieved him of his terrors.

“Now!” said the first of the masked executioners, whispering
in the ear of the editor, “you must ascend; the
platform is of your own construction. The engines projected
for the unjust destruction of others, have never yet
failed to torment their inventors. I have assumed this disguise
for the purpose of putting an end to one of the
world's mischief-makers. I am not only your enemy, but
the deadly foe of the Tyrant, and the next time I don these
habiliments, it will be for the purpose of beheading him.
You know me—my name is —.”

The editor sank to the earth in a swoon. Before he had
time to revive, he was dragged upon the platform, and his
head was severed from his body. Then, all too late, he
seemed to recover his consciousness. His legs began to
play with wonderful rapidity, as if running away. He
kicked himself off the platform, and bounced about with
such violence that the headsmen had to hold him. And
even then, for nearly a minute, the motion of the legs continued,
and no doubt the poor fellow imagined he had escaped,
and was flying from his enemies.

Willy, by the exhibition of the Protector's signature—
and but few took the pains to read further—had no difficulty
in obtaining possession of the remains of the ill-fated Major.
He had them conducted to an undertaker's establishment,
and contracted for their deposit in one of the cemeteries.

More than once, Willy, in passing that night the groups
of armed men—and but few others then ventured into the
streets—at the crossings, was compelled to show his passport.
And in every instance the beholder started back in
awe at the consciousness of the high authority under which
the pedestrian moved.

He was admitted without words or delay by the ancient
porter, and was conducted into the presence of the patriotic
friend of the President.

“And poor S— could not escape?” said Mr. Lex, after
inviting Willy to be seated.

“No, sir, it was impossible,” said Willy. “I have had his
remains deposited in a vault in — cemetery. Here is
the bank note, sir, for which he thanked you, but which he
could not use. He had, besides, a considerable sum of his
own. He had deposited funds, likewise, with the humane
keeper of the prison, to meet the expenses of his burial.”

“Will you not have use for money? If so, keep it.”

“No, sir; I am well provided.”

“If you should need funds, by reason of accident or robbery,
apply to me. You have seen Ruffleton?”

“Yes, sir, and here is the passport he gave me.”

“It is well,” said Mr. Lex, reading it. “It will serve
you perfectly, provided it does not expose you to assassination.
But there is a sign by which the patriots may know
each other; and the third man, whose name is on the list I
am to give you presently, will initiate you. There are the
circulars on the table. They are printed on bank-note paper,
and in such characters that none but the initiated can
render into intelligible English. The contents cannot be
made known to the enemy through any medium but a traitor
to the cause.”

Provided with the necessary instructions, Willy lost no
time in setting out on his journey. In the cars, where
there were always the secret spies of Ruffleton, Willy
ceased to be the subject of suspicious scrutiny whenever
he produced the awful signature of the Protector. But
when he ceased to meet the military and other partisans of
Ruffleton, in the less frequented lines of travel, the secret
sign of the patriots availed him most. Nor was it long
before he discovered to his great joy, that even in New
England, a majority of the population had become inimical
to the designs of those who now usurped the direction of
public affairs in the North. Still, the work of the despot
had been too effectually done for resistance, and it was necessary
for the friends of the Union to dissemble. All the
arms, public and private, were in the hands of the Protector's
partisans; and there was a military organization in

every county, ordered and paid by the Convention. And
now the Three—the most terrible tribunal ever created
—had its ramifications in every neighborhood, and its instrument
of death in every town of any magnitude!

At Boston, Garrott, Phipps, and Palter were the Three.
They had returned from the Liberian voyage breathing
vengeance against their enemies. The first victims were
the Catholics; and not satisfied with cutting off their heads,
the awful Tribunal stretched its authority even to the tearing
down of the churches. Willy lingered several days
in the city, for there were many patriots there who sighed
for the restoration of the Union and re-establishment of
the Federal authority. But they had to conceal their sentiments.

