University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.
ISRAEL MAKES THE ACQUAINTANCE OF CERTAIN SECRET FRIENDS
OF AMERICA, ONE OF THEM BEING THE FAMOUS AUTHOR OF
THE “DIVERSIONS OF PURLEY.” THESE DESPATCH HIM ON
A SLY ERRAND ACROSS THE CHANNEL.

AT this period, though made the victims indeed of British
oppression, yet the colonies were not totally without
friends in Britain. It was but natural that when Parliament
itself held patriotic and gifted men, who not only
recommended conciliatory measures, but likewise denounced
the war as monstrous; it was but natural that throughout
the nation at large there should be many private individuals
cherishing similar sentiments, and some who made no
scruple clandestinely to act upon them.

Late one night while hiding in a farmer's granary, Israel
saw a man with a lantern approaching. He was about
to flee, when the man hailed him in a well-known voice,
bidding him have no fear. It was the farmer himself. He
carried a message to Israel from a gentleman of Brentford,
to the effect, that the refugee was earnestly requested to
repair on the following evening to that gentleman's mansion.

At first, Israel was disposed to surmise that either the
farmer was playing him false, or else his honest credulity
had been imposed upon by evil-minded persons. At any
rate, he regarded the message as a decoy, and for half an
hour refused to credit its sincerity. But at length he was
induced to think a little better of it. The gentleman
giving the invitation was one Squire Woodcock, of Brentford,
whose loyalty to the king had been under suspicion;
so at least the farmer averred. This latter information
was not without its effect.

At nightfall on the following day, being disguised in
strange clothes by the farmer, Israel stole from his retreat,
and after a few hours' walk, arrived before the
ancient brick house of the Squire; who opening the door
in person, and learning who it was that stood there, at once
assured Israel in the most solemn manner, that no foul
play was intended. So the wanderer suffered himself to
enter, and he conducted to a private chamber in the rear
of the mansion, where were seated two other gentlemen,
attired, in the manner of that age, in long laced coats, with
smallclothes, and shoes with silver buckles.

“I am John Woodcock,” said the host, “and these
gentlemen are Horne Tooke and James Bridges. All
three of us are friends to America. We have heard of
you for some weeks past, and inferring from your conduct,
that you must be a Yankee of the true blue stamp, we
have resolved to employ you in a way which you cannot
but gladly approve; for surely, though an exile, you are
still willing to serve your country; if not as a sailor or
soldier, yet as a traveller?”

“Tell me how I may do it?” demanded Israel, not
completely at ease.

“At that in good time,” smiled the Squire. “The
point is now—do you repose confidence in my statements?”

Israel glanced inquiringly upon the Squire; then upon
his companions; and meeting the expressive, enthusiastic,
candid countenance of Horne Tooke—then in the first
honest ardor of his political career—turned to the Squire,
and said, “Sir, I believe what you have said. Tell me
now what I am to do.”

“Oh, there is just nothing to be done to-night,” said
the Squire; “nor for some days to come perhaps, but
we wanted to have you prepared.”

And hereupon he hinted to his guest rather vaguely of
his general intention; and that over, begged him to entertain
them with some account of his adventures since he
first took up arms for his country. To this Israel had
no objections in the world, since all men love to tell the
tale of hardships endured in a righteous cause. But ere
beginning his story, the Squire refreshed him with some
cold beef, laid in a snowy napkin, and a glass of Perry,
and thrice during the narration of the adventures, pressed
him with additional draughts.

But after his second glass, Israel declined to drink more,
mild as the beverage was. For he noticed, that not only
did the three gentlemen listen with the utmost interest
to his story, but likewise interrupted him with questions
and cross-questions in the most pertinacious manner. So
this led him to be on his guard, not being absolutely

certain yet, as to who they might really be, or what was
their real design. But as it turned out, Squire Woodcock
and his friends only sought to satisfy themselves thoroughly,
before making their final disclosures, that the exile was
one in whom implicit confidence might be placed.

