guard, to a house near at hand, and locked her in one of the rooms. The
moment she was alone, she took from her pocket a pair of scissors, and
hurriedly ripping open a part of her dress, took therefrom a small
piece of paper, folded and sealed. This was the despatch she was
bearing to General Sumter. To crumple it in her hand and throw it from
the window was her first impulse; but her ear caught the sound of a
sentinel's tread, and that idea was abandoned. Hurriedly glancing
around in the dim twilight, she sought in vain for some mode of hiding
the despatch, which, if found upon her, betrayed every thing. That her
person would be searched, she had good reason to believe; and, in all
probability, every part of the room would be searched also. To hesitate
long would be to make discovery sure. Every moment she expected some
one to enter. While she stood irresolute, a thought glanced through her
mind, and acting upon it instantly, she tore off a part of the
despatch, and thrusting it into her mouth, chewed and swallowed it.
Another and another piece disappeared in the same way; but, ere the
whole was destroyed, the door opened, and a woman entered. Turning her
back quickly, Emily crowded all that remained of the paper in her
mouth, and covering her face tightly with her hands, held them there,
as if weeping, until the last particle of the tell-tale despatch had
disappeared. Then turning to the woman who had addressed her
repeatedly, she said in a calm voice--
"By what authority am I detained and shut up a prisoner in this room?"
"By the authority of Lord Rawdon," replied the woman in a severe tone.
"He might find work more befitting the position of his noble lordship,
I should think," returned Emily, with ill-concealed contempt, "than
making prisoners of young girls, who, while travelling the highway,
happen to be so unfortunate as to fall in with his scouts."
"You'd better keep your saucy tongue still, or it may get its owner
into a worse trouble," replied the woman promptly. "You are suspected
of being the bearer of a message from the rebel General Greene, and my
business is to find the despatch, if any exist upon your person."
"You must think the general poorly off for men," replied Emily.
"No matter what we think, Miss Pert. You are suspected, as I said; and,
I should infer from your manner, not without good cause. Are you
willing that I should search your person for evidence to confirm our
suspicion?"
"Certainly; though I should be better pleased to see one of my sex
engaged in a more honourable employment."
"Be silent," exclaimed the woman angrily, as she stamped her foot upon
the floor. She then commenced searching the young girl's person, during
which operation Emily could not resist the temptation she felt to let a
cutting word fall now and then from her ready tongue; which was hardly
prudent for one in her situation.
The search, of course, elicited nothing that could fix upon her the
suspicion of being a messenger from the rebel army.
"Are you satisfied?" inquired Emily, as she re-arranged her dress after
the ordeal had been passed. She spoke with the contempt she felt. The
woman made no reply; but went out in silence, taking with her the light
she had brought into the room, and leaving Emily alone and in darkness.
For nearly half an hour, the latter sat awaiting her return; but during
that period no one approached her room, nor was there any movement
about the house that she could interpret as having a reference to
herself. At last the heavy tread of a man was heard ascending the
stairs; a key was applied to the door of her room, and a soldier
appeared. Just behind him stood a female with a light in her hand.
"Lord Rawdon wishes to see you," said the soldier.
Emily followed him in silence. In a large room below, seated at the
table with several officers, was Lord Rawdon. Emily was brought before
him. After asking her a variety of questions, all of which the wary
girl managed to answer so as not to violate the truth, and yet allay
suspicion, he said to her--"As the night has fallen, you will not, of
course, thinking of proceeding on your journey?"
Emily reflected for some time before answering. She then said--
"If your lordship do not object, I would like to go back a short
distance. I have friends living on the road, not far from your camp."
"How far?" inquired Lord Rawdon.
"About six miles from here."
"Very well, you shall go back; and I will send an escort for your
protection."
Emily had made up her mind to return a few miles on the way she had
come, and then, taking a wide sweep around the camp, protected from
observation by the darkness, resume her journey, and endeavour to reach
the place where she expected to find General Sumter by the middle of
the next day. She had gained fresh courage with every new difficulty
that presented itself, and now she resolved to accomplish her errand at
all hazard. What she most dreaded was the pursuit of the man Mink, from
whom she had escaped, and who, she doubted not, was now at no great
distance from the camp. To decline the escort, she felt, might renew
suspicion, while it would not prevent Lord Rawdon from sending men to
accompany her. So she thanked him for the offer, and asked to be
permitted to go without further delay. This was granted, and in an hour
afterward Emily found herself safely in the house of a friend of her
father and the good cause of the country. She had passed this house
late in the afternoon, but was so eager to go forward and gain a
certain point in her journey that night, that she did not stop.