The prosecutor before the Tribunal of Three, was a
lawyer in desperate circumstances, but who subsequently
became affluent. He was accessible to the bribes of the
guilty, and his cupidity induced the fabrication of charges
against the innocent. The terrors of the guillotine were
successfully wielded against the rich in the exaction of
large sums of money; and the poor, rather than die, enrolled
themselves in the army.

It was not deemed necessary for the members of the terrible
Tribunal of Three to be versed in the law; and perhaps
half the judges in the New England States had not
been lawyers; but they were very frequently parsons of
the dissenting sects, famous for their abolition propensities,
and admirably qualified to try and execute the Catholics
and Episcopalians. During the sojourn of Willy in Boston
a Catholic bishop was condemned to die. The charge
against him was that he had enjoined upon his clergy the
duty of abstaining from participation in discussions on the
subject of slavery. The prelate admitted without hesitation
that he delivered such a charge; but pleaded in justification
that both himself and clergy had taken solemn vows to
devote themselves exclusively to the service of their God.
Such a reply confused, momentarily, both the prosecutor
and the Court. In the printed instructions sent them by
Virus, the offence of serving one's God exclusively, had
been omitted. Nevertheless the Prelate had been marked
for destruction; and upon being questioned as to his fellowship
with Southern slave-owners, he frankly admitted

that he fraternized with all pious Catholics in the Southern,
as well as in the Northern States, and that the tenure by
which they held their man-servants or their maid-servants
was never made the subject of investigation. This, too,
might have confounded his accusers, if he had been content
to stop there. But he added a quotation from Scripture,
viz. “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, nor his
servant, nor his maid, nor his ox, nor his ass,” etc.; and
this was construed both as a personal affront—for the
Three had all been notorious servant stealers—and a confession
of the crime of justifying slavery. He was therefore
sentenced to be decapitated.

When returning from the scene of his execution, Willy
felt the weight of some one's hand on his shoulder. Turning,
he was thunderstruck on beholding the sharp and swarthy
features of Phipps, one of the Three!

“What are you doing here, young man?” he asked.

“I—I am on business for the—the—” He paused, having
almost divulged the secret of his mission before recovering
his wits.

“Business for whom? Whose business?”

“That's Willy's business—and none of yours!” replied
he, fortified with the recollection that he bore none of the
circulars or other documents about his person.

“I saw you in Maryland with General Crook,” said Phipps,
“and that is primâ facie evidence of your guilt. The court
is about to assemble again. Withhold your reply to my
question, if you see proper. You are not bound to criminate
yourself,” Saying this Phipps strode on, while two of
the secret officers of the Inquisition, who seemed to have
been standing near in readiness, seized Willy and dragged
him along, unmindful of his protestations of innocence, and
of the assertion that he bore a passport from the Protector
himself.

Arriving before the Three, Willy gazed at the accuser
and the judges with an indifferent calmness, which only
seemed to increase their thirst for his blood.

The prosecutor recapitulated all that Phipps had alleged;
and then Willy was called upon to answer the charges of
identification with the slave-driving enemy, and of being a
spy.

Willy stood up, and very deliberately unfolding the passport,

read it aloud to the court. For more than a minute a
profound silence ensued.

“Will you allow me, Mr. Wire,” at length said the prosecutor,
“to look at that remarkable document?”

“Certainly, sir,” said Willy, imitating the attorney's politeness.

The attorney, having satisfied himself of the authenticity
of the signature, handed the passport to the judges, when
both the signature and the lines to which it was appended
were recognised. The passport was returned to Willy.
Its validity was not only acknowledged, but its bearer was
invited to dinner; an honor he declined.

