yours to fill it. I would like a minister's daughter. Is there any dear
little twelve-year-old girl who would like to come to my school, and
whose parents would like to send her but cannot afford so much expense?
Because, if there is such a child among your friends, I will give her a
warm welcome. Jane Wainwright, your honored mother, knows that I will be
too happy thus to add a happiness to her lot in life."
Mother and daughter looked into each other's eyes. One thought was in
both.
"Laura Raeburn," they exclaimed together.
Laura Raeburn it was who entered Miss L----'s, her heart overflowing
with satisfaction, and so the never-shaken friendship between
Wishing-Brae and the Manse was made stronger still, as by cements and
rivets.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
FOR KING OR COUNTRY.
A Story of the Revolution.
BY JAMES BARNES.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE MYSTERIOUS PRISONER.
This short notice and warning was meant in the kindliest way. George
knew that well, and read between the lines. But it was plain to see that
the plot was frustrated by the force of circumstance. He pushed the
missive into the glowing coals of the fire; it blazed up merrily, and
disappeared into gray ashes.
Now for flight. It would certainly do him no good to stay longer within
the camp of the enemy. He knew no method of communication with the
outside, and it would be impossible for him to meet with the others who
were supposed to be his fellow-conspirators. Although the furlough he
had been granted had been for a month, he was all zeal to return and
join his command, but determined not to do so empty-handed. If he could
only find out the destination of the large army that was ready to be
embarked at a word's notice, a great deal would be accomplished. Was it
Albany, Boston, or Philadelphia that was Lord Howe's objective point? If
he could overhear the conversation at the meeting that he knew must now
be going on at Fraunce's, he would have something that would make his
trip far from worthless.
When doubting, use caution, may be a good motto, but under some
circumstances boldness will answer quite as well. In fact, it is often
the only thing that will carry affairs to successful issues.
George determined to hear the result of that meeting if possible, and
then put as many miles of land and water between himself and New York as
he could accomplish with the remaining hours of darkness. It would be
hard to get across the river, but he doubted not being able to find a
skiff or a boat along the wharves.
Back in the town once more, he approached Fraunce's Tavern by a
circuitous way, and at last reached the stable, the shed of which was
closely under the windows of the private dining-rooms where many a gay
party had been given, and where years and years ago the old Dutch
Mynheers had met and toasted their one-legged Governor in fragrant
schnapps.
It had been better for George if he had started at once for the red soil
of his native State. The tribulations which Mrs. Bonsall had predicted
were about to cloud his horizon.
Tall as he was, he was not able to look in at the window. He could hear
the murmur and flutter of conversation coming from within the brightly
lighted room. Placing his hands on the sill, and using all the strength
of his muscular young arms, he managed to draw himself up until his head
was level with the panes. It was a fine sight to behold. This was not a
council of war, nor even a secret meeting. It was merely a gathering of
officers to talk the situation over informally.
General Howe did not believe in hurrying. But often ideas and plans
develop at meetings such as this that bear important results. The talk
was so general that George could not at first make out a single
connected sentence, and his arms were tired with holding himself in the
constrained position; besides, his face was forced so closely to the
window that it seemed certain that some one would see him from the
inside of the room. He lowered himself to the ground, and searching the
yard, found a tall barrel. Rolling it cautiously to the side of the
house, he stepped upon it.
It was now plain sailing--at least, it seemed to be.
Through the window-blind, which, was partly closed, he could look
without being seen. The window was lowered a little at the top to admit
the air.
"Tis the strangest thing in the world," said the voice of a speaker,
whom George could not see, as he was behind the angle of the wall. "He
was a clever lad, well knit and straight; they say the heir to a vast
property up the great river. Search high or low, no trace can be found
of him. 'Tis known that he went to his room at the City Arms, and that
was the last seen of him."
"So Rivington was telling me," spoke up a man facing the window. "And I
saw him when he called on General Howe. Those despatches were of great
importance. But it's the General's intention to leave Burgoyne to fight
it out alone on the Hudson. Philadelphia must be taken; I am sure that
is the plan."
George's nerves tingled. Here was something of importance to relate.
A red-faced officer arose. "Here comes the punch, gentlemen," he said.