Fortunately, her escort had left her before she met any of the family,
or the surprise expressed on her appearance might have created some new
doubts in the mind of the sergeant that accompanied the guard.
About half an hour after her arrival, and while she was urging the
necessity of departing immediately and endeavouring to pass the British
army, a member of the family came home, and stated that he had a few
moments before passed Mink on the road, riding at full speed toward
Rawdon's encampment.
"Then I must go instantly!" said the courageous maiden, starting to her
feet. "If I remain here, all hope of reaching General Sumter with
General Greene's message is at an end; for in less than an hour an
order will come back for my re-arrest, and I will be detained in the
British camp. Let me go, and I will trust to Heaven and my good cause
for safety."
To retain the brave girl, under all the circumstances, was to incur too
great a responsibility. After a hurried consultation, it was decided to
let her proceed under cover of the darkness, but not alone. A fresh
horse was provided, and soon after the news that Mink the tory had
passed on toward the camp of Lord Rawdon was received, Emily,
accompanied by a trusty guide and protector, was galloping swiftly in a
direction opposite to that in which lay the British camp. A few miles
brought her to a road that struck off toward the point on the Wateree
which she was desirous to reach, in a more southerly direction, and
which would take her at a wide angle from the point she most wished to
avoid. Of this road she had not herself known; but her guide, being
familiar with the country, was able to conduct her by the shorter and
safer route.
All night the girl and her companion rode on, at a pace as rapid as the
nature of the road and the darkness rendered safe, and at daylight they
were far away from the neighbourhood of the enemy's camp. As the sun
came up from the east, the guide of Emily, according to instructions,
after minutely describing to her the course she was to take, left her
to pursue the remainder of her journey alone. Without stopping to
refresh either herself or her tired horse, the young heroine pressed
forward, though the heat grew more and more intense every hour, as the
sun swept up toward the zenith. Faint, weary, and almost sick with
fatigue, hunger, and excitement, she was urging on the jaded animal she
rode, when, about three o'clock in the afternoon, in emerging from a
dense wood, she came suddenly on a file of soldiers whose uniform she
knew too well to leave a doubt of their being friends.
"Where will I find General Sumter?" was her first, eager inquiry.
"He is encamped a mile from here."
"Take me to him quickly," she said. "I have a message from General
Greene!"
The excitement by which Emily had been sustained in her long and
perilous journey now subsided, and ere she reached the presence of the
American general, she was so weak that she had to be supported on the
horse she rode. When brought into the presence of Sumter, she rallied,
and, sustained by a newly-awakening enthusiasm, delivered her verbal
message to the astonished officer, who, acting in accordance with the
intelligence received, was on the march within an hour, to reach the
point of junction with General Greene, which that commander had
indicated in his despatch.
Two weeks elapsed before Emily got safely back to her father, who was
informed an hour or two after her departure of what she had done. Of
his anxiety during her absence we need not speak; nor of the love and
pride that almost stifled him as he clasped her to his heart on her
return.
Of the subsequent history of Emily Geiger we know little or nothing.
She was married to a South Carolina planter, some years after the
British troops were expelled from the country she loved with so heroic
an affection, and more than a quarter of a century has elapsed since
she went down in peace to the grave. Doubtless, her memory is green in
the hearts of her descendants, if any survive; and green will it be,
for ages, we trust, in the hearts of all who know what it is to feel
the emotions of genuine patriotism.
THE APRIL FOOL.
Nothing is so much enjoyed, by some men, as a practical joke; and the
greater the annoyance they can occasion, the greater their delight. Of
this class was Mr. Thomas Bunting, who resided in a village a few miles
out of New York. Bunting kept a store for the sale of almost every
article known in domestic and agricultural life, from a number ten
needle up to a hoe-handle; and from a mintstick up to a bag of coffee.
Consequently, he was pretty well acquainted with all the town'speople,
who were, likewise, pretty well acquainted with him.
