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Full text of "The road to Paris; a story of adventure"

I THE ROAD 
TO PARIS 

BY 
RN-STEPHENS 




<KK. i 

A <> ' OKS 

240 l, 

1-0*0 .-: r 



Works of 

ROBERT NEIL80N STEPHENS 



An Enemy to the King 

(Sixth Thousand) 

The Continental Dragoon 

(Fifth Thousand) 

The Road to Paris 



L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY, Publishers 

(Incorporated) 

196 Summer St., Boston, Mass. 



THE ROAD TO PARIS 




"A WILD THRUST BETRAYED THAT HIS EYE WAS XO 
LONGER TRUE." 



THE ROAD TO PARIS 

& Storg of 



BY 

ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS 

AUTHOR OF 

" AN ENEMY TO THE KING " 
"THE CONTINENTAL DRAGOON," ETC. 



CUustratcti fag 
H. C. EDWARDS 



" Hark how the drums beat up again 
For all true soldiers, gentlemen ; 
Then let us 'list and march away 
Over the hills and far away." 

Old Song: 




BOSTON 

L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 
1898 



Copyright, 1898 
BY L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 



Entered at Stationers' Hall, London 



Colonial 

Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. 
Boston, U.S.A. 



"D'Artagnan . . . touched the earth, moistened 
with the evening dew, with the ends of his fingers, 
crossed Jiimself as if at the holy-water vessel of a 
churcJi, and retook alone ever alone the road to 

m ' THE VISCOUNT OF BKAGELONNE. 



CONTENTS. 

HATTER PAGE 

INTRODUCTION ix 

I. A LODGE IN THE WILDERNESS , . . i 

II. "OVER THE HlLLS AND FAR A WAY " . 21 

III. AT THE SIGN OF THE GEORGE ... 50 

IV. OF A BROKEN SABBATH AND BROKEN 

HEADS . . . . . .72 

V. FROM BROADWAY TO BUNKER HILL . . 92 

VI. THE WIND OF CIRCUMSTANCE . . .118 

VII. THE MARCH THROUGH MAINE . . .150 

VIII. WITHIN THE WALLS OF QUEBEC . .175 

IX. THE INCIDENTS OF A SNOWY NIGHT. . 201 

X. " BY FLOOD AND FIELD" .... 227 

XI. THREE WHIMSICAL GENTLEMEN AND A 

BEAUTIFUL LADY . . . -257 

XII. THE DEVIL TO PAY AT THE PELICAN INN . 288 

XIII. "Up AND DOWN IN LONDON TOWN". . 323 

XIV. "FAIR STOOD THE WIND FOR FRANCE" 352 
XV. AN ELOPEMENT FROM A DILIGENCE . .376 

XVI. PASTORAL AND TRAGEDY .... 401 
XVII. " STONE WALLS Do NOT A PRISON 

MAKE" 426 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XVIII. DICK GIVES A SPECIMEN OF AMERICAN 

SHOOTING . . . . . .452 

XIX. THE FAVOR OF A PRINCE .... 474 

XX. THE HONOR OF A LADY-IN-WAITING . . 499 

XXI. "THE ROAD TO PARIS" .... 524 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



PAGE 

" A WILD THRUST BETRAYED THAT HIS EYE WAS NO 

LONGER TRUE "..... Frontispiece 
" THE NEWCOMER WAS APPARENTLY ABOUT FORTY 

YEARS OLD" 36 

" IT WAS THE MAN SENT BY ARNOLD "... 223 

" BEARING THE SWOONING FORM OF AMABEL " . . 294 

"'OH, YOU HAVE A VISITOR! MON DlEU, SlLVIUS ! " 43! 

"FREDERICK. II. RECOILED A STEP OR TWO" . . 518 



INTRODUCTION. 



"WiTH our company of riflemen that marched in 
Arnold's army through the Maine wilderness to 
attack Quebec, there was a sergeant's wife, a large 
and sturdy woman, no common camp-follower, but 
decent and respected, who one day, when the troops 
started to wade through a freezing pond, of which 
they broke the thin ice coating with the butts of 
their guns, calmly lifted her skirts above her waist 
and strode in, and so kept the greater part of her 
clothes dry in crossing. Not a man of us made a 
jest, or even grinned, so natural was her action in the 
circumstances. I have often used this instance to 
show that what the world calls modesty is a matter 
of time and place, and I now hold that too much 
modesty is out of time and place when a man who 
has had more than a fair share of remarkable experi 
ences undertakes a true relation of the extraordinary 
adventures that have befallen him. So, if the narra 
tive on which I am setting out be marred by any 
affectation, it will not be the affectation of modesty. 



X INTRODUCTION. 

" When I was a boy in our valley behind the Blue 
Mountains of Pennsylvania, I used to read the 'True 
Travels, Adventures, and Observations of Captain 
John Smith, in. Europe, Asia, Africa, and America, 
from 1593 to 1629,' and wonder whether I should 
ever have any travels or adventures of my own to 
make a book of. When, afterwards, I did go a 
travelling, and adventures did come thick and fast 
upon me, I was too much engrossed in the travels 
and adventures themselves to give a thought as to 
what matter they might be for narration. Not till this 
breathing-place came in my life, did my boyhood 
dreams return to my mind, and did I realize that 
my part in battle and imprisonment, danger and 
escape, love and intrigue, would make a book that 
might be worth fireside reading. That book I now 
begin, and shall probably finish it if I be not inter 
rupted by untimely death or by some new call to 
scenes of enterprise and turmoil, for it is no retired 
veteran, but a man early in his twenties, that here 
tries whether with pen and ink he can make as fair 
a show as he has already made with implements less 
peaceful." 

The foregoing lines constitute the first two para 
graphs of a book entitled " The Travels and Adven 
tures of Richard Wetheral, in America, England, 
France, and Germany, in the years 1775, 1776, 
1777, and 1778," of which it happens, by strange 



INTRODUCTION. XI 

circumstance, that I possess the only copy. The 
title-page shows that it was published by (or " printed 
for ") J. Robson, Bookseller, in New Bond Street, 
London, in 1785. The three brown i6mo volumes 
first caught my glance when they lay with a heap of 
ragged books on a board before a second-hand shop 
in Twenty-sixth Street, there being attached to the 
board a weather-beaten square of pasteboard, bearing 
the legend, " Your choice for ten cents." Not until 
I had paid the dealer thirty cents and separated the 
three volumes forever from their musty companions, 
which were mostly of a theological character, did I 
discover, by parting a blank leaf from the adjacent 
cover, to which it had long been sticking, that the 
book was a treasure, for which the dealer would have 
charged me as many dollars as I had paid cents, had 
he anticipated my discovery. The long-concealed 
page bore on its brown-spotted surface an inscription, 
in eighteenth century handwriting, turned yellow 
by age, signed by the author of the book, and to the 
effect that he had caused his true narrative to be 
published without his wife's knowledge, thinking this 
book might afford her a pleasant surprise, but that 
the surprise with which she first perused it was so 
far from pleasant, she had forthwith, in the name of 
modesty, demanded its immediate suppression, which 
was at once accomplished by her indulgent husband, 
who had preserved only this one copy for the benefit 



INTRODUCTION. 



of posterity. When I asked the bookseller how he 
had come by the copy, he told me, after an investiga 
tion, that he had bought it with a lot of religious 
books from the servant of a very old lady recently 
deceased. The dealer had thought, from the com 
pany in which it came, that the " travels and adven 
tures " were those of some clergyman of a hundred 
years ago, and he had placed the three much dilapida 
ted volumes among the ten-cent rubbish accordingly. 
In giving this astonishing record of eighteenth 
century vicissitudes to the world, I have two reasons 
for making myself the historian, and not presenting 
the hero's book in his own correct and straightfor 
ward English. The first reason is, the public has 
been so satiated recently with novels told in the first 
person singular, that even a genuine autobiography 
must at this time be swallowed, if at all, with some 
nausea. The second reason is that the hero, writing 
only of his own doings and his own witnessings and 
in his own day, necessarily omitted many details, 
obtainable by me from other sources, and useful not 
only for filling in the background of his narrative, but 
also that they throw light on some points that were 
not quite clear to himself. 



THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

CHAPTER I. 

A LODGE IN THE WILDERNESS. 

IN the Jacobite army that followed Prince Charlie 
and shared defeat with him at Culloden in 1746, 
were some who escaped hanging at Carlisle or else 
where by fleeing to Scottish ports and obtaining 
passage over the water. A few, like the Young 
Chevalier himself, fled to the continent of Europe ; 
but some crossed the ocean and made new lives for 
themselves in Virginia, Pennsylvania, and other 
provinces. Two of these refugees, tarrying not in 
the thickly settled strip of country along the Atlantic 
coast, but pushing at once to the backwoods of 
Pennsylvania, were Hugh Mercer, the young sur 
geon destined to die gloriously as an American gen 
eral thirty years later, and Alexander Wetheral, one 
of the few Englishmen who had rallied to the Stuart 
standard at its last unfurling. From Philadelphia, 
where they disembarked from the vessel that had 



2 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

brought them from Leith, straight westward through 
Lancaster and across the Susquehanna, the two young 
men made a journey which, thanks to the privations 
they had to endure, was a good first lesson in the 
school of wilderness life. 

They arrived one evening at the wigwams of a 
Shawnee village on the verge of a beaver pond, and 
were received in so friendly a manner by the Indians 
that Wetheral decided to live for a time among them. 
Mercer, joined by some other enterprising newcomers 
from the old country, went farther westward ; but 
the two friends were destined to meet often again. 
Wetheral built himself a hut near the Indian village 
and indulged to the full his love of hunting, fishing, 
and roaming the silent forest. Often he saw other 
white men, for already the Scotch and Irish and 
English had begun to build their cabins and to clear 
small fields on both sides of the Susquehanna, across 
which river there were ferries at a few infantile set 
tlements. By 1750 so many other English and 
Scotch, some of the men having their wives with 
them, had put up log cabins near Wetheral's, and 
had cleared ground for farming all around, that the 
settlement merited a name, and took that of Car 
lisle. The Indians, succumbing to the inevitable, 
betook themselves elsewhere. 

Wetheral, with all his love for the free life of the 
woods, welcomed civilization, for he was of gentle 



A LODGE IN THE WILDERNESS. 3 

birth and of what passed in those days as good edu 
cation, and had a taste for learning. His life was 
now more diversified. He not only hunted and 
fished, but also cultivated a few acres, and during a 
part of each year he did the duties of schoolmaster to 
the settlement, for the Scotch-Irish, like the Puri 
tans of New England, went in for book-learning. 
He sent the skins obtained by him in the chase to 
Philadelphia by pack-horse, and sometimes, for the 
sake of variety, accompanied them, passing, on the 
way, through the belt of country industriously tilled 
by the growing German Protestant population, and 
through that occupied by Quakers and other Eng 
lish, in the immediate vicinity of Philadelphia. In 
his own neighborhood the people of the best manners 
and information were Presbyterians, and in course of 
time he came to count himself as one of them, less 
from religious ideas than from a natural wish to 
associate himself with the respectable and lettered 
element; for, much as he loved the roaming life of 
the hunter, he was repelled by the coarseness and 
violence and ill living of a certain class of nomadic 
frontiersmen who doubtless had good reason to keep 
their distance from politer communities. 

He was one of the Pennsylvanians who went as 
pioneers in Braddock's fatal expedition, and on that 
he saw Colonel Washington. He marched with his 
old friend, Hugh Mercer, in the battalion of three 



4 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

hundred men under Col. John Armstrong, of Car 
lisle, in 1756, from Fort Shirley to the Indian town 
of Kittanning, which the troops destroyed after kill 
ing most of its hostile inhabitants. During a part 
of that year and of the next, he served in the pro 
vincial garrison at Fort Augusta, far north from 
Carlisle, and east of the Susquehanna. 