"And I propose as our first toast confusion to Mr. Washington, and may
Satan fly away with him."
"On to Philadelphia!" George heard some one cry.
"Yes, and rout out their ratty Congress," said another.
Suddenly it seemed to George as if the earth's surface had opened to
receive him, and that he dropped from untold heights. The fact was that
the head of the barrel had given in, and he was thrown backwards onto
the hard ground. He came down with a clatter. A side entrance to the
tavern ran close to where he had been standing. In fact, he had been
exposed to the view of any one who came up the walk. Just as he had
fallen a party of five or six entered the yard from the outside, coming
up the road by the stables.
"Hello! What's that out there?" said a voice. The window of the
dining-room was thrown up and a white-wigged head thrust out. "I say,
who's there?" was again repeated.
George arose to his feet. One of the party coming toward him stepped
forward. "What is the matter here?" he said.
Now if he was called to explain his presence it might lead to his
detection, and with a sense of horror George saw that one of the party
was the heavy man who had been in his room at the City Arms--the uncle
of Richard Blount, of Albany, whose _bona fide_ nephew was in
confinement in New Jersey.
He jumped to his feet and made a leap for the wall, to get over before
the others could reach the gate.
"Stop him there!" said the voice from the window. "See who it is! Stop
him!"
As he reached the top, and was about to throw himself on the other side,
there were a flash and a report, and a strange pain ran through George's
left arm. He lost his balance and fell.
When he came to, for he had been stunned a trifle by the second fall, he
saw that quite a crowd was gathered over him.
"Does anybody know him?" some one asked.
"Yes, I do," was the answer. "It is the young man who tried to steal my
time-piece the other day." The voice was Abel Norton's.
"Ay, and he took mine too, if it is the same," put in another. The last
speaker was Schoolmaster Anderson.
"Turn him over to the watch," said an officer. "We cannot afford to have
suspicious characters about. Ah, here he comes, for once in the right
place."
"What means this disturbance, good people? Oh, is any one badly hurt?"
As these words were spoken a caped figure with a lantern hurried up. He
had a long pike in his hand, and a huge rattle hung by a leather thong
about his neck.
Two or three bystanders helped raise the young man to his feet.
"He is wounded," said some one, noticing the useless left arm, which was
numbed with pain, and which was bleeding.
"The prison surgeon is good enough for the likes of him," said another.
"Come with me, young man," said the watchman, putting his hand on
George's shoulder. "You had better have that arm attended to. Oh! he's
charged with crime, eh? That's very different."
Followed by Abel Norton, Schoolmaster Anderson, and a few idlers, the
party moved down the street.
The "jig" was up now with a vengeance.
[Illustration: "COURAGE," SAID A LOW VOICE AT GEORGE'S ELBOW.]
"Courage," said a low voice at George's elbow. "Act well your part." It
was like Schoolmaster Anderson to quote even under these circumstances.
"Do not fear coming to trial. They are too busy to think of little
things like this. We will take care of you as well as we can. Know no
one," he whispered.
The party had turned into Vine Street, and were heading for the old
sugar-house on the corner, which, like many other gloomy buildings of
that kind, had been turned for the nonce into a prison.
While Schoolmaster Anderson had been talking he had shaken his fist
threateningly under our hero's nose, and had interlarded his talk with
some epithets such as: "You young villain. Steal a watch, will you?
Rascal!" and the like.
As they entered the narrow doorway of the sugar-house a portly man met
them. He carried a large bunch of keys on a huge ring. Roughly he pushed
back the crowd of curiosity seekers, and admitted only the watchman,
Abel Norton, Mr. Anderson, and the prisoner into the court-yard. A smoky
lamp flared from a bracket in the wall.
"What have you here?" he asked.
"Some one we wish you to look out for especially well and carefully,"
said Mr. Anderson. He took a bit of paper from his pocket; on it was
scribbled "Secretary to the Governor." For some time, however, the
schoolmaster had not held that important position. But this the jailer
did not know. The watchman, who was a stupid fellow, here spoke up.
"'Tis naught but a thief, I take it," he growled.
"Say nothing. How do you know?" said Abel Norton, in a whisper. The
heavy face above the cloak took on a wondrous-wise expression.
