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 out of sight, yet, as
it appeared in the present instance, it was not thoroughly concealed.
At any rate, keenly on the look-out 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 Bound 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 two-penny 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 two-penny 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 fastened 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 bare-headed 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.