Willy attended diligently to the objects of his mission,
and hastened from point to point making a faithful distribution
of the secret circulars. At Hartford, they were
just putting up the guillotine, amidst a crowd of men and
boys—the women always appearing on the scene when blood
was to flow. But Willy was astonished to meet a familiar
face on the ground, superintending the erection of the engine
of death. This was Mr. Rook, formerly an agent of
the Post Office Department, and subsequently the deputy
postmaster at Hartford. Willy had seen him in the anterooms
of the President and of the Postmaster General, at
Washington; and it was somewhat notorious that he contrived
to hold office under different administrations of different
politics. But whatever might have been his principles,
he had certainly professed to be an admirer of President
Randolph, and a supporter of his administration up to
the period of the rupture of the sections; and, therefore,
Willy's amazement was great on beholding this politician
directing the construction of one of the Protector's guillotines
on Hartford common. Upon inquiry he learned that
Rook had abandoned the Federal cause immediately after
the battle of Burlington, and being among the first applicants
for office under the new regime, he had obtained a
commission from the Northern Convention when it re-assembled
in New York, and so congratulated himself on his
ability to retain his position. He had gone further, and
opened a correspondence with Virus, as soon as he learned
he was high in the favor of Ruffleton, and proposed to furnish
the names of such of his neighbors as had sympathized
with the Democracy. That he had acted with the same

party himself, he admitted; but he asseverated very vehemently
that he was never sincere in his professions of sympathy
with the Slave Power, but used a justifiable deceit for
the purpose of injuring the party. To him, therefore, the
guillotine was consigned, and also the commissions for the
members of the Tribunal of Three, and for the prosecutor.
These commissions were still retained in his office unopened,
and he did not doubt the ones he recommended had been appointed,
and from whom it was his intention to exact a large
bonus for the effectual exertion of his influence in the procuration
of such lucrative appointments.

“Mr. Rook,” said Willy, when the former recognised
him, and grasped his hand in a friendly manner, “have you
turned against the President?”

“Pooh! Don't you know the jig's up? If you can't
go the whole for Ruffleton and the North, don't name politics
here, or your head'll be off before you can wink
twice.”

“But are you not a Democrat?”

“Demo-devil! I'm a Northerner, and dead against
slavery! Come! I'm going to deliver the commissions,
and a Court will be held and some heads cut off in an hour.
They want me to say who's to be judges and prosecutor,
before the package is broken open, but—you understand—
I wunt do't! I want a little private chat with some on 'em
first. Come! a large crowd will meet at my office to learn
who's got the appointments.” Willy followed, and observed
that Rook called aside the men who he supposed
were to be commissioned, with whom, doubtless, satisfactory
agreements were made in relation to the bonuses or
commissions; and then, at the hour appointed by Virus,
the seals were broken in the midst of the assembled politicians.

But the Judges—The Three—were very different men
from those designated by Rook; and the Prosecutor was
his most bitter enemy. A death-like silence prevailed, and
was only interrupted by one of the Judges, who read from
his instructions, that he was required to repair immediately
to the Court-room, and being first sworn in by any magistrate,
the Tribunal was to proceed instantly to arrest and
try certain individuals whose names were in the possession
of the Prosecutor!

All eyes were directed towards the Prosecutor. With a
pale face, and globules of perspiration projecting from his
forehead, he stared at the paper clutched convulsively in
his hand.

“Come, Rook!” said he, at length, placing his hand on
the Postmaster's shoulder.

“What for? Where to?” asked the time-serving functionary.

“To the Court.”

“What for?”

“To be tried. Your name is first on the list. Come!”

“I wunt! I'm Mr. Virus's confidential correspondent.”

`But, unfortunately for you, he has other correspondents
here whose statements are better worthy of belief. So he
thinks.”

“I know better! No one's written him from Hartford
but myself. No letter has been mailed—”

“True, at Hartford. But they were sent to Norwich.
You are caught, Rook! Come along.”

“I wunt!”

“Gentlemen!” said the Prosecutor, “I call upon you to
aid me in dragging this offender to justice. You can now
prove whether you are the friends or the enemies of the
new Government! Mr. Virus says that Rook has attempted
a deception. He has recommended only traitors to the
North for exalted positions, and marked none but its
friends for destruction. The three Judges and myself were
proscribed by him. We see, now, how dangerous a thing
it is to practise any species of deception!”

Within an hour the Three had condemned Rook to die.
He was the first to suffer by the instrument he had erected
for the destruction of others. And even when they dragged
him upon the platform, and placed his neck beneath
the glittering steel, he did nothing but repeat the words,
“I wunt! I wunt!”