George had winced, but as he did so felt a reassuring pull at the back
of his coat.
"He's wounded," said the jailer, noticing that the lad was supporting
one arm with the other.
"We'll send a surgeon to him," said Abel Norton. "I may be a
soft-hearted fellow; but I hate to see any one suffer."
"There's an empty cell on the second floor," put in the jailer. "I
suppose you don't wish him to be placed in the main gallery with the
others."
Mr. Anderson managed to whisper, as George was led away: "Courage. Two
of your friends are with you. We are Numbers Two and Three."
Since his arrest the prisoner had not spoken a word. He did not know how
badly he was hurt, and had not recovered entirely from the shock of the
fall. The pistol-ball had entered his arm below the elbow. As he weakly
followed the jailer up the stairway he passed a sentry, and, looking
through an iron-barred door, caught a glimpse of a long room filled with
a crowd of hungry-looking, half-clothed wretches. They were political
prisoners mostly, but many of them had been soldiers who had so bravely
defended Fort Washington a few months before.
"Prepare to receive another guest," said a voice from within the reeking
room. "Fresh herring here! All ye salt mackerel!"
Several figures got up from the floor, but the party passed down the
corridor and halted before a little cell scarcely six feet square. In
one corner were a pile of straw and an old worn blanket.
Faint from the loss of blood, George was only too glad to sink down with
his back against the wall. So this was what it had come to, the
expedition which had apparently promised so well. What would good Mrs.
Mack think of her boarder's sudden disappearance? There was one
comforting thought, however. He had friends who were placing themselves
in a position of danger in order to assist him. He would rather die than
betray them. But how odd: Anderson and Norton--men who were known as
Tories. That they also possessed considerable influence was soon to be
proved, for in the course of an hour a surgeon appeared and carefully
dressed the wounded forearm.
"It's not serious," he said. "I will be in to see you again."
One of the safest places to hide in is a prison, and probably the
knowledge of this fact influenced the actions of his supposed accusers,
and in such a disturbed condition were the courts of the city that many
prisoners arrested on suspicion were held for years without ever coming
to trial, in fact, without any indictment being found against them, even
the crime for which they had been committed having been forgotten.
As George tossed about uneasily that night in the straw, he now and then
dreamed fitfully that he was back once more in camp drilling his
company, and again that he was at Stanham Mills, setting traps with his
brother along the banks of the roaring brook. Suddenly he felt something
hard beneath him. It was the bag of gold! Prisoners who could pay lived
in quite a different fashion from the impoverished wretches who were
compelled to take what was given them.
He could not imagine why they had not searched his pockets, but the
ceremony had been omitted. Running his hand beneath the straw, he found
that one of the boards of the floor was loose, leaving a crack that ran
almost the entire length of the wall. He took the guineas from the pouch
one by one, and placed them in the crack.
When the under-jailer came to the iron grating of his cell the next
morning with a stone jug of water in one hand and a loaf of mouldy bread
in the other, George extended one of the gold pieces.
"Take this, my man," he said. "You can have more chance to use it than I
just now." The man grasped it in his dirty hand, and transferred it
quickly to his pocket. At the same time he glanced over his shoulder at
the red-coated sentry on the stairway.
"Well, Mr. High and Mighty," he said, drawing back the loaf, "if this
bread is not good enough for you, you can go hungry then." He turned as
if to walk away, then, walking back, he thrust it through the bars.
"Let me hear no complaints," he went on in a loud tone of voice. "It is
good enough fare for such as you."
George could scarcely swallow the rough food. But what was his surprise,
in the course of an hour or two, to see the beetle-browed jailer once
more before his cell.
"Ho, ho!" he said. "So you have come to your senses. Hand me that stone
jug and hold your jaw." As the man extended his hand, George saw that he
held a large piece of cold meat and a soft warm biscuit. He took it, and
with a parting growl the jailer shuffled away with the empty pitcher.