Returning home when his period of enlistment 
was up, he stopped at the large house of a prosperous 
English settler possessing part of a fine island in the 
Susquehanna, fell in love with one of the settler's 
daughters, prolonged his visit two weeks, proposed 
marriage to the daughter, was accepted, spoke to her 
father, was by him violently rejected and subsequently 
ejected, ran away with the girl, or rather paddled 
away, for the means of locomotion in this elopement 
was an Indian canoe, and was married in the settle 
ment of Paxton, near John Harris's ferry, by the 
Reverend John Elder. 

As the young wife, who was kind of heart and wise 
of head, desired to be near the roof whence she had 
fled, that a reconciliation might be the more easily 
attempted, Wetheral traded off his field and cabin 
at Carlisle, returned northward across the Kitocktin- 
ning mountains to the neighborhood of his wife's 
former home, built a log house of two rooms and a 
loft, near the left bank of the Juniata, a few miles 
above that river's junction with the Susquehanna, 



A LODGE IN THE WILDERNESS. 5 

and there, in the month of April, 1758, he became 
the father of Richard Wetheral, the hero of this 
book. 

The child's arrival was aided by his maternal 
grandmother, who had already melted towards the 
young couple, although her husband still held out 
against them. The surgeon whom Mr. Wetheral 
had summoned from Fort Hunter, which the settlers 
were garrisoning because of signs of an Indian out 
break, arrived too late to do more than pronounce 
the boy a healthy specimen and predict the speedy 
recovery of the mother, who was indeed of sturdy 
stock. The household whose different members the 
observant infant soon began to discriminate consisted 
of the father, whose dauntless and hearty character 
has already been slightly indicated ; the mother, who 
was comely and strong in nature as in face and form ; 
a younger sister of the mother's, and a raw but 
ready youth hired by the father to aid in working the 
little rude farm and in protecting the family from 
any of the now rampant Indians who might threaten 
it. For Mr. Wetheral's house was so near Fort 
Hunter that he chose to stay and occupy it rather 
than to take refuge within the stockade of the fort, 
which latter course was followed by many settlers of 
the near-by valleys when the Indian alarm came 
in the month of our hero's birth. 

But the Wetherals were not molested by any of 



6 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

the Indians that roamed the woods in small parties, 
in quest of the scalps of palefaces, during the spring 
and summer of 1758. Often, though, there came 
news by horse and canoe, and carried from settle 
ment to settlement, from farm-cabin to farm-cabin, 
of frequent depredations : how in York County 
Robert Buck was killed and scalped at Jamieson's 
house and all the rest of its dwellers were carried 
away ; how, near at home, in Sherman's Valley, a 
woman was horribly killed and scalped ; how, in 
July, Captain Craig, riding about seven miles from 
Harris's Ferry, was suddenly struck in the face by a 
tomahawk thrown from ambush, put spurs to his 
horse and fled from his yelling savage assailants, 
escaping by sheer speed of his animal, the blood 
flowing from the huge gash cut in his cheek by the 
well-aimed hatchet ; how fared the soldiers who set 
off in search and pursuit of the red-faced enemy, and 
who were none other than the hardiest of the settlers 
themselves, accustomed to shoot Indians or bear, to 
burn out rattlesnake nests, or to farm the ill-cleared 
land, as occasion might require. 

Thus the talk to which Dick Wetheral (for it was 
early settled that he should be called Richard, a 
favorite name in his mother's family) became accus 
tomed, as soon as he knew what any talk meant, was 
of frightful perils and daring achievements. Such 
talk continued throughout all his childhood, though 



A LODGE IN THE WILDERNESS. J 

after 1758 the Indians were peaceful towards central 
Pennsylvania until 1763. 

The boy early showed an adventurous disposition. 
His first explorations, conducted on all-fours, were 
confined to the two rooms on the ground floor of 
the house, but at that stage of his career a journey 
to the end of the kitchen from the extremity of the 
other apartment, which served as parlor and princi 
pal bedroom, was one of length and incident. New 
territory was opened to him to roam, on that event 
ful day when his aunt carried him up the ladder to 
the loft, which was divided by a partition into two 
rude sleeping-chambers, and in which he derived as 
great joy from being set at large as Alexander would 
have drawn from the discovery of a new world to 
conquer. 

When the boy was in his second year, his world 
underwent a vast enlargement. This came about 
through his father's building a house to which the 
original log cabin of his birth became merely the 
rear wing. The new structure, made of logs covered 
with rough-sawn planks, destined to be annually 
whitewashed, provided two rooms on the ground 
floor, and two bed-chambers overhead. One of these 
lower rooms communicated by a door with the origi 
nal log building, of which the ground floor was 
transformed, by the removal of the partition, into 
one large kitchen. From the new parlor a flight of 



8 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

stairs led to the room above, whence a low door and 
a few descending steps gave entrance to the old loft, 
so that the young explorer, by dint of long exertion, 
could reach the second story unaided. And now 
his days were full of experiences. From his favorite 
spot near the kitchen fireplace, to the farthest 
corner of the spare bedroom down-stairs, by way of 
the parlor (which was invariably called "the room "), 
was a trip sufficient for ordinary days. But in times 
of extraordinary energy and ambition, the crawling 
Dick would make the grand tour up the stairs and 
through the four second-story apartments, which 
seemed countless in number, and each a whole prov 
ince in itself. So long ago was yesterday from 
to-day, at that time of his life, that this immense 
journey was full of novelty to him at each repetition, 
the adventures of one journey having been forgotten 
before another could be undertaken. And these 
adventures were as numerous as befell Christian in 
his Pilgrim's Progress. There were dark corners, 
queer-looking articles of furniture seemingly with 
life and expression, shadows of strange shapes, that 
made the young traveller pause and hold his breath 
and half turn back, until reassured by the sound of 
his aunt's voice calling to the chickens in the kitchen 
yard, his father or the hired man sharpening his 
sickle or calling to the plow-horse in the field be 
yond, or most welcome and reassuring of all 



A LODGE IN THE WILDERNESS. 9 

his mother singing at her work in the rooms 
below. 

What a great evening was that when the little 
indoor explorer found a fellow traveller! ,Dick was 
already in bed and asleep, having retired somewhat 
against his will, as he would have preferred to 
remain up until his father's return from a horse 
back journey on business down the river. When he 
was awakened by his mother, on whose face he saw 
a smile that promised something pleasant, he blinked 
once or twice in the candle-light, and looked eagerly 
around. He saw his father standing near his mother, 
and between the two a great black head whose long 
jaws were open in a kind of merry grin of good-fel 
lowship, and from between whose white teeth pro 
truded a red tongue that evinced an impulse to 
meet the wondering Dickie's face half way. The 
boy gazed for a moment, then threw out his hands 
towards the beaming face of the newcomer, and 
screamed with gleeful laughter. A moment later 
the dog was licking the youngster's face, while Dick, 
still laughing, was burying his fingers in the animal's 
shaggy black coat. Thereafter, the boy Dick was 
attended on all his expeditions by the dog Rover, 
and never were two more devoted comrades. The 
dog was a mixture of Scotch collie and black spaniel, 
and, though in size between those two breeds, looked 
a huge animal from the view-point of two years. If 



IO THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

Dick required less than the usual grown-up assist 
ance in learning to walk, it was because Rover was 
of just the size to serve as a support. 

Dick now began to make excursions outdoors. Of 
course he had already spent much time in the open 
air, but always under the eye of some member of the 
household. His previous travels from the house had, 
by this guardianship, been robbed of the zest of 
adventure. The first trips abroad that he made 
independently were clandestine. Thus, one after 
noon when the men were in the fields, and his aunt 
was busy tracing figures in the fresh sand that had 
been laid on the parlor floor, he availed himself of 
his mother's preoccupation over her spinning-wheel 
to sally forth from the kitchen door with no other 
company than Rover. His mother, humming a tune 
while she span, did not at first notice the silence in 
that part of the kitchen where Dick's presence was 
usually manifest to the ear. At last, the bark of 
Rover, coming with a note of alarm from a distance 
of several rods beyond the kitchen door, roused her 
to a sense of the boy's absence. With wildly beat 
ing heart she ran out, and towards the sound, which 
came from beyond the fruit-trees and wild grape 
vines that bounded the kitchen yard. She soon saw 
that Rover's call for help had reason. Little Dick 
was leaning over the edge of a deep spring, staring 
with amusement at his own image in the clear shaded 



A LODGE IN THE WJLDEKNESS. I I 

water. Who knows but the nymphs of the spring 
would have drawn him in, as Hylas was drawn, had 
not the mother arrived at that moment, for the boy 
was reaching out to grasp the face in the water when 
she caught him by the waist ? 

Another time, it was not the warning bark of 
Rover, but the merest accident, that rescued the 
boy from a situation as perilous. His aunt, going 
into the little barn near the house, to look for eggs, 
saw him sitting directly under one of the plow- 
horses in a stall, watching with interest the move 
ments of the animal's fore-feet, as they regularly 
pawed the ground. On being taken back to the 
house, little Dick was made to understand that soli 
tary expeditions were forbidden, and in so sharp a. 
manner that thereafter he rarely violated orders. 
He was carefully watched against the recurrence 
of temptation to travel. A constant source of ter 
ror to the mother, on Dick's account, was the near 
ness of the river, whose bed lay a few rods to the 
south, not far from the foot of a steep bank which 
fell from the piece of ground on which the house 
stood. This piece of ground was surrounded by a 
rude fence, and the boy spent many a longing 
quarter of an hour in looking through the rails at 
the river that flowed gently, with constant murmur, 
below. Between the river and the bank ran what 
some called a road, what may have formerly been an 



12 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

Indian trail, and what in Dick's time was really but 
a rough path for horses. It led from the farms 
farther back up the river, behind the azure moun 
tains at the west, down to the more thickly settled 
country beyond the mountains at the east, and afar 
it joined the road to Lancaster and Philadelphia. 

The boy's parents early taught him his letters, for 
the elder Wetheral had brought a few books with 
his meagre baggage from the old country, and had 
since acquired, from some of the settlers of the best 
class, a few more, two by dying bequest, two by 
gift, and four or five by purchase and trade. With 
the contents of some of these, Dick first became 
acquainted through his father's reading aloud on 
Sundays and rainy days, before the kitchen fire. 
One of these was Capt. John Smith's account of 
his marvellous achievements. Strangely enough, 
or rather naturally enough, the parts of this book 
that most interested Dick were not where Smith 
told of his adventures with Indians in America, but 
where he related his' doings in Europe ; for Indians 
and primitive surroundings were familiar matters to 
Dick, whereas accounts of the old world had for him 
all that charm which a boy reared in the midst of 
civilization finds in pictures of wilderness life. A 
few of the books were illustrated with prints, which 
the boy studied by the hour. One of these books 
was an odd volume of a history of the world, and 



A LODGE IN THE WILDERNESS. 13 

contained mainly that part which related to France. 
It had crude engravings of two or three palaces, a 
few kings, three or four queens, a Catholic killing 
a Huguenot in front of the Church of St. Germain 
1'Auxerrois, a royal hunt, and the Pont Neuf, backed 
by the towers of Notre Dame and flanked by build 
ings along the Seine. These rough pictures, thanks 
to some mysterious cause or other, exercised on little 
Dick a potent fascination. 