As Bunting was constantly playing off his pranks upon one and another,
he only kept himself free from enemies by his good temper and ability
to soothe the parties he sometimes irritated beyond the point of
endurance.
The First of April was never permitted to come and go without being
well improved by the joke-loving Thomas. If a customer sent for a pint
of brandy on that day, he would be very apt to get four gills of
vinegar; or, if for a pound of sugar, half a pound of New Orleans mixed
with an equal weight of silver sand. That was a smart child who could
come into his store on the occasion, and leave it without being the
victim of some trick. So, from morning till night of the First day of
April, the face of Mr. Thomas Bunting was one broad grin. Full of
invention as to the ways and means of playing off tricks upon others,
our merry friend was wide awake to any attempt at retaliation; and it
generally happened that most of those who sought to catch him, got the
laugh turned upon themselves.
Two years ago, as the First of April approached, Bunting began to think
of the sport awaiting him, and to cast his eyes over the town to see
who was the most fitting subject for a good jest.
"I must make a fool of somebody," said he to himself; "a first-rate
fool. I am tired of mere child's play in this business. Who shall it
be? There's Doctor Grimes. Suppose I send him to see the young widow
Gray? He'd like to make her a visit exceedingly, I know. But the widow
knows me of old, and will be sure to suspect my agency. I guess that
won't do. Grimes is a good subject; and I've got a sort of spite
against him. I must use him, somehow. The widow Gray would be
first-rate; but I'm a little afraid to bring her in. The doctor's as
poor as Job's turkey, and would be off to visit her on the run. Let me
see? What shall I do? I've got it! I'll send him to York on a fool's
errand!"
And Bunting snapped his finger and thumb in childish delight.
Doctor Grimes, to whom our joker referred, had been in the village only
about a year, and, in that time, had succeeded in making but a small
practice. Not that he was wanting in ability; but he lacked address. In
person, he was rather awkward; and, in manners, far from prepossessing.
Moreover, he was poor, and not able, in consequence, to make a very
good appearance.
We would not like to say that, in selecting Doctor Grimes as the
subject of his best joke for the First of April, Bunting acted on the
principle of a certain worthy, who said of another--
"Kick him; he has no friends!"
But we rather incline to the opinion that some such feeling was in the
heart of the joker.
The First of April came. Doctor Grimes, after eating his breakfast, sat
down in his office to await expected morning calls for consultation, or
to request his attendance on some suffering invalid. But no such calls
were made. The doctor sighed, under the pressure of disappointment, as
he glanced at the timepiece on the mantel, the hands of which pointed
to the figure ten.
"A poor prospect here," he murmured despondingly. "Ah, if there were
none in the world to care for but myself, I would be content on bread
and water while making my way into the confidence of the people. But
others are suffering while I wait for practice. What hinders my
progress? I understand my profession. In not a single instance yet have
I failed to give relief, when called to the bed of sickness. Ah me! I
feel wretched."
Just then, the letter-carrier of the village came in and handed him two
letters. The first one he opened was from a dearly loved, widowed
sister, who wrote to know if he could possibly help her in her poverty
and distress.
"I would not trouble you, my dear, kind brother," she wrote, "knowing
as I do how poor your own prospects are, and how patiently you are
trying to wait for practice, did not want press on me and my babes so
closely. If you can spare me a little--ever so little--brother, it will
come as a blessing; for my extremity is great. Forgive me for thus
troubling you. Necessity often prompts to acts, from the thought of
which, in brighter moments, we turn with a feeling of pain."
For many minutes after reading this letter, Doctor Grimes sat with his
eyes upon the floor.
"My poor Mary!" he said at length, "how much you have suffered; and yet
more drops of bitterness are given to your cup! Oh that it was in my
power to relieve you! But my hands are stricken down with paralysis.
What can I do? Thus far, I have gone in debt instead of clearing my
expenses."
He took out his pocket-book and searched it over.
"Nothing--nothing," he murmured as he refolded it. "Ah, what curse is
there like the curse of poverty?"
He then referred to the other letter, the receipt of which he had
almost forgotten. Breaking the seal, he read, with surprise, its
contents, which were as follows:--
"To DOCTOR GRIMES.--Dear Sir: Please call, as early as possible,
at Messrs. L---- & P----'s, No. -- Wall Street, New York; where
you will hear of something to your advantage."