It seemed to George that the day would never pass. Strange sounds echoed
through the building--curses and ribald songs, and now and then the
clanking of heavy iron-latched doors. He heard at times the voices of
the guards as they exchanged their posts. The only light that entered
his little cell came through the window, in the corridor. There was no
outlook, and his wounded arm throbbed with pain. Late in the evening the
surgeon came again, and the head jailer accompanied him, carrying in his
hand a tin lantern. The dim light from the perforations danced in a
hundred little spots along the gloomy walls.
After the surgeon had dressed the wound, which he did in silence, and
the door had clanged again behind him, George heard him speak to the
jailer further down the corridor.
"Take care of that young man," he said. "He is a prisoner of great
importance. Answer no questions concerning him, but treat him well. It
is necessary that his health should be preserved."
"I suspected quite as much," replied the head jailer. "I have brains. He
is no common thief. They wish him for something else, hey?"
"Ay," said the doctor, "that is it. You will find it out in good time,
but now I see that you are in the secret keep it close."
To his surprise, shortly after dark our prisoner heard a shuffling at
the door of the cell. He had been shivering in the straw in a thin worn
blanket.
"Who's there?" he said, his teeth rattling, and his eyes straining to
catch a glimpse of what was going on. There was no answer, but as he put
out his hand he touched a bundle. He drew it toward him. It was a heavy
patch-work quilt. He drew it around him, grateful for the warmth, and
thankful in his heart to his unknown benefactor. Immediately he fell
asleep as softly as a child might in its cradle.
The days passed quickly. At first it seemed as if George would go wild
for the lack of some one to talk to. If it were not for the voices that
he could hear at times, and for a few rays of sunlight that shot down
the corridor, he would have gone mad. But the jailers treated him
kindly; his food was plain, and it was evident that extra attention was
being paid to him.
When the man who had first taken the gold piece appeared at the end of
the first week, George held another toward him.
"Get me a book, something to read, for pity's sake," he said.
The man had taken the gold piece. "Ay, growl," he said. "'Twill do you
lots of good. Where do you suspect you are--at an inn, my friend?"
He had returned, however, later in the day, and thrust a volume quickly
through the bars.
Latin and the classics had always appealed strongly to George
Frothingham. In the short term at Mr. Anderson's he had made most
wonderful progress. What, then, was his delight to see that the
well-thumbed, dogeared book was a Virgil! Now how he treasured those few
hours of daylight when he could read!
But imagine his astonishment when he found thrust well forward through
the iron bars one morning a heavy King James Bible. As he opened it his
fingers came across something hard in the back of the binding. He pulled
it out--two thin files wrapped about with a bit of paper! On the latter
were the familiar characters of the cipher. He had scarcely made this
discovery when down the corridor he heard approaching many steps. He
thrust the good book and its contents underneath the straw, and looking
up, his heart almost failed him, for he caught a glimpse of red coats
and gold lace.
"Who is this distinguished personage?" said a strange voice, ironically.
It was one of the officers speaking.
"An important prisoner," returned the jailer.
George could see that the whole group had paused before the door. To his
astonishment, he saw among them the face of Schoolmaster Anderson. He
noticed that the latter plucked the jailer by the sleeve.
"He is here for some good cause. I know not what," the latter continued,
hurriedly. "'Twill be divulged later, I suppose."
Two or three of the officers had glanced searchingly into the little
den. One noticed the Virgil on the floor.
"Ah, he has some learning, I perceive," said one.
When they had gone, to his chagrin our hero found that the light was too
dim to read the cipher message. He must wait until noon of the next day,
when the sun would beat through the window around the corner of his
cell.
* * * * *
On the day this visit of inspection had been made to the sugar-house
prison his Majesty's frigate _Minerva_ was bowling along merrily off the
southern shore of Long Island. Again a group of officers were on her
quarter-deck. A short man in a cocked hat swept the horizon to the
northward with his glass.
"Ah, there it lies!" he said--"there's the new country which, we hope,
will soon be flying our flag throughout its length and breadth."
It was a brilliant cloudless morning. Some near-shore gulls hovered
overhead or dashed down in the frigate's wake.
Lieutenant William Frothingham felt the invigorating land breeze on his
cheeks. He could make out now with the naked eye the low-lying hills.
Home again. It was his country and the King's that lay off there, and
somewhere, his brother, whom he loved more than any one else on earth,
was wearing the uniform of the forces that he soon would be opposed to,
maybe in battle. Little did he know that George's horizon was confined
by four black walls.