" Who is that ? " he asked his mother one day, 
pointing to a wood-cut that purported to portray a 
human being, as he lay sprawling on the floor, his 
favorite book opened out before him. 

"That is a king," replied his mother, looking down 
from her sewing. The mother and the boy were 
alone in the kitchen. 

" King David ? " 

" No ; a king of France." 

"King George?" 

" No ; King George is king of England, where 
your father came from, and your grandfather, and of 
America, where we are. France is another country." 

" Where does this king live ? " pointing to the 
wood-cut. 

" He is dead now. .He died long ago. He lived 
in a city called Paris, in the country called France." 

" Is that a house ? " The boy had turned to a 
supposed picture of the Louvre. 



14 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

"Yes, a great, big house, a palace they call it, 
because it belongs to the king." 

" Did it belong to that king ? " 

"Yes, I think so. It is in the city where I told 
you that king lived, Paris." 

" Is this house in that city, too ? " He indicated a 
building in the picture that showed the Pont Neuf. 

" Yes." The mother laid down her sewing and 
stooped beside the boy. "And so is this house in 
Paris. And this. And this, too. All these houses 
are in Paris." 

" Do all these people live there, the pretty ladies 
and soldiers ? " 

"They all did, I suppose." 

" How many houses are there in Paris ? " 

" Oh, a great many thousand." 

" More than there are in Carlisle ? " 

" Oh, yes ! A hundred times more." 

"Where is Paris?" 

" Oh, very, very far away." 

"Which way?" 

"Why, that way, I think." She pointed towards 
the east. " Your father can tell you exactly, when 
he comes in." 

" How far away is it ? As far as Carlisle ? " 

" Much farther than that. Your father can tell 
you." 

" As far as Lancaster ? " 



A LODGE IN THE WILDERNESS. 15 

" Oh, farther. Farther than Philadelphia. Away 
across land and water." 

" As far away as the farthest mountains yonder, the 
blue ones against the sky ? " He had risen from the 
floor, and he pointed eastward through the open 
kitchen doorway. 

"Oh, yes. If you went clear across those moun 
tains, you wouldn't be near Paris yet." 

" But if I went on and on, far enough, I'd get to 
Paris at last, wouldn't I ? " 

" Yes, at last," said the mother, smiling, and draw 
ing the boy to her and kissing him, impelled by the 
mere thought of the separation his query suggested 
to the fancy. 

When she returned to her sewing, he continued 
looking for awhile towards the distant east, then re 
sumed his study of the pictures. At supper that 
evening he made his father laugh by asking which 
way a body should go, to get to Paris. His mother 
explained how his curiosity had been aroused. His 
father, laughing again, and winking at the mother, 
said : 

"Why, boy, a body would have to start by the 
road that goes down the river to your grandfather's, 
that's certain. And if .a body travelled long enough, 
and never lost his way, yes, he would surely get to 
Paris at the end." 

" Would he be very tired when he got there ? " 



1 6 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

" Very tired, indeed, if he didn't rest several times 
on the way," replied Wetheral, Senior, keeping up 
the joke. 

The next afternoon Dick's mother, having baked 
some cakes of a kind that she knew her husband 
liked hot, sent some of them by the boy to the two 
men in the field, which was not far from the house 
but was partly hidden therefrom by the barn and 
out-buildings and some fruit-trees. Dick, being now 
four years old, had often gone to the fields with his 
aunt or mother when water or food had been carried 
out to the men at work, and as the way did not lie 
near the river, there seemed no risk in sending him 
now alone. When, after due time, he did not return 
to the house, the two women supposed the men had 
kept him with them in the field. But this was not 
the case. Mr. Wetheral and the hired man, having 
seen little Dick tripping back towards the house, ate 
the cakes in the shade of a tree and returned with 
sickles to their attack on the wheat, with no thought 
of the boy but that he was now safe home. When 
they returned in the evening for supper, their sur 
prise in not finding him there was reciprocated by 
that of the women at his not coming back with the 
men. The dog, which had accompanied him to the 
field and from it, also was missing. The men 
immediately started in search. 

The boy by this time was some distance away. 



A LODGE IN THE WILDERNESS. \J 

f 

He had crawled through the fence, near the barn, 
descended the declivity to the horse-path by the 
river, turned his face eastward, and trudged reso 
lutely on with Rover at his heels. It was some 
time before he would admit to himself that he was 
becoming a little tired, and that the stones and twigs 
in the way were bruising his bare feet perceptibly. 
At last he conceded himself a short rest, and, follow 
ing Rover's example, leaned over where the bank 
was low and the river shallow, and drank. He was 
soon up again and going forward, forgetful of his 
former fatigue, and heedless that the sun behind him 
was nearing the horizon. So long a time is a day 
to a child ! In the afternoon the doings of the 
morning are of the dim past, or are forgotten, while 
the evening is yet far away, and countless things 
may be done before the night comes. He could 
surely reach those farthest blue mountains in an 
hour or so, and a little walking thereafter must bring 
him to this strange, wonderful Paris, so entirely 
different from his own home and from his grand 
father's place down the river. He would have to 
pass his grandfather's place, by the way, on his 
walk, and it never occurred to him how long a time 
it would take him to reach merely his grandfather's, 
so vague was his recollection of his former visits 
there. He could see Paris, the king and the palaces 
and the soldiers and the beautiful ladies and the 



1 8 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

great bridge, and return home by supper-time ; and 
he would have so many things to tell that his father 
and mother would make his punishment a light one, 
or might even forget to punish him at all. 

He came to a place where the path divided. After 
a moment's hesitation, he took the wider branch, 
which carried him from the riverside, straight into 
the unbroken woods. Presently this path ended 
abruptly, so that there was nothing before him but 
thick undergrowth. Rather than retrace his steps 
to reach the branch that he had rejected, which 
must be the one he ought to have taken, he started 
to reach it directly through the woods, moving 
towards where he thought it should be. He made 
his way cautiously, lest he might tread on some 
rattlesnake or other serpent, which could not be as 
easily seen in the dimness of the forest as in the 
path by the river. That dimness increased apace, 
and still he had not found the path. At last the 
boy paused, perplexed and a little appalled. The 
chill of evening came on. He was very tired 
now. He began to think of Indians, bears, and 
other savage things with whose existence in the 
neighborhood he was well acquainted, and of mon 
sters of which he had heard from his parents, such 
as giants, lions, and other horrible things. Wher 
ever his view lost itself in the dark arches of the 
trees, he imagined mysterious and frightful creatures 



A LODGE IN THE WILDERNESS. 19 

were concealed, ready to appear at any moment. 
He summoned heart, and trudged on again. Finally 
it became so dark that he feared to proceed lest he 
might, at any step, land in a nest of snakes. Rover 
stopped close beside him, and looked in his face, as 
if for counsel. He put his arm around the dog's 
neck, and the two together sank down on some 
mossy turf at the foot of a tree. Rover curled up 
with his chin on the boy's shoulder, and Dick lay 
with his head on the dog's shaggy side. Dick would 
have cried, had his impulse ruled, but he was already 
too proud to make such an exhibition of weakness in 
the presence of Rover. Thus they lay while night 
fell. Now and then Rover raised his head a little 
and listened. The boy was too much overcome by 
his situation to think of what might ultimately befall. 
He could only wish, with an intensity as keen as 
could be endured, that he was home by his mother's 
side in the candle-lit kitchen, and nestle closer to 
the dog. The insects of the forest kept up an ear- 
piercing chorus of chirps, whirrs, and calls. At last 
reality melted imperceptibly into dreams, in which 
the boy was again toiling forward on the road to 
Paris. A terrible noise broke in upon his dream. 
Starting up, he found it was only the barking of 
Rover, a bark of eagerness and joy rather than of 
alarm or threat. A faint light approached slowly 
through the trees. It resolved itself at last into a 



2O THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

lantern, and the huge dark object beside it became 
a man, who called out, as he came rapidly nearer : 

" Dick, lad, are you there with the dog ? " 

A minute later the boy was in the arms of his 
father, who was striding back towards the path, 
while Rover ran yelping gleefully before and behind 
and on every side. 

How short was the journey back to the house, 
compared with that which Dick had made from it in 
the afternoon ! Almost before Dick had finished 
his explanation to his father, in somewhat incoherent 
speeches and a rather unsteady voice, they beheld 
the kitchen's open door, in which the mother stood 
waiting. She caught the boy in her arms, covered 
his face with kisses and tears, and declared he should 
never go out of her sight again. 

" But I'll go some day, when I'm grown up," said 
little Dick, as he sat filling himself with supper a 
half-hour later. "I didn't know the road to Paris 
was so long." 

And he didn't know his road to Paris should one 
day be taken with no thought of its leading him 
there, and how very roundabout that road should 
be. 



CHAPTER II. 

"OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY." 

THE next time Dick went far from home was when 
the hired man, John Campbell, took him past his 
grandfather's island, and thence on down the Susque- 
hanna and into Sherman's Valley, whither Campbell 
was bent on a courting expedition. During his visit 
at the house of Campbell's friends, Dick attended the 
burning out of a snake-nest, an occasion that was par 
ticipated in by settlers from all the country round. 
The nest was in a pile of rocks in some woods that a 
farmer intended to transform into a field for cultiva 
tion. Here rattlesnakes and copperheads throve and 
multiplied. Men with axes and sickles cleared a circle 
around the rock-pile, at some distance from it, and 
then set fire to the wood within. When the flame 
reached the snakes, for which there was no escape, 
their writhing was a novel sight. Dick, who at first 
enjoyed the spectacle as only a young boy can enjoy 
scenes of wholesale slaughter, at last came to being 
sorry for the victims, because they had no fair fight 
ing chance. . The loathsome odor that soon arose 



22 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

drove him away, so that he lost most of the rum- 
drinking and other jollification that followed the 
snake-burning. 

Snakes, though he could pity those attacked with 
fire and at a disadvantage, were Dick's abomination. 
Their abundance was a chief reason why he dared 
not gratify his taste for roaming far from the house. 
As yet, when he came on one suddenly, he would act 
the woman, that is to say, he would run in great 
fright, or sometimes stand still in greater, till help 
came or the snake fled of its own accord. It was 
several years before he had the courage, on hearing 
the shriek of some snake-affrighted harvesting woman 
in the fields, to vie with the men in running to her 
rescue. For a long time he envied the readiness 
with which his father, if confronted by a snake while 
reaping, would club it to death and then, sticking the 
point of the sickle through its head, hold it up for 
the other harvesters to see. 

But there was a long season when the settlers 
need have no fear of rattlers and copperheads, nor 
of Indians, either ; that was the winter. Dick was 
allowed to walk abroad a little more freely then, for 
the very reason that the cold was sure to bring him 
soon back again to the vast fireplace. There were 
other reasons than those of weather, why that fire 
place was a magnet to Dick. There, in the time of 
little work, when the world outside was white and 



"OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY." 2$ 

wind-swept, Dick's father would sit and read to the 
household, or tell of his fights and dangers on both 
sides of the ocean. There, when the cider went 
round, was great flow of joke and story and song. 
For Dick's father, though a man of strict standards 
of behavior, and outwardly stanch to his adopted 
sect, which in his neighborhood stood for decency 
and education, was a man of lively wit and of jocular 
turn of mind. Dick's mother, though of a severely 
Presbyterian family, and humbly religious, was of too 
kindly and cheerful a nature to be soured by piety, 
and too rich with the health of this pleasant earth to 
be constantly thinking of another world. She had 
sensibility and emotion, with the common sense and 
strength to control them. Her younger sister par 
took of the prevalent lightness of heart. Campbell, 
the hired man, whose raw stolidity was tempered by 
a certain taciturn jocoseness, contributed to the 
household mirth by the stupid wonder with which 
he listened to the others, the queer comments he 
sometimes made, and the snores with which he often 
punctuated the general conversation when he slum 
bered in his seat in the fireplace. Dick's place was 
opposite Campbell's, and when he sat there in the 
evening he could look up and see the stars through 
the top of the chimney. Rover's spot was at Dick's 
feet, whence in his dreams he would echo the snores 
of Campbell. 