"What can this mean?" exclaimed the doctor, as he hurriedly perused the
letter again. "Can it be possible that a relative of my father, in
England, has died, and left us property? Yes; it must be so. Several
members of his family there are in good circumstances. Oh, if it should
be thus, how timely has relief come! For your sake, my dear sister,
more than for my own, will I be thankful! But how am I to go to New
York? I have not a dollar in my pocket, and will receive nothing for a
week or two."
The only resource was in borrowing; and to this the doctor resorted
with considerable reluctance. From a gentleman who had always shown an
interest in him, he obtained five dollars. Within an hour after the
receipt of the letter, he was on his way to the city. The more he
pondered the matter, the more likely did it seem to him that his first
conclusion was the true one. There was an uncle of his father's, a
miser, reputed to be very rich, from whom, some years before, the
family had received letters; and it seemed not at all improbable that
his death had occurred, and that he and his sister had been remembered
in the will. This idea so fully possessed his mind by the time he
arrived in the city, that he was already beginning to make, in
imagination, sundry dispositions of the property soon to come into his
hands.
"Can I see one of the gentlemen belonging to the firm?" asked the
doctor, on entering the store of Messrs. L---- & P----.
"Here is Mr. L----," said the individual he had addressed, referring
him to a middle-aged, thoughtful-looking man, with something
prepossessing in his face.
The doctor bowed to Mr. L----, and then said--
"My name is Dr. Grimes."
Mr. L---- bowed in return, remarking, as he did so--
"Will you walk in?"
The doctor was rather disappointed at the manner of his reception, and
experienced a slight depression of spirits as he followed the merchant
back into one of the counting-rooms attached to the store.
"Will you take a chair, sir?" said the merchant.
Both the gentlemen sat down. About L---- there was an air of
expectancy, which the doctor did not fail to remark.
"My name is Doctor Grimes," said he, repeating his first introduction.
"I am happy to see you, doctor," returned L----, bowing again.
"I received a letter from your house, this morning," said the victim,
for such he really was, "desiring me to call, as you had some
communication to make that would be to my advantage."
"There's some mistake," replied the merchant. "No letter of the kind
has emanated from us."
"Are you certain?" asked the disappointed man, in a voice greatly
changed; and he drew forth the letter he had received.
L---- looked at the communication, and shook his head.
"There is no truth in this, sir. I regret to say that you have, most
probably, been made the victim of an idle and reprehensible jest.
To-day, you are aware, is the First of April."
"Can it be possible!" exclaimed the doctor, clasping his hands
together, while his face became pale and overcast with disappointment.
"Who could have been so unkind, so cruel!"
"And is the disappointment very great?" said the merchant, touched with
the manner of his visitor, which showed more pain than mortification at
the cheat practised upon him.
With an effort at self-command, Doctor Grimes regained, to some extent,
his lost composure, and rising, remarked, as he partly turned himself
away--
"Forgive this intrusion, sir. I ought to have been more on my guard."
But an interest having been awakened in the mind of Mr. L----, he would
not suffer his visitor to retire until he held some conversation with
him. In this conversation he learned, through delicately asked
questions, even more of his real condition in life than the latter
meant to communicate; and he still further learned that the mother of
Doctor Grimes had been one of his early friends.
"Will you be willing to take the place of Resident Physician at the
---- Hospital?" finally asked Mr. L.
"To one like me," replied Dr. Grimes, "that place would be exceedingly
desirable. But I do not suppose I could get it."
"Why not?"
"I am a stranger here."
"Can you bring testimonials as to professional ability?" asked Mr.
L----.
"I can. Testimonials of the very highest character."
"Bring them to me, doctor, at the earliest possible moment. I do not,
in the least, doubt that my influence will secure you the place. I
believe you have no family?"
"None."
"That may be an objection. A furnished dwelling is provided for the
physician; and, I believe, one with a family is preferred."
"I have a widowed sister, who would be glad to join me; and whom I
would be glad to place in so comfortable a position."
"That will do just as well, doctor. Bring over your testimonials as
soon as possible. Not so much of an April fool, after all, I begin to
think. Unless I am very greatly mistaken, you _have_ heard something
to your advantage."