And to this desirable conclusion they eventually came,
for upon the ending of Israel's story, after expressing
their sympathies for his hardships, and applauding his
generous patriotism in so patiently enduring adversity,
as well as singing the praises of his gallant fellow-soldiers
of Bunker Hill, they openly revealed their scheme.
They wished to know whether Israel would undertake a
trip to Paris, to carry an important message—shortly to
be received for transmission through them—to Doctor
Franklin, then in that capital.

“All your expenses shall be paid, not to speak of a
compensation besides,” said the Squire; “will you go?”

“I must think of it,” said Israel, not yet wholly confirmed
in his mind. But once more he cast his glance
on Horne Tooke, and his irresolution was gone.

The Squire now informed Israel that, to avoid suspicions,
it would be necessary for him to remove to
another place until the hour at which he should start for
Paris. They enjoined upon him the profoundest secresy,
gave him a guinea, with a letter for a gentleman in White
Waltham, a town some miles from Brentford, which point
they begged him to reach as soon as possible, there to
tarry for further instructions.

Having informed him of thus much, Squire Woodcock
asked him to hold out his right foot.

“What for?” said Israel.

“Why, would you not like to have a pair of new boots
against your return?” smiled Horne Tooke.

“Oh, yes; no objection at all,” said Israel.

“Well, then, let the bootmaker measure you,” smiled
Horne Tooke.

“Do you do it, Mr. Tooke,” said the Squire; “you
measure men's parts better than I.”

“Hold out your foot, my good friend,” said Horne
Tooke—“there—now let's measure your heart.”

“For that, measure me round the chest,” said
Israel.

“Just the man we want,” said Mr. Bridges, triumphantly.

“Give him another glass of wine, Squire,” said Horne
Tooke.

Exchanging the farmer's clothes for still another disguise,
Israel now set out immediately, on foot, for his destination,
having received minute directions as to his road,
and arriving in White Waltham on the following morning
was very cordially received by the gentleman to whom
he carried the letter. This person, another of the active
English friends of America, possessed a particular knowledge
of late events in that land. To him Israel was
indebted for much entertaining information. After remaining
some ten days at this place, word came from
Squire Woodcock, requiring Israel's immediate return,
stating the hour at which he must arrive at the house,
namely, two o'clock on the following morning. So, after
another night's solitary trudge across the country, the

wanderer was welcomed by the same three gentlemen as
before, seated in the same room.

“The time has now come,” said Squire Woodcock.
“You must start this morning for Paris. Take off
your shoes.”

“Am I to steal from here to Paris on my stocking-feet?”
said Israel, whose late easy good living at White
Waltham had not failed to bring out the good-natured
and mirthful part of him, even as his prior experiences
had produced, for the most part, something like a contrary
result.

“Oh, no,” smiled Horne Tooke, who always lived well,
“we have seven-league-boots for you. Don't you remember
my measuring you?”

Hereupon going to the closet, the Squire brought out
a pair of new boots. They were fitted with false heels.
Unscrewing these, the Squire showed Israel the papers
concealed beneath. They were of a fine tissuey fibre, and
contained much writing in a very small compass. The
boots, it need hardly be said, had been particularly made
for the occasion.

“Walk across the room with them,” said the Squire,
when Israel had pulled them on.

“He'll surely be discovered,” smiled Horne Tooke.
“Hark how he creaks.”

“Come, come, it's too serious a matter for joking,”
said the Squire. “Now, my fine fellow, be cautious, be
sober, be vigilant, and above all things be speedy.”

Being furnished now with all requisite directions, and
a supply of money, Israel, taking leave of Mr. Tooke and

Mr. Bridges, was secretly conducted down stairs by the
Squire, and in five minutes' time was on his way to
Charing Cross in London, where taking the post-coach for
Dover, he thence went in a packet to Calais, and in fifteen
minutes after landing, was being wheeled over French soil
towards Paris. He arrived there in safety, and freely
declaring himself an American, the peculiarly friendly relations
of the two nations at that period, procured him
kindly attentions even from strangers.