24 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

The father would tell of his share in Prince Char 
lie's defeat at Culloden, of his own escape and Dr. 
Hugh Mercer's to the Scottish port whence they 
had sailed ; of that fatal march of Braddock's army 
towards Fort Duquesne, and the fearful death that 
blazed out from the seemingly empty woods around, 
and the conduct of the young Virginia colonel, 
Washington, and the night burial of the mistaken 
English general by torchlight in the dismal forest ; 
of the march of resolute John Armstrong, the Scot 
tish Covenanter, of Carlisle, to Kittanning, in 1756; 
the destruction of the Indian town, the slaughter of 
the Indian chiefs, and the wounding of nearly all 
Armstrong's officers ; how Wetheral's friend, Mercer, 
a captain in the expedition, wounded and separated 
from his men, wandering for weeks alone in the 
forest, living on roots and berries, once repulsing 
starvation by eating a rattlesnake, at last came upon 
waters that led to the Potomac, and so reached Fort 
Cumberland. Wetheral told of George Croghan, the 
Indian trader, who had figured in Braddock's cam 
paign ; and of Captain Jack, called also the Black 
Hunter, the Black Rifle, and the Wild Hunter of 
Juniata, who with his band of hunters scourged the 
Indians in revenge for his wife and children slain 
and his cabin burnt while he was away hunting ; 
and of other border heroes, whose names have not 
lived as long. 



"OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY." 2$ 

In Wetheral's earlier reminiscences, the name that 
oftenest reached Dick's ears, and most agreeably 
impressed them, was that of Tom MacAlister, a 
former fellow Jacobite, whom Wetheral had thought 
killed at Culloden, but who had turned up, to his 
great surprise and joy, a sergeant in Braddock's army 
in America, in 1/55. Surviving Braddock's defeat, 
he had retreated with the remnant of the British 
army, and since then Wetheral had neither seen nor 
heard of him. Of all the characters that figured in 
his father's stories, Dick made MacAlister his fa 
vorite. This was not only on account of the warlike 
deeds he had done, or the jests he had perpetrated, 
or the comical scrapes he had figured in, or the 
pithy sayings that Wetheral quoted from him, or 
the fact that he had served as a soldier in many 
lands, but also for a circumstance connected with 
Dick's early acquired love of song. When Dick 
would express a liking for some particular one of 
the many tunes his father whistled or sang, the 
father would say to the mother : 

" You ought to hear Tom MacAlister play that on 
his fiddle or pipe, Betty ! " 

And when the boy, pleased with the words of 
some ballad of which his father had remembered 
but a part, would eagerly demand the rest, the 
father would usually say : 

"I don't know it, Dickie, lad. If Tom Mac- 



26 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

Alister were here, he could sing it all for 
you." 

Thus Dick came to think of this Tom MacAlister, 
whom he had never seen, and could with little reason 
expect ever to see, as the source, OF at least the 
repository, of all the songs that ever were written, 
and all the tunes that ever were composed. Dick 
dearly loved the sound of a fiddle, and whenever 
there was a wedding anywhere in the sparsely set 
tled neighborhood he would beg his parents to take 
him behind one of them on horseback, or to let 
him go with John Campbell, that he might enjoy 
the scraping of the fiddles, while the rustic guests 
danced, and made merry with rum, hard cider, and 
peach brandy. 

If he could only hear Tom MacAlister play the 
pipe or fiddle ! If he could but once see that hero 
in the flesh, touch the hands that had performed so 
many acts of valor, behold the face that had been 
turned towards so many foes, hear the voice that had 
uttered so much wisdom, sung so many ballads, and 
could tell so many true tales of marvellous experi 
ence ! To Dick, this much - talked - of Tom, who 
might no longer be among the living, was as a 
hero of legend, a Jack the Giant Killer, a Mr. 
Greatheart, a Robinson Crusoe. 

Some of the songs sung by Dick's father, and by 
his mother, too, who had picked up most of her 



"OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY.". 2 7 

tunes from her husband, were Jacobite ballads. One 
snowy day, in Dick's fifth winter, his father, mending 
a bridle beside the fire, was heard by Dick to sing 
in a low voice : 

" < There was a wind, it cam to me, 
Over the south, an' over the sea, 
An' it has blawn my corn and hay, 
Over the hills an' far away.' " 
i 

Dick looked up from where he was sitting, by 
the legs of a skillet under which some brands 
were burning. 

" Is that the tune it means when it says about 
Tom that was a piper's son, all the tune that he 
could play was ' Over the hills and far away ? ' ' 
he asked. 

"I don't know, son. There are a great many 
songs of ' Over the hills and far away.' Tom Mac- 
Alister used to sing them all." 

Dick studied a moment, then asked : 
"Who was Tom MacAlister's father?" 
"A Highland man, and I've heard Tom say he 
was a great player on the bagpipe." 

"Why, then," cried Dick, "maybe he was the 
Tom that was a piper's son ! " 

" I shouldn't doubt it in the least," replied 
Wetheral, with a wink and a smile at his wife. 
But Dick's face, after glowing for a moment with 



28 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

the exultation of so great a literary discovery, soon 
fell. 

"No," he said; "because Tom MacAlister could 
play hundreds and hundreds of other tunes, and 
Tom that was a piper's son could play only ' Over 
the hills and far away. ' 

"Ay," said the father, "but then, you see, that 
song might have been about Tom MacAlister before 
he had learned any other tune than the one. I 
think he told me once that for a very long time he 
couldn't play any other." 

Mrs. Wetheral smilingly shook her head in hope 
less disapproval of the jocular deceit practised by 
her husband on little Dick ; but the boy was too 
taken up with his discovery to observe her move 
ment, and so from that day, to him, Tom MacAlister 
and Tom who was a piper's son were one and the 
same Tom. 

But there came a time when neither singing nor 
fiddling was in season, and when reminiscences of 
past dangers in foreign lands gave way to fears of 
imminent dangers at home. This was in the spring 
of 1763, when Dick was five years old, but possessed 
of such strength and endurance as would be marvel 
lous in a boy of that age nowadays. Almost as soon 
as the woods and fields were green again, and the 
orchards white and pink with fruit-blossoms, came 
news, from every side, of Indian surprises and 



. "OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY." 29 

alarms. The Pennsylvania tribes, such as the Dela- 
wares and Shawnees, once friendly to the English 
settlers, but rendered contemptuous of them by 
Braddock's defeat, had not ceased ravages against 
them, even after Wolfe's victory at Quebec in 1759 
had made the English masters of the continent. It 
seemed now, in 1763, as if the redskins had mus 
tered their strength for a decisive series of revenge 
ful blows against the colonists. In from the west 
and down from the north they came, unseen, un 
heard, penetrating the whole frontier in. small parties, 
striking without warning, often where least expected, 
destroying by rifle-ball, knife, tomahawk, and fire. 
No one knew when a painted band, armed for 
slaughter, might not suddenly appear as if by magic 
from the apparently solitary wilderness around. No 
settler's family could go to bed at night with the 
assurance that they might not be aroused before 
dawn by smoke and flames or by the unearthly 
shrieks of savages. Most of the settlers in the 
valleys south of the Juniata fled across the moun 
tains to Carlisle. Some from the vicinity of the 
Wetherals took refuge in Fort Hunter, which con 
sisted of a rectangular stockade, with a log block 
house rising from the corner, and with cabins inside 
to serve indifferently as barracks for the Provincial 
soldiers and as temporary lodgings for the people of 
both sexes and every age who took refuge there. 



30 THE KOAJ) TO PAMfS. 

Dick's grandfather, deciding to remain in his large 
and strong house on his island in the Susquehanna, 
invited the Wetherals thither, actuated in part, 
perhaps, by the consideration that his son-in-law 
would prove a notable addition to the home garrison. 
Wetheral accepted, for the sake of his family, al 
though the reconciliation between himself and his 
stiff-necked father-in-law had never been more than 
merely formal. The Wetherals had no sooner joined 
the large family in the island mansion than there 
came word, by terrified refugees, of killings and 
burnings on the Juniata, quite near, as distances 
between neighbors then went, to Wetheral' s house. 
Later came similar tidings up from Sherman's Val 
ley. Houses of those who had fled were burnt, and, 
as summer advanced, a great deal of their grain was 
destroyed. When harvest-time came, several of the 
men who had fled returned in parties, well armed, to 
get in their crops. A party, strong in numbers, 
would go from farm to farm, taking in each harvest 
as rapidly, and bestowing it as securely, as possible. 

At a certain time in July, one such party of 
reapers was working on the farm of William White, 
who lived not far from Dick's grandfather. This 
party had been reinforced by some of the men now 
at the latter' s place, one of whom was John Camp 
bell. The nearness of White's house, the large 
force of men there, and the fact that the Indians 



"OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY." 31 

were thought to have gone out of the neighborhood, 
had enabled Dick to get permission to go with 
Campbell to this reaping, at which there was a 
famous fiddler from Tuscarora, of whom the boy had 
often heard. On Saturday evening, after the work 
was done, Dick revelled to his heart's content in the 
scraping of this frontier virtuoso. The reapers 
made merry so late that night, that they were quite 
willing to observe the ensuing Sabbath by resting 
most vigorously. 

All the warm sunny morning, they lay on the 
floor of the principal room. Dick alone showed any 
disposition towards activity. While the men slum 
bered, or turned heavily over on the floor, or stared 
drowsily at the wooden ceiling, or stretched and 
yawned, Dick amused himself by climbing up the 
ladder to the loft overhead. 

He had reached the round next to the top one, and 
was about to thrust his head up through the opening 
into the loft, when he heard a slight creak from the 
door of the room below. He looked in time to see 
it swing open, and three painted, naked, feather- 
crowned bodies appear in the doorway, each one 
behind a rifle whose muzzle was instantly turned 
towards some sleeper on the floor. Terrified into 
dumbness, Dick's gaze involuntarily turned towards 
the window opposite the door. The oiled paper that 
had served instead of glass had been swiftly and 



32 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

silently cut away with a knife, and three savage 
heads appeared above the window base, each shining 
eye directed along a different rifle-barrel towards 
one of the prostrate reapers. 

Dick opened his mouth to cry out, but he could 
emit no sound. Before he could form a thought, 
the six rifles blazed forth in concert, and an instant 
later the room below was filled with smoke, shouts 
of pain, and furious curses. A terrible chorus of 
piercing war-screams from outside the house showed 
that the redskins who had crept up so silently were 
in large number. Dick tarried no longer, but sprang 
up into the loft and ran wildly to a little window at 
the end of it. He supposed that he had been seen 
and would be followed up the ladder. 

He thrust out his head and looked down. This 
little window was over the one through which three 
of the savages had fired into the room down-stairs. 
He saw three other Indians aiming in through the 
lower window, while the first three were reloading 
their rifles. Others were shrieking their war-whoop 
and brandishing the knives and tomahawks with 
which they were to complete the work begun with 
the rifles. Up from the ladder hatchway, amidst 
the noise of heavy bodies falling and of the men 
rushing to their arms and yelling and swearing, 
came the sound of another volley, fired probably 
through the doorway. Dick drew his head in and 



" OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY." 33 

waited with wildly beating heart, wondering what to 
do, and fearing to look back towards the hatchway 
lest he might see savages rushing up after him, with 
gleaming knives and upraised tomahawks. But none 
came. The noise from the room below indicated 
that knives, tomahawks, and guns had business 
enough down there. 

