AN UNWELCOME RECOGNITION.
Young Vale was a man of strong will. Sorrow and rage at his sister’s
disappearance did not blind his reason. Knowing that he must take
care of his own safety, if he would do aught for her’s, all his
actions were governed with the utmost prudence.
As there were numerous tories, well acquainted with him, residing in
the city, he did not deem it prudent to venture in without a disguise
sufficiently impenetrable to deceive all prying eyes. The disguise
was effected in a satisfactory manner: his own mother would have
looked twice before she recognized in the clodhopper, wending his way
along the road, her own good-looking son.
It was sundown when the queer-looking figure of the patriot might
have been seen wending its way along a rather deserted-looking
street, looking to the right and left in a staring, half-silly sort
of manner, so natural to those who, totally uneducated either in
heart or mind, look upon some strange scene for the first time.
Three or four soldiers, in red uniforms, came staggering down the
street, evidently just from a visit to a tippling-house. These the
youth carefully avoided by giving them the sidewalk and himself
taking the street. A loud laugh was raised as they passed, for there
was something truly ludicrous about the countryman; and he joined
in the laugh as though not perceiving it was against himself. After
having passed the soldiers, the sidewalk was regained and the lonely
march continued.
A stop was finally made before a small building which our readers
will hardly be surprised to learn was inhabited by the family
of Simon Hunt, the blacksmith, who had, on two occasions, sent
to Ernshaw and his men most important intelligence. It being so
near dark, the blacksmith himself was at home, and answered the
knock which came thundering against his door. The person whom he
perceived to be standing on the steps was perfectly unknown to him;
nevertheless he bid him enter.
When the two entered the room, Simon turned, and, by the light of a
candle, surveyed the other with a long and scrutinizing look. The
countenance somehow seemed familiar, but it was only after hearing
him speak that the worthy smith was able to say, “Your name is Vale,
is it not?”
“Right, sir--my name is Vale; and yours, I believe, is Simon Hunt?”
“It is.”
“Then allow me, before proceeding any further, to thank you for the
services you have done to Ernshaw and his men, as well as to the holy
cause of liberty.”
“Never mind about them; I have done nothing which I wouldn’t wish
to do again; and you had better thank another one whose name I can
not tell you, but who was the person that furnished me with all the
information that I have had.”
“Well, Mr. Hunt, to whoever the thanks are due, to him or them, let
them be earnestly given. It was not for this I came here, disguised
in this dress; and, though any assistance which you can render me
will be but small, still, little as it may be, I shall feel thankful
for it.”
“I am with you,” said Hunt, decisively.
Vale told the story of the outrage briefly. It stirred the soul of
the blacksmith deeply, and his lips were not slow in uttering his
sentiments. He asked to share John’s search, and to be permitted the
privilege of avenging her wrongs. The only service which was now
required was to endeavor to find some traces of Catherine; and, in
case any thing went wrong with Vale, to send immediate intelligence
of it to Nat Ernshaw.
“Now that we understand each other,” finally interposed Hunt, “I
suppose that you will stop at my house, for the present, at least.”
“Under other circumstances, I would be happy to do so,” responded
Vale; “but, at present, it would not be prudent. If any thing evil
should chance to befall me, you might be placed in a bad predicament.”
“Pooh! never mind that. If any one should inquire about you, why, we
will call you my wife’s cousin; and I defy any one to recognize you
under _that_ disguise.”
“There is another reason why I should not accept your hospitality,
and that is this: I have already engaged lodging at a rather
obscure-looking inn, and, having paid a week in advance, for the
landlord did not seem inclined to trust me with lodging before seeing
the color of my money. If I should not make my reappearance, it might
excite suspicion and cause inquiry to be made. Of course, that is the
last thing I would have to happen.”
“Perhaps it will be better; but remember that you are welcome to
count on me for _any_ assistance, or to use my house as your home
during your stay in the city. We are fellow-workers for freedom and
the right, and that gives you a full claim to my sympathy.”
“You will, doubtless, soon see me; meanwhile be on the alert to catch
any loose information which may be within reach. If, at any time,
you wish to communicate with me, you will find me at the ‘Traveler’s
Home,’ kept by Jim Fagan.”
These were John Vale’s last words; and half an hour later found him
sitting in the front room at Fagan’s.
Notwithstanding the smallness of his hotel, Fagan seemed to do a
good business, and it kept the red-headed boy at the bar busily
engaged to satisfy the wants of the numerous applicants for his
villainous beverages. Vale, still in disguise, sat in a corner, never
speaking, but carefully noting all that was said or done around him.
Some of those who were sitting by cast a glance of inquiry at the
queer-looking figure, but they evidently had no suspicion of his real
character, only wondering what brought him into Fagan’s place. The
“Traveler’s Home” was a quiet enough house in the daytime, and even
at night a stranger was in no danger of being insulted or maltreated
within its precincts; but the men who frequented it after nightfall
were of rather doubtful, if not of desperate character, and it was
not without the repute of being no better than a gambling-den. Vale
knew nothing of the character of the place when he first secured
lodgings there.
He was destined to learn much of the place and its “patrons” before
he again entered the confines of Cedar Swamp.
The crowd kept growing larger and larger, until the space in front
of the bar was quite filled with men, young and old--all drinking,
talking, and smoking. Fagan stood at one end of the bar, occasionally
assisting his red-haired and masculine Hebe, but keeping a watchful
eye in his head to see that his property was neither injured nor
improperly confiscated. As he had, several times, subjected Vale to
a close scrutiny, the rebel had thought it best to endeavor to allay
any lurking suspicion which the tavern-keeper might have, and so he
staggered up to the bar and called for a glass of beer.