Amidst such scenes of summary punishment and terror,
there could be no open manifestations of patriotism in New
England; and Willy did not linger long in it. But he observed
with many painful forebodings that the lives and the
fortunes of the entire population were completely at the
disposal of the despot, Ruffleton, who would use them for the
destruction of the Republic and the subjugation of the South.

Upon his return to New York, Willy hastened to Mr.
Lex and reported all he had seen and done. His mission
had been performed with judgment and effect, and
elicited the encomiums of the patriot.

Willy next repaired to the City Hall.

“Well, sir,” said Ruffleton, “have you finished your
travels? I suppose you have seen all the sights?”

“Wiry Willy has seen a great many; and he's tired of
seeing men's heads chopped off.”

“Ay—that appalled you. And did it not others?”

“Yes, indeed! There ain't a man between here and
Boston fool enough to wag his tongue against General Ruffleton.”

“Aha! And it will soon be the same thing between here
and New Orleans, and between the Atlantic and the
Pacific.”

“Are there to be guillotines in the South, too?”

“Yes, and bayonets! Do you intend returning to the
South?”

“Yes, sir, right off—for I'm getting homesick, and sick
of the guillotine. It's a horrible thing, sir!”

“Just the reverse, Willy,” said Ruffleton, laughing
heartily. “It is a capital invention to keep men in order.
Since I had the editor's head cut off, not a newspaper has
printed a word against my government, or an offensive
allusion to myself. Tell Mary I shall not have the time, if
I had the disposition to annoy her more. All the pretty
women in the city are attendants at my levees. Be my
friend, Willy, and I will take care of you. All power is in
my hands; all patronage is at my disposal; and all fortunes
at my feet.”

“All I ask, General,” said Willy, “is to be permitted to
live in peace with my good grandame on the Brandywine.”

“And with Mary! Tell her, if she don't marry you immediately,
I'll give her away to one of my officers.”

“And your soldiers will never trouble us on the Brandywine?”

“No. Or if they do they shall die for it. Hold! I
will write a protection for you that will suffice. They tell
me that my signature is regarded with reverence everywhere.”

“Awful reverence!” said Willy. And, while the Protector

was about to write, Willy described the looks and
actions of those to whom he had exhibited the Dictator's
autograph; and the despot seemed pleased and amused.

“There, Willy! That will be ample protection for you
and Mary. Exhibit this to any one, and you'll acknowledge
that Ruffleton is truly a Protector. But, in return, you
must do me a favor. I cannot hear from Lord Slysir, and
perhaps my despatches to him are intercepted. Can you go
to him?”

“Certainly, sir; nobody troubles Willy, since General
Crook was going to hang him. I can go where I please and
come when I please. I'll take any letter to Lord Slysir, for
you; and, if he asks me, I'll bring back here to you his
answer.”

“Thank you, Willy; but it will not be necessary to come
this far back. I shall move closer to him in a few days.”

“And will you put up a guillotine in Philadelphia, too?”
asked Willy, quickly.

“No, I think not. The Philadelphians have agreed to
let the army pass through the city; and I have promised not
to disarm their military. I shall not molest them immediately,
if they do not oppose my measures. Call again an
hour hence, Willy, when my letters will be ready. But
will they not search you?”

“Search Wiry Willy? No indeed. If they search me,
I won't take any letters for them when they want me.”

“True—you serve all.”

“I do so—and that's the reason nobody hurts me. If I
don't deliver your letter safely into Lord Slysir's hand, you
may cut off Wiry Willy's head, and he'll never think hard
of it. That is, if his Lordship is still there—at the mansion.”

“No doubt he's there. Besides his bruises, I'm inclined
to think he has a wound of the heart, from one of his expressions.”

“Won't that kill him, sir?”

“No—no! Call an hour hence.”

Willy withdrew, and loitered an hour in the Park, where
he witnessed the decapitation of eleven victims.

Returning to the Protector's closet at the time appointed,
the heart-sick messenger received the letters directed to
Lord Slysir with trembling hands, and then hurried away
from the terrible city.