The _Minerva_, with a bone in her teeth and the wind just right to bring
her in, swept past Sandy Hook at last, and blossoming out into some of
her lighter canvas, she reached the quieter waters of the bay. Soon were
brought to view the forests of masts and the great dark hulls of the
fleet that had preceded her. Signals sprang out, and the flags rattled
stiffly in the wind. As she passed the _Roebuck_ a sheet of flame and
white smoke burst from her side, and every frigate followed suit and
welcomed her with a roaring salvo. She swept up the river, the bulwarks
lined with the curious faces of the soldiery gazing at the crowded
wharfs. At last anchor was dropped in the currents of the broad North
River.
Early the next morning boats were manned, and the troops were
disembarked. A huge band was there to meet them, and the new arrivals
swept into Broadway between the lines of cheering soldiers and citizens.
If disloyalty to the King was here it did not show.
The blood surged through William's veins as he walked at the head of his
stalwart company and acknowledged the salute of a group of officers
standing at the street corner. To his wonder as he went by a row of low
brick houses he heard a voice call his name: "Mr. Frothingham! Is it
you? Is it you? Is that the uniform?" he heard distinctly. He turned,
but could see no one whom he recognized; it had seemed to him that it
was a woman's voice, however. There was an odd figure standing there, a
washer-woman, evidently; she had dropped a basket which she had been
holding, and the ground at her feet was covered with frilled shirts. The
crowd about her laughed. Her lips were moving, but the cheer that broke
out drowned what she was saying. As the company halted, a figure came
out into the street.
"Ah, Lieutenant Frothingham!" said a voice that made William start. "We
have you here in the King's livery, I see."
William turned. It was a small man, very gorgeous in a red waistcoat and
a heavy fur-lined coat.
"Pardon me for introducing myself. Your brother George was a pupil of
mine. I knew who you were at a glance," he added. "You are alike as two
pinfish."
"Have you seen aught of my brother?" was William's first exclamation.
"I think I have heard a rumor somewhere," replied the schoolmaster, with
a frown, though his eyes twinkled in contradiction. "He was with
Washington at Trenton and Princeton. My name is Anderson."
Of course the news of these two affairs had greeted the _Minerva_ when
she first arrived in port. It had caused a thrill of astonishment.
"What did I tell you?" had remarked Colonel Forsythe, upon this
occasion. "The only people that can beat Englishmen are Englishmen
themselves--and what else are these Yankees?"
The regiment took up the march, and William, heading his company, once
more turned into a side street, at the end of which were the new
quarters. The town swarmed with the red-coated soldiery.
As they had gone down the street, they had passed beneath the shadow of
the sugar-house prison. George, from within, heard the loud rolling of
the royal drums, and raised himself on his elbow to listen.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
KIZNER'S PET SHEEP.
BY LEWIS B. MILLER.
The wagon was about to start, and Mrs. Adams leaned out to say: "Now,
Billy, stay close around here to-day, you and Dick, and take care of
things, and don't let anybody get into the house. Water the hogs about
twelve."
"And you'd better cut an armful of corn-tops and give the calves, too,"
added Billy's father.
"Yes, sir, I will," answered Billy, dutifully.
"Dick, I want you to be a good boy to-day, and not get into any trouble,
whatever you do," cautioned Mrs. Dunlap, Dick's mother. She knew his
proneness to mischief and accidents, and thinking it might be well to
hold out some extra inducements, added, "If you behave yourself right
nicely, maybe I'll buy you something the next time I go to town."
"Yes'm," was Dick's non-committal response. He had heard that promise a
great many times before.
The wagon started. Mr. Adams and Mr. Dunlap occupied the spring seat in
front, while their wives sat just behind them in straight-backed chairs.
In the rear end five or six small children were sitting on straw on the
bottom of the wagon-bed.
"Billy," called back Mrs. Adams, "you'll find some fried chicken for
your dinner in the stove oven, and a pie in the safe, and some--" The
rest was lost in the jolting of the wagon. That was of little
consequence, however, for the two boys had no fears of not being able to
find everything there was on the place to eat when the time came.