All came out to the satisfaction of both Doctor Grimes and the
kind-hearted Mr. L----. In less than a month, the former was in
comfortable quarters at ---- Hospital, and in the receipt of twelve
hundred dollars per annum. This was exclusive of rent for his sister's
family--now his own--and table expenses. Moreover, for certain duties
required of her in the hospital, his sister received three hundred
dollars additional.
So it turned out that Dr. Grimes, so far from being made an April fool,
was benefited by the wonderfully "smart" trick of Mr. Bunting. But of
the particular result of his extra work, the village-jester remained
ignorant. Being on the lookout, he was "tickled to death" when he saw
the doctor start off post haste for New York; and he looked out for his
return, anticipating rare pleasure at seeing his "face as long as his
arm." But this particular pleasure was not obtained, for he didn't see
the doctor afterward.
"What's become of Dr. Grimes?" he asked of one and another, after a few
days had passed, and he did not see that individual on the street as
before.
But none of whom he made inquiry happened to know any thing of the
doctor's movements. It was plain to Bunting that, he had driven the
said doctor out of the village; and this circumstance quite flattered
his vanity, and made him feel of more consequence than before. In a
little while, he told his secret to one and another, and it was pretty
generally believed that Doctor Grimes had gone away under a sense of
mortification at the storekeeper's practical joke.
"Look out for next year," said one and another. "If Doctor Grimes isn't
even with you then, it'll be a wonder."
"It will take a brighter genius than he is to fool me," Bunting would
usually reply to these words of caution.
The First of April came round again. Thomas Bunting was wide awake. He
expected to hear from the doctor, who, he was certain, would never
forgive him. Sure enough, with the day, came a letter from New York.
"You don't fool me!" said Bunting, as he glanced at the postmark. He
had heard that the doctor was in, or somewhere near, the city.
"Ha! ha!" he laughed, as he read--
"If Mr. Thomas Bunting will call on Messrs. Wilde & Lyon, Pearl Street,
New York, he may hear of something to his advantage."
"Ha! ha! That's capital! The doctor is a wag. Ha! ha!"
Of course, Bunting was too wide awake for this trap. Catch him trudging
to New York on a fool's errand!
"Does he think I haven't cut my eye-teeth?" he said to himself
exultingly, as he read over the letter. "Doctor Grimes don't know this
child--he don't."
And yet, the idea that something might be lost by not heeding the
letter, came stealing in upon him, and checking in a small degree the
delight he felt at being too smart for the doctor. But this thought was
instantly pushed aside. Of course, Bunting was not so "green," to use
one of his favourite words, as to go on a fool's errand to New York.
Five or six months afterward, Bunting, while in the city on business,
happened to meet Doctor Grimes.
"How are you, doctor?" said he, grasping the hand of the physician, and
smiling with one of the smiles peculiar to his face when he felt that
he had played off a capital joke on somebody.
"I'm well, Mr. Bunting. And how are you?" replied the doctor.
"First-rate--first-rate!" and Bunting rubbed his hands. Then he added,
with almost irrepressible glee--
"You wasn't sharp enough, last April, doctor."
"Why so?" inquired Doctor Grimes.
"You didn't succeed in getting me to the city on a fool's errand."
"I don't understand you, Mr. Bunting," said the doctor seriously.
"Wilde & Lyon, Pearl Street--something to my advantage. Ha?"
The doctor looked puzzled.
"You needn't play the innocent, doctor. Its no use. I sent you on a
fool's errand to New York; and it was but natural that you should seek
to pay me back in my own coin. But I was too wide awake for you
entirely. It takes a sharp man to catch me."
"You're certainly too wide awake for me now," said Doctor Grimes. "Will
you please be serious and explain yourself."
"Last April a year, you received a letter from New York, to the effect
that if you would call at a certain place in Wall Street, you would
hear something to your advantage?"
"I did," replied the doctor.
"Well."
"I called, accordingly, and received information which has proved
greatly to my advantage."
"What?" Bunting looked surprised.
"The gentleman upon whom I called was a leading director in ----
Hospital, and in search of a Resident Physician for that establishment.
I now fill that post."
"Is it possible?" Bunting could not conceal his surprise, in which
something like disappointment was blended. "And you did not write a
similar letter to me last April?" he added.