In New Jersey Willy experienced no diminution of his
terrors. The railroads and canals had been seized for the
use of the Protector, and in his name; and the freight
transported southward consisted exclusively of military
stores, arms, and ammunition.

Willy hastened to the head-quarters of Randolph. He
was admitted into the office, where he found Summers
writing, and the President dictating. The clerk seemed
startled on beholding Willy; and a moment after, by permission,
he withdrew.

“This day, Willy,” said Randolph, “I looked for your
return. You need not tell me what you have seen and
heard. I have been apprised of everything—even to the
heroism of poor S—. But you have rendered good service
in distributing the circulars.”

“You certainly could not have heard what Major S—
whispered in my ear just before he suffered,” said Willy.

“No. But it was observed by my correspondent. Was
it a message for me?”

“It was a warning, sir—he told me to say that he doubted
the fidelity of Summers.”

“Summers! He is the most expeditious penman I ever
saw.”

“Therefore, it was supposed he might find employment
near your person. The Major died believing he had been
betrayed by Summers. Still General Ruffleton denounces
him, and likewise warns you against trusting him.”

“Indeed! Well. Deliver your letters, Willy. You
will find Lord Slysir in his chamber, not yet quite recovered.”

“Will you not inspect them, sir? General Ruffleton
never hesitates to break your seals.”

“No. I care not what they contain.”

The President resumed his labors, calling in another
Secretary, while Willy repaired to his Lordship's chamber.
As he was about to enter the door, he was met by Summers,
and his suspicions were confirmed.

“Summers,” said he, pausing, when the Secretary had
closed the door behind him, “you do not seem curious to
hear tidings from the Lord Protector.”

“The Lord protect us from such a Protector! No. If
I could only be deprived of the power of thinking of such
a monster I would be happier.”

`And do you know, Charley, that he swears vengeance
against you, if it should ever be in his power to—”

“You frighten me to death! But, Willy, he shall never
have me in his power again! I will die first!”

“I suppose, Charley, you have heard of the death of
Major S—?”

“No!” said Summers, starting back, in apparent amazement.
“I am sorry. I am sorry, because he was the President's
friend, and my friend, and a patriot. Was he guillotined?”

“He was.”

“Another victim! What punishment will be adequate
for the crimes of the tyrant! And, Willy, it may be possible
that poor S— supposed I had some agency in precipitating
his doom! But the letter he gave me for the
President was perused by nobody before it was delivered
to the one to whom it was directed.”

Willy mused in doubt. And then abruptly entered the
apartment of Lord Slysir.

“Ah! I was expecting you!” said his Lordship, eagerly
seizing the sealed packet. “This has not been opened, I
think! Has it, Willy?”

“No, sir, upon my honor. The President declined perusing
it.”

“He is a most extraordinary man! And the most important
dispatches from my government intercepted by his
agents, after perusal, nevertheless, are punctually delivered.
By St. George! it is well for me to have my residence in the
camp of the enemy. Such documents would not come into
my possession at all, if I dwelt elsewhere. Stay, Willy. How
does the General look? Does he seem in health and
spirits?”

“Yes, sir! The guillotine has made him complete
master of all the Northern people. He is Protector, and
some call him Lord Protector.”

“That is as good a name as any. But if I had been with
him, I should have protested against that Frenchified instrument.
It will not do for Anglo-Saxons. Cromwell had
nothing of the sort. But he seemed determined to prosecute
the war, did he?”

“Oh, yes, sir! And he has the largest army, so they say,
in the world. New Jersey is alive with soldiers. And I

heard a Quaker declare it would be a desert when they
left it with their trains of provisions.”

“That is likely.”

“Every horse and waggon; every ox, cow, pig; and
all the poultry, the Quaker said, had been taken. Not
even the vegetables are spared! And there is not a fence
standing between Amboy and Camden.”

“What have they done with the fences? Could they eat
them?”

“No, sir—but they burnt them—burnt them as firewood.
In the encampments they can't use coal—and there are
thousands of bakers making biscuits for the army.”

“Incidents—the mere incidents of war! Come to me
again, Willy, for your reward.”

“I desire none, sir,” said Willy, withdrawing.