After what seemed a space of several minutes, 
Dick cautiously looked again out of the window. 
He saw now but one savage, and that one soon 
disappeared through the lower window, into the 
room where his fellows were completing the slaugh 
ter of the unprepared reapers. The hideous shrieks 
of triumph that came up through the hatchway told 
clearly enough that victory was with the attacking 
party, and that the seal ping-knife was already in use. 

Suddenly Dick's blood turned cold. A sound of 
sharp, eager grunting, detached from the general 
hubbub below, arose immediately beneath the hatch 
way. A red hand appeared through the opening, 
grasping the loft floor against which the ladder 
rested. 

The little window at which Dick stood was 
neither glazed nor papered. He went out through 
it, feet first ; hung for a moment by his fingers to 
the ledge, then dropped to the ground below, fell 
on his side, scrambled to his feet, turned his back 
to the house of shrieking slaughter, and ran across 



34 THE ROAD TO PARIS.' 

the field towards the nearest woods. Though the 
direction in which he went took him farther from 
his grandfather's, he nevertheless did not stop or 
turn, on reaching the woods, but ran straight on, 
as fast as the irregularities of the ground would let 
him, and for once with reckless disregard of possible 
snakes, his only thought being to put the greatest 
distance between himself and the yelling murderers 
behind him. 

After a long run, he stopped for lack of breath, 
and began to consider his situation, as well as the 
rapid beating of his heart would allow him to do. 
He regretted that he had not taken Rover with him 
to White's, if he had done so, he might now have 
at least the comfort of the dog's society. At last 
he decided to make for his grandfather's, by a detour 
which would take him far from the house where the 
savages were now holding their carnival of blood. 
This detour required several hours, as his bare feet 
suffered from contact with stones, thorns roots, and 
the rough bark of fallen branches. Finally, on 
hearing a sound as of a horse's foot crunching into 
stony soil, a little to the left and ahead, he stopped 
and stood still. The sound continued. Could it be 
that he was near a bridle-path and that this sound 
indicated some solitary traveller ? As yet he could 
see nothing moving through the thick forest. While 
he waited, a slighter sound close at hand, that of an 



"OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY." 35 

instant's movement among bushes, suddenly drew 
his glance. From a mass of laurel near the ground, 
gleamed a pair of eyes directly at him, on a level 
with his own. He started back, thinking they might 
belong to a wildcat or some other crouching animal. 

Instantly the owner of the eyes swiftly rose, and 
stood erect from the bush, a naked Shawnee, 
daubed yellow, and carrying knife and tomahawk. 
Dick turned and ran, casting back one look, in which 
he saw the Indian hurl the tomahawk after him.. 
The boy fell forward on his face just in time to feel 
the wind of the hatchet instead of the hatchet itself, 
which cleft the air directly over his head and lodged 
in a tree-trunk in front of him. The Indian, aban 
doning his intention of remaining in the bush, for 
which he had doubtless had his own reason, now 
glided after Dick, who had not half risen when he 
felt the Shawnee' s fingers grasp his long hair, and 
saw the knife describe a rapid circle in the air in 
preparation for its descent upon his scalp. The 
boy cast one despairing look up towards the Indian's 
implacable face. 

The stillness of the woods was suddenly broken 
by a loud detonation. Something dug into the 
Indian's breast, a horrible grimace distorted his face, 
a fearful cry came from his throat, his knife-blow 
went wide, and he leaped clear over Dick, retaining 
some of the boy's hair in his clutch as he went. The 



36 THE ROAD TO PARIS, 

next moment he lay sprawling, face downward, some 
feet away. He stiffened convulsively, and never 
moved again. 

Dick looked towards the direction whence the 
shot had come. In a little opening among the trees 
he saw a horse standing ; on its back a tall, gaunt, 
brown-faced stranger, from whose rifle-muzzle a little 
smoke was still curling. The newcomer was appar 
ently about forty years old ; wore an old cocked hat, 
a time-worn blue coat, whose long skirts spread out 
over the horse's rump, a red waistcoat, patched green 
breeches, and great jack-boots that had known much 
service. His long brown hair was tied in a queue, 
and, besides his rifle, he carried before him an im 
mense pistol. A long, projecting chin gave a gro 
tesque turn to his features, whose grimness was 
otherwise modified by amiable gray eyes. 

" Sure, sonny," he called out to the astonished 
and staring Dick, " it's the part of Providence I 
played towards ye that time ; in return for whilk 
favor, tell me now the way to one Alexander Weth- 
eral's house, if ye ken it." 

Not sufficiently learned in dialects to note the 
stranger's mixture of Scotch and Irish with the 
King's English, Dick eagerly proffered his services 
and said that Alexander Wetheral was his father. 

" What, lad ! Gie's your hand, then, and it's in 
front of me ye shall ride hame this day. It's a glad 




THE NEWCOMER WAS APPARENTLY ABOUT FORTY 
YEARS OLD." 



"OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY." 37 

man your father 'ull be, when he sees ye bringing in 
Tom MacAlister as a recruit, and no such raw one, 
neither ! " 

Dick almost fell off the horse, to whose shoulders 
the stranger had lifted him. 

Such was his first meeting with Tom that was a 
piper's son. 

The two reached Dick's grandfather's without 
molestation, and the newcomer was duly welcomed. 
Lack of occupation in Europe, and the desire to be 
always enlarging his experiences, had brought him 
again to the New World, and in search of his early 
friend. 

He had immediate opportunity to employ his cour 
age and prowess. A few days after Dick's adven 
ture, there came to his grandfather's house a settler 
named Dodds, with an account of how the same 
Indians who had shot the reapers at White's had 
thereupon gone to Robert Campbell's on the Tus- 
carora Creek, found Dodds and other reapers there 
resting themselves, and first made their presence 
known by a sudden deadly volley of rifle-balls. In 
the smoke and confusion, Dodds had made, unseen, 
for the chimney, which he had ascended by great 
muscular exertion while the massacre was proceeding 
in the room below. He had dropped from the roof 
and fled to Sherman's Valley, where he had given 
the alarm, which he was now engaged in spreading. 



38 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

Dick's father and grandfather, with all the aroused 
settlers who could be summoned, speedily organized 
a party to make war on the savage invaders. In the 
expedition this force made, MacAlister was in his ele 
ment. He was one of the detachment of twelve who 
overtook twenty-five Indians at Nicholson's house 
and killed several, at the cost of five of the white 
men. The chasing of Indians, and the fleeing from 
them, continued all summer. William Anderson was 
killed at his own house, depredations were com 
mitted at Collins's, Graham's house was burnt, and 
in September five white men were killed in a battle 
at Buffalo Creek. Finally a hundred volunteers, 
including Wetheral and MacAlister, went up the 
Susquehanna to Muncy, encountered two companies 
of Indians that were coming down the river, killed 
their chief, Snake, and drove the others back from 
the frontier. In the fall, the Wetherals, with their 
guest, went back to their own house, but not at the 
first waning of summer. Too many settlers, de 
ceived by the earliest signs of winter, had in times 
past returned to their houses, thinking themselves 
safe from further Indian ravage ; but, with the brief 
later season of warm weather, the Indians had reap 
peared for final strokes, and hence that fatal season 
received the name of Indian summer. 

Tom MacAlister, impelled by his friendship for 
Wetheral, and by the charm that he found in the 



"OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY." 39 

still wilderness, took the place formerly occupied 
in the household by John Campbell, who had been 
killed at White's. If not in the field, at least at the 
fireside and in the dooryard, he was a vast improve 
ment upon his heavy-witted predecessor. With a 
fiddle, bought from a settler, Tom soon verified all 
the assertions Wetheral had made about his musical 
ability. 

As 1763 was the last year of general Indian out 
breaks in the neighborhood, the arts of peace there 
after had full opportunity to thrive in the Wetheral 
household. From childhood to pronounced boyhood, 
and then to sturdy youth, Dick Wetheral grew, to 
the constant accompaniment of Tom MacAlister's 
fiddle. Dick became, in time, a fairly capable tiller 
of the soil, an excellent horseman, a good hunter, a 
comparatively lucky fisherman. He was a straight 
shot at a distant wild turkey, a quick one at a run 
ning deer, and a cool one at a threatening bear. He 
was a great reader, not for improvement, but for 
amusement and because books gave him other worlds 
to contemplate. When he had read and re-read all the 
volumes of his father's little stock, he took means to 
learn who else owned books in the neighborhood. 
The owners were few and far between, and fewer 
still were the books possessed by any one of them. 
But what books there were, Dick hunted down, 
taking many a long ride in the quest, buying a 



40 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

volume when he could, or trading for it, or borrow 
ing it. 

Thus he made the acquaintance of Fielding's 
novels, and one or two of Smollett's, and of Shake 
speare's plays, and from all these he acquired stand 
ards of gentlemanly conduct and manners, and ideals 
of feminine beauty and charm, which standards and 
ideals kept him alike from close association with the 
raw youths of the neighborhood, and from succumb 
ing to the primitive attractions of any of the farmers' 
daughters. Slowly and imperceptibly, by his read 
ing and his thoughts, he was, if not fitting himself 
for a vastly different world from the one about him, 
at least unfitting himself for the latter. One cause 
of his strong attachment to Tom MacAlister, after 
he had come to regard that worthy in a more accu 
rate light, and no longer idealized him as the half 
mythical hero of his childhood, was that Tom 
represented tjie great world of cities and courts. 

Tom was the son of a Scotch father and an Irish 
mother, and one of the two had a sufficient streak of 
English blood to account for Tom's length of chin. 
To his mixed ancestry was due his unique inter 
mingling of brogues and accents. It was a question 
which was the greater, the severity of his visage or 
the drollery of his disposition. It was looked upon 
as a caprice of nature that a man of so sanctimonious 
an aspect should on occasion swear so hard, and that 



"OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY." 41 

he who could drink so enormously of liquor should 
retain such meagreness of body. He advocated strict 
morality, though he admitted having himself been a 
sad lapser from virtue. He testified frankly to hav 
ing broken "all the ten commandments and half a 
dozen more." He had been a great patron of the 
playhouses, could perform conjuring tricks, and was 
able to oppose a card-cheat with the latter' s own 
weapons. As for religion, wherever he was, he took 
that, as he took the staple drink, " of the country," a 
practice which, he said, gave him in turn the benefit 
of all faiths, and saved him from a deal of inconven 
ience where piety ran strong. He had fought in 
1743 with George II. against the French at Det- 
tingen ; "been out" with the Young Chevalier in 
1745 ; followed Braddock to defeat in 1755 ; served 
under Frederick of Prussia, at Prague, Rossbach, 
and elsewhere ; and had been under Prince Ferdi 
nand, at Minden, in 1759. The disbandment of his 
regiment at the end of the Seven Years' War had 
put his services out of demand. 

In winter evenings, before the flaming logs in the 
great chimney-place, when Tom was not recounting 
adventures he had experienced, or some he had 
imagined, or playing the fiddle, or taking huge gulps 
of hard cider or hot "kill-devil," he was singing 
songs ; and of these the favorite in his list was one 
or other of the versions of " Over the hills and far 



42 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

away." First, there was the song with which Dick 
had been familiar since his infancy, and which for a 
long time he thought alluded to MacAlister himself, 
beginning thus : 

" Tom he was a piper's son, 
He learnt to play when he was young, 
And all the tune that he could play 
Was ' Over the hills and far away,' 
Over the hills and a great way off, 
And the wind will blow my top-knot off." 

