The next day was dull, and the night began the same way, but it was not
destined to remain so. Great results accrue from small causes, and it
seemed that the arrival of Marcel and myself had given a fillip to the
quiet city and the lazy army reposing there. At least it flattered our
vanity to think so.
Having nothing to do in the evening, our footsteps inevitably took us
toward Catron's quarters. I had not intended to go there, but the way of
amusement and luxury is easy, and I went. Moreover it was policy, I
persuaded myself, for us in our situation to live this rapid life, as it
would divert suspicion, and I found my conscience somewhat eased by the
thought.
Catron had most comfortable quarters, and he was rarely troubled with
useless messages about military duty. So it had become a habit with the
others to gather there, and when we arrived we found Moore, Blake, who
was now quite well, and several others already present. Vivian was on
duty at Sir William's headquarters and could not come. They received us
warmly. Moore and Marcel indulged in some laments over their upset plans
of the night before, told each other how much better the affair would
have terminated had they been the principals instead of the seconds, and
then forgot it. Belfort came in promptly, and nodded to us in a manner
that indicated neither friendship nor hostility. I believed that he had
given up, unwilling to risk more failures, or perhaps convinced that we
were really what we claimed to be, but I decided to remain wary and
watch him.
The night was dark, the clouds making threats of rain, and we felt it
was a good time to be indoors. Taking advantage of this feeling, Catron
and Moore began to urge cards. I feared the fascination of gaming, and
would have avoided the challenge, but I knew that I should have thought
of that before coming. Being there, it was not permitted me to escape,
and I sat down to picquet with the others. About the beginning of the
second hour of the play we heard a musket-shot, and in a moment or so,
several others, fired in a scattering volley.
We threw down the cards and ran to the door. The night had darkened
further, and rain had begun to fall in a fine drizzle. Just as we
reached the door, we saw the flash of another musket-shot and the dim
forms of men running.
"What is it?" we cried, stirred by the flash and the report and the beat
of flying feet.
"The American prisoners have broken from the jail and the guards are
pursuing them!" some one replied.
"A chase! a chase!" cried Moore and Catron, at once. "Come, lads, and
help the guards!"
Hastily buckling on our swords, we rushed into the street and joined in
the pursuit. It was far from the thoughts of either Marcel or me to aid
in the seizure of any countrymen of ours who might be in the way of
escape, but in truth we were compelled to take up the chase with the
others. It was our duty as British officers, and I reflected with some
degree of pleasure that it was easy to pretend zeal and have it not.
Brief as was my stay in Philadelphia, I had often looked at the gloomy
building on Washington Square, the Walnut Street jail, where so many of
my countrymen were confined and where so many of them suffered so
grievously. Once, in truth, I had been inside of it, at the harrying of
Alloway, and that visit did not increase my love for the place. It was
of such strength, and guarded with such care, that the report of all the
prisoners breaking from it seemed past belief. In truth, we soon found
that only a score had escaped, the score the next minute became a dozen,
then three or four, and, at last, only one.
We rushed through the square brandishing our swords, firing two or three
shots from our pistols, and showing great enthusiasm. Belfort suddenly
caught sight of a fugitive form, fired a shot at it, and gave chase,
shouting that it was the escaped prisoner. He was right, for as we
followed, the man turned suddenly, discharged a pistol at his pursuers,
the bullet breaking a private's leg, and then ran toward the encampment
of the Hessian grenadiers between Fifth and Seventh Streets.
On we sped through the dim light after him, and I began to revolve in
my mind some plan for helping the desperate fugitive. The very numbers
of the pursuers were an advantage, as we got in one another's way, and
moreover, a pursuer was sometimes mistaken for the prisoners, the
mistake not being discerned until he was overtaken with great violence.
Some of the people joined in the hunt, and I was heartily ashamed of
them. Presently a spacious citizen and myself collided with excessive
force. He sank to the ground, gasping, but I, who had some expectation
of the event, ran on, sure that I had done a good deed. Yet, in spite of
myself, I felt the enthusiasm of the chase rising in me. I suppose that
it does not matter what a man hunts so long as he hunts. But the
fugitive winding among streets and alleys led us a long chase and proved
himself to be noble game. Presently I heard Moore panting at my elbow.
"The fellow runs well!" he exclaimed to me. "I'd like to capture him,
but I hope he'll escape!"
Moore, it is to be remembered, was an Irishman.
We lost sight of the fugitive a little later, but in a few moments saw
him again, his figure wavering as if he were approaching exhaustion. I
felt deep pity for him, and anger for myself because I had found no way
to help him in his desperate plight. He had succeeded in shaking off,
for the time being, all except our own party, which I now noticed had
been reinforced by Waters. Where he came from, I do not know, but he
seemed to be watching Marcel and me more than the fugitive.
It was now hare and hounds, and the hare suddenly dashed into an alley,
which cut the middle of a city square. The others followed at once, but,
unnoticed, I left them and took a different direction, intending to
curve about the square and meet the fugitive on the other side, as I
thought it likely that he would turn when we came out of the alley and
run toward the north, which presented the best side for escape. It was a
chance, but I was determined to take it and it served me well.
The rain was whipped into my face by the wind, and it half blinded me at
times, but I ran on, and presently the sounds of the pursuit up the
alley died. I was much bent upon helping the fugitive, and great was my
pleasure when I reached the parallel street to see a dim figure running
towards me. Even at a distance the figure showed great signs of
weariness, and I was sure that it was our man.
I do not think that he saw me until he was very near, and then he threw
up his hands as if in despair. But he recovered himself in a moment, and
coming on quite fiercely struck at me with his unloaded pistol. Then I
saw, to my infinite surprise, that it was Alloway. I held my sword in my
hand, but I did not raise it against him or make any hostile movement,
and the fact made him look at me more closely. Then he saw my face and
knew me.
"What are you going to do?" he asked.
"Don't you hear the shouts of men before you?" I said. "The way is
closed there, and you know that others are hot behind you! You must
hide, and escape when the pursuit dies! See that house, the one with the
lawn in front and the gardens behind! Run! hide yourself there! It's
the house of John Desmond, a friend!"
Without my noticing it until then, the windings of the chase had brought
us before John Desmond's home, and I saw no chance for Alloway unless he
could hide for the time in the house or gardens.
"Quick," I cried, "over the fence! See, there is a light appearing in
the house now! It may be John Desmond himself! If it is an old man of
noble appearance, trust him, but put yourself in the hands of no woman,
and say nothing of me!"
He obeyed, leaped the fence, and disappeared instantly in the shrubbery
just as the hue and cry emerged from the alley and swept up the street
towards me.
I was in the shadow of the buildings, and I ran forward with great
energy, plunging violently into the arms of somebody who went down under
the shock of the collision. But he held tightly to me and shouted,--
"I have him! I have him! It's my capture!"