University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.
FURTHER WANDERINGS OF THE REFUGEE, WITH SOME ACCOUNT
OF A GOOD KNIGHT OF BRENTFORD WHO BEFRIENDED
HIM.

AT nightfall, on the third day, Israel had arrived within
sixteen miles of the capital. Once more he sought
refuge in a barn. This time he found some hay, and
flinging himself down procured a tolerable night's rest.

Bright and early he arose refreshed, with the pleasing
prospect of reaching his destination ere noon. Encouraged
to find himself now so far from his original pursuers,
Israel relaxed in his vigilance, and about ten o'clock, while
passing through the town of Staines, suddenly encountered
three soldiers. Unfortunately in exchanging clothes with
the ditcher, he could not bring himself to include his shirt
in the traffic, which shirt was a British navy shirt, a bargeman's
shirt, and though hitherto he had crumpled the blue
collar ought of sight, yet, as it appeared in the present
instance, it was not thoroughly concealed. At any rate,
keenly on the lookout for deserters, and made acute by
hopes of reward for their apprehension, the soldiers spied

the fatal collar, and in an instant laid violent hands on
the refugee.

“Hey, lad!” said the foremost soldier, a corporal, “you
are one of his majesty's seamen! come along with ye.”

So, unable to give any satisfactory account of himself,
he was made prisoner on the spot, and soon after found
himself handcuffed and locked up in the Round House
of the place, a prison so called, appropriated to runaways,
and those convicted of minor offences. Day passed dinnerless
and supperless in this dismal durance, and night
came on.

Israel had now been three days without food, except
one twopenny loaf. The cravings of hunger now became
sharper; his spirits, hitherto arming him with fortitude,
began to forsake him. Taken captive once again upon
the very brink of reaching his goal, poor Israel was on
the eve of falling into helpless despair. But he rallied,
and considering that grief would only add to his calamity,
sought with stubborn patience to habituate himself to
misery, but still hold aloof from despondency. He
roused himself, and began to bethink him how to be extricated
from this labyrinth.

Two hours sawing across the grating of the window,
ridded him of his handcuffs. Next came the door, secured
luckily with only a hasp and padlock. Thrusting the bolt
of his handcuffs through a small window in the door, he
succeeded in forcing the hasp and regaining his liberty
about three o'clock in the morning.

Not long after sunrise, he passed nigh Brentford, some
six or seven miles from the capital. So great was his

hunger that downright starvation seemed before him. He
chewed grass, and swallowed it. Upon first escaping from
the hulk, six English pennies was all the money he had.
With two of these he had bought a small loaf the day
after fleeing the inn. The other four still remained in his
pocket, not having met with a good opportunity to dispose
of them for food.

Having torn off the collar of his shirt, and flung it into
a hedge, he ventured to accost a respectable carpenter at
a pale fence, about a mile this side of Brentford, to whom
his deplorable situation now induced him to apply for
work. The man did not wish himself to hire, but said
that if he (Israel) understood farming or gardening, he
might perhaps procure work from Sir John Millet, whose
seat, he said, was not remote. He added that the knight
was in the habit of employing many men at that season
of the year, so he stood a fair chance.

Revived a little by this prospect of relief, Israel starts
in quest of the gentleman's seat, agreeably to the direction
received. But he mistook his way, and proceeding
up a gravelled and beautifully decorated walk, was terrified
at catching a glimpse of a number of soldiers
thronging a garden. He made an instant retreat before
being espied in turn. No wild creature of the American
wilderness could have been more panic-struck by a firebrand,
than at this period hunted Israel was by a red coat.
It afterwards appeared that this garden was the Princess
Amelia's.

Taking another path, ere long he came to some laborers
shovelling gravel. These proved to be men employed by

Sir John. By them he was directed towards the house,
when the knight was pointed out to him, walking bare-headed
in the inclosure with several guests. Having heard
the rich men of England charged with all sorts of domineering
qualities, Israel felt no little misgiving in approaching
to an audience with so imposing a stranger.
But, screwing up his courage, he advanced; while seeing
him coming all rags and tatters, the group of gentlemen
stood in some wonder awaiting what so singular a phantom
might want.

“Mr. Millet,” said Israel, bowing towards the bare-headed
gentleman.

“Ha,—who are you, pray?”

“A poor fellow, sir, in want of work.”

“A wardrobe, too, I should say,” smiled one of the
guests, of a very youthful, prosperous, and dandified air.

“Where's your hoe?” said Sir John.

“I have none, sir.”

“Any money to buy one?”