Then there was the one which, when it was sung 
by Tom, Dick took to be a bit of veritable auto 
biography : 

" When I was young and had no sense, 
I bought a fiddle for eighteen pence, 
And the only tune that it would play 
Was ' Over the hills and far away.' " 

But what was the song itself to which these verses 
alluded ? Tom knew and sang several, but was 
cloudy as to which was the particular one. That 
mattered little, however, as all went to the same 
tune. There was one artfully contrived to lure 
recruits to the king's service, thus : 

" Hark how the drums beat up again 
For all true soldiers, gentlemen ; 
Then let us 'list and march away 
Over the hills and far away." 



"OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY." 43 

Then there was one that Tom had heard at the play, 
sung by a gay captain and a dare-devil recruiting 
sergeant, and of which the latter half would fill 
Dick's head with longings and visions : 

" Our 'prentice Tom may now refuse 
To wipe his scoundrel master's shoes, 
For now he's free to sing and play, 
Over the hills and far away. 

" We shall lead more happy lives 
By getting rid of brats and wives 
That scold and brawl both night and day, 
Over the hills and far away. 

" Over the hills, and over the main, 
To Flanders, Portugal, or Spain ; 
The king commands, and we'll obey, 
Over the hills and far away. 

" Courage, boys, it is one to ten, 
But we return all gentlemen ; 
While conq'ring colors we display, 
Over the hills and far away." 

And there was a duet, which Tom had heard at the 
opera in London, and which he sang, imitating the 
respective voices of the highwayman and the adoring 
Polly. 

The tune took a lasting possession of Dick, and 
the sweet-sounding recurrent line exercised upon him 
a witchery that increased as he grew. He chose for 



44 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

his bedroom the rear apartment of the loft over the 
kitchen, because its window looked towards the east, 
and his first glance at dawn, his latest at night, was 
towards the farthest hill-tops. There were hills to 
the west, too, a great many more of them ; mountain 
ranges, from the straight ridge of the Tuscaroras, to 
the farthest Alleghanies ; but Dick's heart looked 
not in that direction, where he knew there was but 
savage wilderness all the thousands of miles to the 
Pacific Ocean. Towards the east, where the live 
world was, he longed to wing. Strangely enough, 
so had circumstance directed, he never, till he was 
seventeen years old, travelled as far as to the far 
thest mountains in sight southward or eastward. 
His father had turned his back on the Old World, 
thrown his interests heart and soul with those of the 
new land, built up a well-provided home on the outer 
verge of civilization, joined irrevocably the advance 
guard of the westward march of men. What little 
business he had with towns could be done through 
the pack-horse men and wagoners. So Dick had 
only his imagination on which to call for an idea 
of the level country towards the sea. What was 
behind the hills ? How he envied the birds he 
saw flying towards that distant azure band that 
backed the green hills nearer ! Should it ever be 
his lot to follow them ? 

At seventeen Dick was a strong, lithe youth, five 



"OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY." 45 

feet eleven inches tall, and destined to grow no 
taller ; with a thoughtful, somewhat eager face, 
whose sharpness of feature and alertness of expres 
sion had some suggestion of the fox, but with no 
indication of that animal's vices ; brown hair that 
fell back to its queue from a wide and open brow ; 
and blue eyes both steady and keen. Such was 
his appearance one sunny spring morning when he 
started from the house to join the men in the field, 
from which the sound of his father's "whoa," and 
of Tom MacAlister's chirping to the plow-horses, 
could be heard through the blossoming fruit-trees in 
which the birds were twittering. He returned his 
mother's smile through the open kitchen window, at 
which she stood kneading the dough for the week's 
baking. As he went towards the lane which ran up 
in front of the house from the so-called road, he 
could hear her voice while she half unconsciously 
sang at her work : 

" ' Over the hills, and over the main, 
To Flanders, Portugal, or Spain ; 
The king commands, and we'll obey, 
Over the hills and far away.' " 

He took up the tune and hummed it, and, though 
the cheerful solitude around him seemed ineffably 
sweet, he sighed as he followed with his eyes the 
course of a tiny white cloud towards the high blue 



46 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

eastern horizon. It was Saturday, next to the last 
day of April, 1775. 

As he leaped over the rail fence, from the house- 
yard to the lane, he saw a horse turn into the latter 
from the road. He recognized the rider, a good- 
looking young man, one of the few in the neighbor 
hood with whom Dick was intimate. 

"Good morning, M'Cleland," said Dick, heartily. 
" Where from ? " 

" From Hunter's Mill, and I can stay only a 
moment to give you the news, if you haven't heard 
it." He stopped his horse. 

"What news?" queried Dick, wondering whether 
it might be of another Indian war, like that of Lord 
Dunmore's in Western Virginia the preceding year ; 
or whether there had been a renewal of the old feud 
between the Pennsylvanians and the Connecticut set 
tlers up in the Wyoming Valley ; or whether the 
English government had repealed or reinforced the 
Boston Port Bill. These were matters in which 
Dick and M'Cleland had both taken interest, 
especially the last one, for nowhere had the differ 
ence between King and colonies, which quarrel had 
been growing ever since the passage of the Stamp 
Act ten years before, been more thoroughly discussed 
than in the Wetheral household, and nowhere was 
the feeling for resistance to the King more ardent. 

"Great news," said M'Cleland, controlling his 



"OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY." 47 

voice with difficulty, while his eyes sparkled with 
excitement. " On the nineteenth the King's troops 
marched out from Boston to take some ammunition 
the people had stored at Concord. At Lexington 
they met a company of minutemen, and there were 
shots and bloodshed. The whole country around 
rose and killed God knows how many of the regu 
lars on their way back to Boston. When the mes 
sengers left Cambridge, there was an army of 
Massachusetts men besieging the King's soldiers 
in Boston. There's no doubt about it. At Hunter's 
Mill I saw the man who met at Paxton the rider 
that talked in Philadelphia with the messenger from 
Cambridge, who had affidavits from Massachusetts 
citizens. Tell your people. I'm off up the river. 
Get up ! " 

Dick never went any farther towards the field. 
He called in his father and Tom, and there was 
a long discussion of the situation. Wetheral said 
that Pennsylvania would be organizing troops, in 
due time, to back up Massachusetts, and that the 
only course was to wait and join such a force. But 
Dick would not hear of waiting. " Now is the time 
men are needed ! " was his answer to every counsel. 
First make for the scene of war ; it would be time 
to join the Pennsylvania forces when these should 
arrive there. The father gave in, at last, and the 
mother had nothing to oppose to the inevitable but 



48 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

the protest of silent tears. To her, the whole matter 
was as lightning from a clear sky. It was settled ; 
the boy should go, the father should stay. The 
mother had a day in which to get Dick's things 
ready. As for Tom MacAlister, who was subject 
to no man's will but his own, his first hearing of the 
news had set him preparing for departure. As he 
tied his own horse to the fence rail the next day, to 
wait for Dick, he bethought him how of old his motto 
had been always " up and away again," and he mar 
velled that he had remained twelve years contented 
in one place. 

It was not yet Sunday noon when Dick, who it 
was decided should share with Tom the use of the 
latter' s horse on the journey to Cambridge, accord 
ing to the custom known as "riding and tying," 
mounted for the first stage. He wore a cocked hat, 
a blue cloth coat altered from one his father had 
brought from England, a linsey shirt, an old fig 
ured waistcoat, gray breeches, worsted stockings, 
home-made shoes, and buckskin leggings ; carried 
a rifle, a blanket, and a change of shirts ; and had 
two gold pieces, long saved by his mother against 
the time of his setting up for himself. Tom Mac 
Alister was dressed and armed exactly as at Dick's 
first meeting with him, his clothes having been tem 
porarily supplanted by homespun during his years 
of farm service. 



"OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY." 49 

There was a lump in Dick's throat when he put 
his arms around his mother's neck, and felt against 
his cheek the tear she had striven to hold back. 
The last embrace taken, he gave his horse the word 
rather huskily, and followed Tom MacAlister, who 
was already striding down the lane. Turning into 
the road, Dick looked back, and saw his father, his 
mother, his aunt, and Rover, the last-named now 
feeble and far beyond the age ordinarily attained by 
dogkind, standing together by the fence. His father 
waved an awkward military salute, his mother forced 
a smile into her face, and the old dog made two or 
three steps to follow, as in the past, then stopped 
and looked somewhat surprised and hurt that Dick 
did not call him. One swift glance from the puzzled 
dog to his mother's wistful face, and Dick's home in 
the Pennsylvania valley passed from his sight for 
ever. He cleared his throat, swallowed down the 
lump in it, and turned his eyes forward towards 
the east. Tom MacAlister's grim face wore a look 
of quiet elation, and he could be heard softly whis 
tling, as he trudged on, the tune of " Over the hills 
and far away." 



CHAPTER III. 

AT THE SIGN OF THE GEORGE. 

As they proceeded, Dick laughingly alluded to 
the time when, at the age of four, he had started 
out on this same road, thinking it would take him to 
Paris in a few hours. 

" And wha kens," said MacAlister, in all serious 
ness, " but this same road may yet lead ye there, or 
to Chiney, for that matter ? Him that sets out on a 
journey knowing where 'twill land him is a wiser 
man nor you and me, my son ! " 

Presently MacAlister fell behind, and was soon 
lost to sight as Dick rode on. By and by Dick dis 
mounted, tied the horse to a tree by the path, and 
went on afoot. When he had walked about an 
hour, he was overtaken and passed by MacAlister, 
on the horse, which Tom, on coming up to it, had 
untied and mounted. Walking on alone, Dick in 
due time found the horse tied at the path's side, and 
mounted to overtake and pass Tom in turn. He 
caught up to his comrade at the place where, it had 
been decided, they should cross the Juniata, which 

5 



AT THE SIGN OF THE GEORGE. 51 

they did on horseback together, partly by fording 
and partly by swimming the horse. Proceeding as 
before, and not losing the time to cross to the island 
for a visit to Dick's grandfather when they reached 
the Susquehanna, they came at nightfall to the house 
of a farmer on the west bank of that river, and 
lodged there. At early dawn they were on their 
way again, and just as the sun rose Dick reached 
the crest of the farthest mountains southeast of his 
home. Who could describe his feelings as he looked 
for the first time over the fair wooded country that 
rolled afar towards the purple and golden east ? Did 
his mother, at this moment, looking towards the 
farthest azure line, know he was there at last, and 
that he saw what the birds had seen that he had so 
often envied when they flew eastward ? " Get up ! " 
he cried, and urged his horse down the eastern 
mountainside towards his future. 

Riding and tying, the two comrades came to 
Harris's ferry-house, whence they crossed the Susque 
hanna in a scow, to the small collection of low build 
ings stone residence, old storehouse for skins, 
blockhouse for defence, and others which then 
constituted Harrisburg. While they were crossing, 
the ferryman at the pole entertained them with anec 
dotes of the parents of the John Harris of that day, 
how they were sturdy Yorkshire people ; how the 
wife Esther once in time of necessity rode all the 



52 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

way to Philadelphia in one day on the same horse ; 
how she was once up the river on a trading trip to 
Big Island, and heard of her husband's illness and 
came down in a bark canoe in a day and a night ; 
how she was a good trader, and could write, and had 
boxed the ears of many an Indian chief when he was 
drunk ; how she could swim as well as a man and 
handle firearms as well as any hunter ; how she 
worked at the building of her brick house five miles 
up the Susquehanna ; how she once ran up-stairs and 
took from a cask of powder a lighted candle that her 
maid had mistakenly stuck in the bung-hole ; how the 
then present John Harris was the first white child 
born thereabouts and was taken to Philadelphia to 
be baptized in Christ's Church. Dick would have 
liked to see the inside of the church at Paxton, 
three miles from Harrisburg, because one of his 
acquaintances, having got a girl into trouble, had 
made public confession before the congregation there, 
praying in the usual formula : 

" For my own game, 
Have done this shame, 
Pray restore me to my lands again." 