This being finished, the young man lit a pipe and vigorously puffed
away at it. Whatever Fagan might have thought before, after seeing
this performance of Vale’s, all suspicion was allayed, and his grim
countenance relaxed with a smile.
Hardly had Vale taken his seat, when, from among the crowd, a
man elbowed his way to the bar where Jim stood. Leaning over, he
addressed the landlord in a tone too low for John to hear the
question, but the answer, incautiously given in a rather loud tone,
sent a thrill to the heart of the honest patriot.
“You know, Harry,” said Fagan, “that Turner has hired the place for a
couple of weeks, and I guess it would be better to let any thing of
the kind alone for the present.”
“All right!” responded Harry. “Some of the boys were speaking about
it, and I gave ’em the same answer you gave me, without mentioning
Turner’s name; but, to make the thing sure, I thought I’d speak with
you about the matter.”
“There’s no harm done by your speaking; but, if it’s necessary, we
can enter by the garden-way without troubling the other part of the
house. Have you heard from Bob yet, about how he’s getting along?”
“Nary word.”
After this laconic answer, “Harry” disappeared in the crowd, leaving
Jim to attend to his customers. John Vale was strongly excited by
what he had just overheard. That Captain Preston had used Turner as
an instrument with which to abduct Catherine, was not doubted--the
conversation between Fagan and “Harry” had set him on the trail; and
the point now was to find out of what house they had been speaking.
He did not anticipate much difficulty in doing that; and when once he
lit upon the spot, Vale thought it would go hard with him if he could
not, by hook or crook, manage to discover if Catherine was there
hidden, and to rescue her from the clutches of the ruffians who had
abducted her.
The hours passed slowly, until it came to ten o’clock. John was
earnestly considering about the best means of leaving his corner,
crossing the room, and making his exit from the opposite door without
running against any one who might chance to take advantage of his
seeming simplicity to annoy him. Though in a good humor, the crowd
seemed to be well primed with liquor, and it would take but little
to involve the whole roomful in a general row. After half rising to
his feet, he sank back again into his seat. Words of altercation
attracted his attention. A big, rough-looking man was saying
something in an angry tone to some one concealed from the eyes of
Vale by the crowd. Curiosity impelled the young man to take his stand
upon a bench in order that he might get a glimpse of the man who
was being berated. What was his surprise to recognize the cat-like
countenance of Timothy Turner. That worthy did not seem in the least
troubled by the invectives hurled against him, but waited quietly
until the large man had concluded. Then raising his hand and making a
peculiar sign with his forefinger, he remarked:
“Keep cool, Bob Wynstay. If I shoved against your sore arm, you ought
to be thankful I don’t tell how it got hurt.”
The sign which the tory made seemed to have a remarkably sedative
effect upon the big man, and he only answered:
“What the---- do you run against a fellow that way for? Aren’t it bad
enough to have a broken arm, without having it punched by every one
that chooses to elbow me about?”
“A man with a broken arm ought to keep out of a crowd, and then he
wouldn’t get it hurt,” responded Turner.
The crowd made way for him--he seemed to be well known to those
around him--and Turner passed on, casting a quick glance around
him. For an instant his eye rested on John Vale’s face, and the
gaze, quick and keen, filled the heart of the disguised patriot with
apprehension. Whether or not he was recognized, Vale could scarce
tell; but he felt that it would be well to make his exit as soon as
possible. Turner, though a traitor, and, at heart, a coward, was a
man of great caution and was possessed of extraordinary perception.
Knowing the hatred the fellow felt for him, John could but think that
his destruction would be certain, surrounded as he was by enemies, if
the tory should recognize him.
Fagan and the new-comer had a few words of conversation, and the
landlord left the room, but almost immediately returned, followed by
Tom Blanchard and several soldiers who had been playing cards in a
back room. Pointing at Vale, Turner said, in a loud voice: “Secure
your man! I accuse him of being a rebel, and of entering this place
as a spy.”
The three soldiers made a rush forward. Vale drew a brace of pistols.
“He is a dead man who attempts to lay hands on me!”
“Take him, I say!” shouted Tim.
“Dastard! I defy _you_!” now shouted John, who rose to his utmost
height and looked as if one word more would precipitate him upon the
treacherous scoundrel.
“Yes! because I am unarmed, I suppose,” the tory whispered.
“A coward and traitor always seeks for some excuse for his baseness!”
said Vale.
“He is a spy, for he calls me traitor. Soldiers, you are armed--will
you take him, or shall he be allowed to escape? I have reason to fear
he is not alone on these premises. Off to the guard-house with him,
quick!” said Tim, white with rage and fear.
Two soldiers stepped forward to seize him. Two pistols flashed in
their faces, and the men fell back, wounded and stunned.
In an instant a half-dozen men were on the patriot, and, bearing him
to the floor, secured him after a struggle which proved how great was
the strength and will of the young boy.
In the _melee_, Turner escaped; and when John arose to his feet, with
his arms bound behind him, his eyes sought in vain for the traitor.
“Your friend ’as concluded to ’elp hus,” remarked Blanchard, rather
humorously inclined, “by making tracks for the lines. The ’ole
garrison will soon be here; so come along young chap, hand we’ll
show you the hinterior of has good a bake-hoven as you hever grinned
hover.”
And amid the laughs and jeers of the crowd, John was forced away to
the guard cells.