“Only four English pennies, sir.”

“English pennies. What other sort would you have?”

“Why, China pennies to be sure,” laughed the youthful
gentleman. “See his long, yellow hair behind; he looks
like a Chinaman. Some broken-down Mandarin. Pity
he's no crown to his old hat; if he had, he might pass
it round, and make eight pennies of his four.”

“Will you hire me, Mr. Millet,” said Israel.

“Ha! that's queer again,” cried the knight.

“Hark ye, fellow,” said a brisk servant, approaching
from the porch, “this is Sir John Millet.”

Seeming to take pity on his seeming ignorance, as well
as on his undisputable poverty, the good knight now told
Israel that if he would come the next morning he would
see him supplied with a hoe, and moreover would hire
him.

It would be hard to express the satisfaction of the wanderer
at receiving this encouraging reply. Emboldened
by it, he now returns towards a baker's he had spied,
and bravely marching in, flings down all four pennies,
and demands bread. Thinking he would not have any
more food till next morning, Israel resolved to eat only
one of the pair of twopenny loaves. But having demolished
one, it so sharpened his longing, that yielding
to the irresistible temptation, he bolted down the second
loaf to keep the other company.

After resting under a hedge, he saw the sun far descended,
and so prepared himself for another hard night.
Waiting till dark, he crawled into an old carriage-house,
finding nothing there but a dismantled old phaeton. Into
this he climbed, and curling himself up like a carriage-dog,
endeavored to sleep; but, unable to endure the constraint
of such a bed, got out, and stretched himself on
the bare boards of the floor.

No sooner was light in the east than he hastened to
await the commands of one who, his instinct told him,
was destined to prove his benefactor. On his father's
farm accustomed to rise with the lark, Israel was surprised
to discover, as he approached the house, that no
soul was astir. It was four o'clock. For a considerable
time he walked back and forth before the portal ere any

one appeared. The first riser was a man servant of the
household, who informed Israel that seven o'clock was the
hour the people went to their work. Soon after he met
an hostler of the place, who gave him permission to lie
on some straw in an outhouse. There he enjoyed a sweet
sleep till awakened at seven o'clock by the sounds of
activity around him.

Supplied by the overseer of the men with a large iron
fork and a hoe, he followed the hands into the field. He
was so weak he could hardly support his tools. Unwilling
to expose his debility, he yet could not succeed
in concealing it. At last, to avoid worse imputations, he
confessed the cause. His companions regarded him with
compassion, and exempted him from the severer toil.

About noon the knight visited his workmen. Noticing
that Israel made little progress, he said to him, that
though he had long arms and broad shoulders, yet he
was feigning himself to be a very weak man, or otherwise
must in reality be so.

Hereupon one of the laborers standing by informed the
gentleman how it was with Israel, when immediately the
knight put a shilling into his hands and bade him go to
a little roadside inn, which was nearer than the house,
and buy him bread and a pot of beer. Thus refreshed
he returned to the band, and toiled with them till four
o'clock, when the day's work was over.

Arrived at the house he there again saw his employer,
who, after attentively eyeing him without speaking,
bade a meal be prepared for him, when the maid presenting
a smaller supply than her kind master deemed

necessary, she was ordered to return and bring out the
entire dish. But aware of the danger of sudden repletion
of heavy food to one in his condition, Israel, previously
recruited by the frugal meal at the inn, partook but
sparingly. The repast was spread on the grass, and
being over, the good knight again looking inquisitively at
Israel, ordered a comfortable bed to be laid in the barn,
and here Israel spent a capital night.

After breakfast, next morning, he was proceeding to go
with the laborers to their work, when his employer approaching
him with a benevolent air, bade him return to
his couch, and there remain till he had slept his fill, and
was in a better state to resume his labors.

Upon coming forth again a little after noon, he found
Sir John walking alone in the grounds. Upon discovering
him, Israel would have retreated, fearing that he might
intrude; but beckoning him to advance, the knight, as
Israel drew nigh, fixed on him such a penetrating glance,
that our poor hero quaked to the core. Neither was his
dread of detection relieved by the knight's now calling
in a loud voice for one from the house. Israel was just
on the point of fleeing, when overhearing the words of
the master to the servant who now appeared, all dread
departed:

“Bring hither some wine!”

It presently came; by order of the knight the salver
was set down on a green bank near by, and the servant
retired.

“My poor fellow,” said Sir John, now pouring out a
glass of wine, and handing it to Israel, “I perceive that

you are an American; and, if I am not mistaken, you are
an escaped prisoner of war. But no fear—drink the
wine.”