He would have liked, 'also, to seek out some mem 
ber of the gang of "Paxton Boys" that had killed 
the Conestogo Indians in Lancaster County, in 1764, 
and get the other side of that story, which was 



AT THE SIGN OF THE GEORGE. 53 

generally accepted as one of unwarranted massacre 
of friendly natives. But the impulse to press for 
ward overcame the other, and the travellers, having 
followed the left bank of the Susquehanna, by the 
road which had been in existence from Harris's since 
1736, lodged on the second night of their journey at 
a wooden tavern in the village of Middletown. The 
next morning they turned directly eastward, their 
backs towards the Susquehanna, and proceeded on 
the road to Lancaster. They now entered the band 
of country settled by German Protestants, whose 
fertile farms gave the slightly undulating land a soft 
and smiling appearance. 

At noon, dining at a rude log hostelry, more farm 
house than tavern, they were invited to drink by two 
thin, middle-aged, merry fellows, in brown cloth coats 
and cocked hats, who said they were Philadelphia 
merchants returning from a view of some interior 
land which they intended to purchase for the purpose 
of developing trade. They invited Tom and Dick to 
drink with them, laughed so boisterously at Tom's 
sage jokes, and expressed so much admiration of 
Dick's intelligence and book-learning, that when all 
four left the tavern to proceed eastward, Dick and 
Tom, seeing that the two jolly merchants were afoot, 
took counsel together and agreed to share with them 
the use of the horse. This generous idea was engen 
dered by a hint that one of the merchants made in 



54 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

jest. The horse was a huge animal and could easily 
bear any two of four such thin men as were those 
concerned. Lots were cast to determine which two 
should be the pair to mount first. One of the two 
merchants held the straws, and as a result of the 
drawing he and his companion got on the horse 
together and started. A turn in the road hid 
them from view in half a minute. Dick and Mac- 
Alister were about to follow afoot, when they were 
reminded by the tavern-keeper that the drinks 
taken at the merchants' invitation were yet to be 
paid for. 

"Bedad," said Tom, "our friends were so busy 
laughing at my tale of the 'ensign's wife at the battle 
of Minden, they forgot to settle the score." Dick, 
who had been provided with sufficient silver to see 
him to Philadelphia, besides his two gold pieces, 
speedily paid the bill, and the two comrades resumed 
their journey. After several minutes of silence, 
Tom expressed some belated surprise at the fact that 
two substantial merchants should be travelling afoot. 
Dick replied that there must be some interesting 
reason for so unusual a circumstance. "Ay," said 
Tom, " we'll speer them when we catch up to them." 
The two trudged on. By and by Dick began to 
look, each time the road made a turn, for the horse 
standing at the side of the way, accordingly to agree 
ment. An hour had passed since the tavern had been 



AT THE SIGN OF THE GEORGE. 55 

left behind. Another hour followed. At last Dick 
broke the silence : 

" Is it likely our friends may have lost their way ? " 
Tom MacAlister drew a deep breath and replied : 
" Devil a bit is it them that's lost their way ! It's 
us that's lost our horse." 

" Why, what do you mean ? Two such worthy 
Philadelphia merchants ! " 

" Philadelphia nothing ! I'll warrant they do be a 
pair of rascals from the Connecticut settlement in 
the Wyoming Valley, turned out of the community 
for such-like tricks as they've played on us new-born 
babes. That's the effect on me of twelve years' 
residence in the wilderness. My son, it's time we 
throwed off our state of innocence and braced our 
selves to meet the mickle deviltry of the world. 
Richard, lad, I tell it to ye now, though ye'll no mind 
it till ye've had it pounded into ye by sore experience, 
your fellow man is kittle cattle, and your fellow 
woman more so ! " 

They might have had to walk all the way to Lan 
caster but that they were overtaken by a train of 
pack-horses from Carlisle, and paid the pack-driver 
to shift the horses' loads and give them the use of 
one of the animals. At evening they arrived at 
Lancaster, which then had some thousands of in 
habitants and was to Dick quite a busy and town-like 
place. He saw the prison where the Indian chief 



56 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

Murhancellin had been confined on being appre 
hended by Captain Jack's hunters for the murder of 
three Juniata men the previous year. Dick went to 
see the barracks, the Episcopal and German churches, 
and a house where some of the famous Lancaster 
stockings were made. He gazed with wonder and 
hidden disapproval at the long beards of the Omish 
men, and enjoyed the bustle of horses and wagons 
before the excellent tavern where he and Tom passed 
the night. The next morning the two got seats in 
one of the huge covered wagons engaged in the trade 
between Philadelphia and the interior. They dined 
at the Duke of Cumberland Tavern, and put up at 
evening at the sign of the Ship, thirty-five miles 
from Philadelphia. This distance was covered the 
next day, and a little before sunset, the wagon having 
crossed the picturesque Schuylkill by the Middle 
Ferry and passed under beautiful trees down the 
High Street road, through the Governor's Woods and 
by brick kilns and verdant commons, and across little 
water-courses spanned by wooden bridges, Dick set 
his eyes on Philadelphia, whose spires and dormer 
windows reflected the level sun rays, and whose trim 
brick and wooden houses rose among leafy gardens. 
The town then had about thirty thousand people, and 
lay close along the Delaware, its built-up portion ex 
tending at the widest part about seven or eight 
streets from the river, not counting the alleys and 



AT THE SIGN OF THE GEORGE. $? 

by-streets. As the wagon lumbered down High 
Street, which was then popularly (as it is now offi 
cially) known as Market Street, Dick kept his 
emotions to himself, satisfying his curiosity without 
betraying it, and in no outward way disclosing how 
novel to him was the actual sight, which neither ex 
celled nor fell short of the scene he had so often 
imagined, much as it differed from it in general ap 
pearance. At Fourth Street, as the wagon continued 
east, the houses began to be quite close together. 
At Third, the markets began, and ran thence down 
the middle of the street towards the Delaware. The 
wagon, with its eight horses, stopped for some reason 
at the Indian King Tavern, near Third Street, where 
upon Tom and Dick, having settled with the wagoner, 
and not intending to lodge at that inn, proceeded 
afoot down Market Street, a part of which was paved 
with stones and had a narrow sidewalk for foot-pas 
sengers. This last-named convenience was one that 
even some of the first cities of Europe then lacked. 

The animation of the streets quite put to shame 
Dick's recollections of the little bustle at Lancaster. 
The rifles and baggage of the two did not attract 
much attention among the citizens and tradespeople, 
in those days of much hunting, and especially at a 
time when there was already talk of new military 
companies forming, when the provincial militia was 
drilling and recruiting, and when men were coming 



58 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

to town to offer the colonies their services in the 
event of general revolt. Delegates were already 
arriving from other colonies to attend the Second 
Continental Congress, which was to meet on the 
tenth. 

As the two comrades approached the London 
Coffee House, at Front and Market Streets, they 
saw three well-dressed citizens issue from the door 
and greet with the utmost respect a stocky old 
gentleman who had just turned in from Front 
Street, and whose face was both venerable and 
worldly, kind and shrewd, while his plain brown coat 
took nothing from his look of distinction, and his 
walking - stick seemed quite unnecessary to one 
whose vigor was still that of youth. He cordially 
responded to the three gentlemen, the first of whom 
detained him for the purpose of introducing the 
third. The name by which the old gentleman was 
addressed startled Dick for the moment out of his 
self-possession, and he stopped and stared with 
unfeigned curiosity and pleasure. It was his first 
sight of a world-famous man, and the writer of Poor 
Richard's Almanac, whose proverbs every Pennsyl- 
vanian knew by heart, the celebrated philosopher, 
the wise agent of the provinces, who had just 
returned from London, lost nothing in Dick's 
admiration from the youth's visual inspection of 
his face and person. 



AT THE SIGN OF THE GEORGE. 59 

While Doctor Franklin stood talking with the 
three, Dick and Tom went on past Front and 
Water Streets, turned down along the wharves, 
and presently arrived at their recommended desti 
nation, the Crooked Billet Inn, which stood at the 
end of an alley on a wharf above Chestnut Street. 
The two engaged lodging for the night, bestowed 
their belongings, and went for supper to Pegg 
Mullen's Beefsteak House, at the southeast corner 
of Water Street and Mullen's Alley. Having de 
voured one of the steaks for which that house was 
famous, and as it was not yet dark, Dick proposed 
a walk about the city. But Tom demurred as to 
himself, and said in a low tone, turning his eye 
towards a party of young gentlemen who sat at a 
near-by table : 

" Go and see the sights, lad, and ye'll meet me at 
the Crooked Billet some time before the hour of 
setting out, the morning. I've other fish to fry, 
for a private purpose of my own. And should ye 
see me in company with yon roisterers, mind to 
call me captain or not at all, for I'm bent on 
introducing myself to their acquaintance, and that'll 
require me belonging to the quality." 

Dick looked at the group indicated, which con 
sisted of a handsome, insolent-looking young man 
of about twenty-five and three gay dogs of the same 
age, whose loud conversation had dealt exclusively 



6O THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

with cards and other implements of fortune. With 
no hope or wish of fathoming MacAlister's designs, 
Dick paid the bill (for his friend was almost without 
money), and left the eating-house. He first in 
spected parts of Water and Front Streets, where 
many rich merchants' lived over their shops ; then 
viewed the handsomer residences in South Second 
Street ; saw the City Tavern and some of the well- 
dressed people resorting there ; looked at Carpenter's 
Hall, where the Congress had met the preceding 
year ; walked out to the State House, crossed 
Chestnut Street therefrom, to drink at the sign of 
the Coach and Horses, the old rough-dashed tavern 
nestling amidst great walnut-trees ; loitered on the 
bridge to look down at Dock Creek each time he 
crossed that stream. When, at dusk, the street 
lamps were lighted (for, thanks to Franklin, Phila 
delphia had long possessed the best street lamps 
in the world), the town assumed what to Dick was 
a fairy like appearance. Of the people he saw in 
the streets, perhaps a third wore the broadbrims 
of the Quakers. A few of the faces were of the 
German type, but most were of the unmistakable 
English character, and from such of these as were 
not Quaker a trained observer might easily have 
picked out a Church of England person or a Dis 
senter at sight. On first entering the city Dick 
had been struck with the prettiness of the young 



AT THE SIGN OF THE GEORGE. 6 1 

women, but now that night had fallen and he had 
returned to the vicinity of the river, the few of the 
fair that he saw abroad were of rather bedraggled 
appearance. 

As he walked along the wharves, listening to the 
lap of the tide against the piles and vessels, he heard 
a sharp scream of mingled pain and anger, in a fem 
inine voice. Looking quickly towards the wharf 
whence it came, he saw, in the light from the 
corner of a small warehouse, a young woman re 
coiling from the blow of a sailor who was about 
to strike her again. She dodged the second blow, 
and the sailor made ready to deliver a third, but 
before he could do so Dick's fist landed on the side 
of his head and he dropped to the wharf, dazed and 
limp. Dick then took off his hat to the woman, 
who was a slender creature of about twenty, dressed 
with a cheap attempt at gaiety. With quite attractive 
large eyes, she quickly viewed Dick from head to foot. 