“Mr. Millet,” exclaimed Israel aghast, the untasted wine
trembling in his hand, “Mr. Millet, I —”

“Mr. Millet—there it is again. Why don't you say
Sir John like the rest?”

“Why, sir—pardon me—but somehow, I can't. I've
tried; but I can't. You won't betray me for that?”

“Betray—poor fellow! Hark ye, your history is
doubtless a secret which you would not wish to divulge
to a stranger; but whatever happens to you, I pledge
you my honor I will never betray you.”

“God bless you for that, Mr. Millet.”

“Come, come; call me by my right name. I am not
Mr. Millet. You have said Sir to me; and no doubt
you have a thousand times said John to other people.
Now can't you couple the two? Try once. Come. Only
Sir and then John—Sir John—that's all.

“John—I can't—Sir, sir!—your pardon. I didn't mean
that.”

“My good fellow,” said the knight looking sharply upon
Israel, “tell me, are all your countrymen like you? If
so, it's no use fighting them. To that effect, I must write
to his Majesty myself. Well, I excuse you from Sir
Johnning me. But tell me the truth, are you not a seafaring
man, and lately a prisoner of war?”

Israel frankly confessed it, and told his whole story.
The knight listened with much interest; and at its conclusion,
warned Israel to beware of the soldiers; for owing

to the seats of some of the royal family being in the neighborhood,
the red-coats abounded hereabout.

“I do not wish unnecessarily to speak against my own
countrymen,” he added, “I but plainly speak for your good.
The soldiers you meet prowling on the roads, are not fair
specimens of the army. They are a set of mean, dastardly
banditti, who, to obtain their fee, would betray their best
friends. Once more, I warn you against them. But
enough; follow me now to the house, and as you tell me
you have exchanged clothes before now, you can do it
again. What say you? I will give you coat and
breeches for your rags.”

Thus generously supplied with clothes and other comforts
by the good knight, and implicitly relying upon the
honor of so kind-hearted a man, Israel cheered up, and in
the course of two or three weeks had so fattened his flanks,
that he was able completely to fill Sir John's old buckskin
breeches, which at first had hung but loosely about him.

He was assigned to an occupation which removed him
from the other workmen. The strawberry bed was put
under his sole charge. And often, of mild, sunny afternoons,
the knight, genial and gentle with dinner, would
stroll bareheaded to the pleasant strawberry bed, and
have nice little confidential chats with Israel; while Israel,
charmed by the patriarchal demeanor of this true Abrahamic
gentleman, with a smile on his lip, and tears of
gratitude in his eyes, offered him, from time to time, the
plumpest berries of the bed.

When the strawberry season was over, other parts of
the grounds were assigned him. And so six months

elapsed, when, at the recommendation of Sir John, Israel
procured a good berth in the garden of the Princess
Amelia.

So completely now had recent events metamorphosed
him in all outward things, that few suspected him of being
any other than an Englishman. Not even the knight's
domestics. But in the princess's garden, being obliged
to work in company with many other laborers, the war
was often a topic of discussion among them. And “the
d—d Yankee rebels” were not seldom the object of scurrilous
remark. Illy could the exile brook in silence such
insults upon the country for which he had bled, and for
whose honored sake he was that very instant a sufferer.
More than once, his indignation came very nigh getting
the better of his prudence. He longed for the war to
end, that he might but speak a little bit of his mind.

Now the superintendent of the garden was a harsh,
overbearing man. The workmen with tame servility endured
his worst affronts. But Israel, bred among mountains,
found it impossible to restrain himself when made the undeserved
object of pitiless epithets. Ere two months
went by, he quitted the service of the princess, and engaged
himself to a farmer in a small village not far from Brentford.
But hardly had he been here three weeks, when a
rumor again got afloat, that he was a Yankee prisoner of
war. Whence this report arose he could never discover.
No sooner did it reach the ears of the soldiers, than they
were on the alert. Luckily, Israel was apprised of their
intentions in time. But he was hard pushed. He was
hunted after with a perseverance worthy a less ignoble

cause. He had many hairbreadth escapes. Most assuredly
he would have been captured, had it not been for the secret
good offices of a few individuals, who, perhaps, were not
unfriendly to the American side of the question, though
they durst not avow it.

Tracked one night by the soldiers to the house of one
of these friends, in whose garret he was concealed, he was
obliged to force the skuttle, and running along the roof,
passed to those of adjoining houses to the number of ten
or twelve, finally succeeding in making his escape.