" Rely on my protection, madam," said he, tingling 
with exultation at having had so early an opportunity 
to figure as a rescuer of assailed womankind. 

"1 am afraid he will follow me," said the girl, in a 
low tone, glancing at the sailor, after her examination 
of Dick's appearance. 

" He will do so at his peril, if you'll accept my 
arm to the place where you are going," said Dick, 
with great gallantry and inward self-applause. 



62 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

The girl took the proffered arm, cast a final look 
at the sailor, who was foggily trying to get on his 
legs, and led Dick off at a rapid gait. They had 
turned into an alley towards Water Street before the 
sailor had fully regained his senses. Up Water Street 
the girl went, giving Dick the opportunity to see, by 
a window light or a street lamp here and there, that 
her features, though pale, were well formed. For 
beauty they lacked only something in expression. 
After passing several streets, the girl turned into 
another alley that led towards the river, stopped at a 
mean two-story wooden house half way down, and 
asked her preserver to come in and accept some 
refreshment. He did so with alacrity, and found 
himself in a small room beneath the rafters, the floor 
bare, the single window broken in most of its small 
panes, a tumble-down bed taking up half the apart 
ment, a broken wooden chair beside a dressing-table, 
the whole lighted by a single tallow candle that the 
girl obtained down-stairs. Without consulting her 
guest, she called to some invisible person below for 
brandy and water, with two tumblers. Dick sat on 
the chair, his hostess on the bed, both in silence, till 
the liquor was brought by a fat, red-faced woman 
with unkempt hair, who grinned amiably at Dick, and 
departed only after several suggestive looks at the 
brandy. Her fishing for an invitation to partake was 
all in vain, being unobserved by the inexperienced Dick. 



AT THE SIGN OF THE GEORGE. 63 

When he was alone with the heroine of his first 
adventure, and the brandy had been tasted, Dick 
undertook to overcome her reticence, being sure that 
she had some story of unmerited misfortune to tell. 
She soon gratified him with a tale as harrowing as 
might have been found anywhere in fiction. She 
was the daughter of people of quality who had lost 
their all through the schemes of designing persons, 
and her only weapon against starvation was her 
needle. She had that evening delivered some sewing 
to the wife of a sea-captain on his vessel, which was 
to sail that night, and it was on her return therefrom 
that she had been accosted by the sailor, whose 
blows were elicited by the repulse she had given 
him. Her face became more animated as she talked, 
and Dick began to think her fascinating. Brandy 
was called for and served repeatedly, and at last the 
red-faced woman who brought it said she was going 
to bed and could serve no more that night, and her 
bill was ten shillings. Dick promptly paid, for 
getting that he was the invited guest, and not 
neglecting the occasion to show in a careless way 
how much money he carried. The girl then told 
him that, as he would certainly find his tavern closed 
should he return to it at so late an hour, she would, 
in spite of appearances and on account of his char 
acter and his services to her, share her own poor 
accommodations with him for the rest of the night. 



64 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

As Dick was now in a state in which he would have 
solicited this favor had it not been offered, he readily 
accepted. 

When he awoke, at dawn, he found himself alone. 
Taking up his waistcoat to put it on, he noticed that 
a certain inner pocket did not bulge as usually. A 
swift investigation disclosed that all his money had 
disappeared, silver as well as gold. There was not a 
sign of his hostess left in the bare, squalid room. 
He hastened down the steep, narrow stairs, and met, 
in the entry below, the red-faced servitor, of whom 
he inquired the whereabouts of the girl. The fat 
woman professed entire ignorance of all occurrences 
since she had left the young people the night before. 
From that moment to this, she said, she had slept 
like a top, and from her reply Dick learned that she 
was the proprietress of the house, and that the 
unfortunate daughter of people of quality was a new 
lodger, of whom she knew nothing. A theory 
formed itself in Dick's mind, and he hastened from 
the house to the Crooked Billet, where he was 
astonished to find Tom MacAlister just arrived from 
a night, like Dick's, passed elsewhere than at that 
inn. Dick rapidly recounted his adventure to Tom, 
over a morning glass at the bar, and ended his 
narration with the words : 

" Do you know what her disappearance means ? " 

" What ? " grunted Tom. 



AT THE SIGN OF THE GEORGE. 65 

" It means that my robbers have carried her away 
in order to silence all evidence of their crime ! Or, 
maybe, the sailor tracked us and procured a gang to 
abduct her, and robbed me in doing so, either in 
revenge or to pay his accomplices ! " 

" Huh ! Ye're ower fu' of them there things ye 
read in the novel-books, Dickie, lad." 

" By George, this proves that real life is some 
times very like the novels ! I hope this affair will 
end like them. We must find the girl, Tom ; we 
must rescue her ! " 

" Be jabers, we maun be spry about it, then, for 
the New York stage-coach starts from the sign of 
the George in an hour." 

" Come, then ! But I won't leave Philadelphia 
till I've found her, though we have to wait for an 
other day's stage-coach. Come, Tom, for God's sake 
don't be so slow ! " 

Tom indeed walked so deliberately from the 
Crooked Billet that Dick had to accelerate his prog 
ress by tugging at his arm. Dick hurried him up 
along the wharves, without the slightest plan of- 
action formed. " Bide a wee," said Tom, presently ; 
"sure, there's no arriving anywhere till ye've laid 
out your line of march. Come wi' me into yon tav 
ern, and we'll plan a campaign in decency and order." 
Dick saw the good sense of this, and turned with 
Tom up an alley towards a wretched-looking place, 



66 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

of which the use was indicated alike by its dirty sign 
and by the sounds of drunken merriment issuing 
from its windows. As Dick and Tom entered, they 
saw by whom those sounds were produced, a sailor 
and a young woman drinking together in great good- 
fellowship at a table. Dick recognized both, the 
sailor whom he had knocked down the night before, 
the girl in whose defence he had knocked him 
down. Both looked up as he entered, and the girl 
burst out laughing in a jeering, drunken fashion. 
"That's him," she said to her companion, who there 
upon began to bellow mirthfully to himself, regarding 
Dick with mingled curiosity and amusement. 

"Wha might your friends be?" queried Mac- 
Alister of Dick. 

" Come away," said Dick, a little huskily ; and 
when the two were out in the alley, whither the 
derisive shouts of the pair inside followed them, he 
added, " If the stage goes in an hour, we'd better 
be taking our things to the sign of the George." 

"But your money? 'Twas a canny quantity of 
coin ye had in the bit pocket there." 

" Damn the money ! I couldn't prove anything, 
and I want to get away from here. But by the 
lord, how can we go on without money ?" 

" Whist, lad ! If some folk choose to spend the 
nicht a-losing of their coin, there's others knows how 
to tell a different tale the morning. Do ye mind 



AT THE SIGN OF THE GEORGE. 6? 

the braw soldier-looking lad I proposed to thrust my 
company on, in the beefsteak house ? If I didn't 
introduce myself as Captain MacAlister, retired on 
half pay from his Majesty's army, and if I didn't pile 
up a bonny pile of yellow boys through handling the 
cards wi' him and his pals in his room at the George 
all nicht, then I'm seven kinds of a liar, and may all 
my days be Fridays ! Oh, Dickie, lad, a knowledge 
of the cards, ye'll find, comes in handy at mony a 
place in the journey through this wicked, greedy, 
grasping world ! " And old Tom made one of his 
pockets jingle as he finished. 

The two travellers returned to the Crooked Billet, 
paid for the lodging they had not used, got their 
weapons and baggage, and went to Second Street 
and thereon north to Arch, at the southwest corner 
of which the sign of St. George battling with the 
dragon hung before the fine and famous inn where 
the stage-coaches departed and arrived. The "Fly 
ing Machine " was already drawn up before the 
entrance, the horses snorting and pawing in impa 
tience to start. Dick and Tom saw their belongings 
safely stowed in the coach, which was a flat-roofed 
vehicle simple and plain in shape, and loitered before 
the inn, watching the hostlers and enjoying the fine 
spring sunshine, while MacAlister gave Dick a fur 
ther description of the card-playing young man from 
whom much of the money had been won, 



68 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

" I took the more joy in winning," added Tom, 
" for because the young buck showed himsel' sic a 
masterfu', overbearing de'il and ill-natured loser, not 
at all like his friend wi' the French name, who 
dropped his round shiners like a gentleman. And 
mind here, now, take heed to call me captain should 
they fa' in wi' us on the way to New York, for, frae 
the talk of them, I conjecture that them and the 
Frenchman's sister start the morning hame-bound 
for Quebec, on their ain horses." 

" Do they come from Quebec ? " 

"Ay, on business for the Frenchman and his 
sister, wha, it seems, cam' in for the proceeds of 
some estate in this town, them being of English 
bluid on the mother's side. That I gathered frae 
the Frenchman's talk wi' a man of the law wha 
called while his hot-headed friend and me and the 
others were at the cards. Ah, now I mind the 
friend's name, Blagdon, Lieutenant Blagdon ; for, 
bechune you and me, he's a King's officer on leave of 
absence frae Quebec, only he keeps it quiet just now, 
lest the mob might throw a stane or two his way." 

" Then what's he doing here ? " 

" Bearing company to the Frenchman and his sis 
ter. It's like there's summat bechune him and the 
girl, though devil a bit could I find that out, wi' all 
my speering. But come, lad, while we ha' our choice 
of .seats/' 



AT THE SIGN OF THE GEORGE. 69 

They entered the coach, where they were soon 
joined by other passengers. While Dick was watch 
ing the driver on the front seat take up lines and 
whip, three horses were brought from the yard, and 
at the same time two young gentlemen and a young 
lady came out of the inn and stood ready to mount. 
Dick did not observe them until his attention was 
called from the driver by some low-spoken words 
of MacAlister's : 

"That's a sour-faced return for a friendly saluta 
tion ! 'Tis the English lieutenant that gave me a 
scowl for my bow. Sure, the French Canadian has 
more civility." 

By this time the three were mounted. Dick at 
once recognized the robust but surly-looking young 
man on the right as the arrogant talker of the beef 
steak house, and the rather slight but good-looking 
and well-mannered youth on the left as one of the 
other's companions there. The lady between the two 
was partly concealed from Dick's view by the Eng 
lish officer, until with a crack of the driver's whip 
the stage-coach pulled out, when, by looking back, 
he had a full sight of her. The sight caused his 
lips to part and himself to throw all his conscious 
ness into his eyes alone. 

Catherine de St. Valier, daughter of a younger 
branch of the noble French Canadian family of that 
name, was then in her seventeenth year, tall and 



/O THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

well developed for her age, in carriage erect without 
stiffness, her face oval in shape with chin full but 
not too sharp or too strong, nose straight and deli 
cate, dainty ears, forehead about whose sides hair of 
dark brown fell in curves but left the middle uncov 
ered, brows finely arched and high above the eyes, 
which were of a piercing black and never too wide 
open, full red lips, complexion pale but clear, with 
a very faint touch of red in each cheek, her coun 
tenance dignified and made doubly interesting by 
a slight frown ever present save when she smiled, 
which was rarely and then naturally and with no 
gush of overpowering sweetness. The slightly 
thrown-back attitude of her head was no affectation, 
but was a family characteristic, possessed also by her 
brother. 

" What is it, lad ? " whispered MacAlister, catch 
ing Dick's arm. " Sure, ye'll be leaving that head 
of yours behind ye in the road if ye bean't carefu' ! " 

" Sure," Dick murmured, as he drew his head in, 
" I think I've left this heart of mine back yonder 
under the sign of the George." 

Tom gave a low whistle. "Weel, weel," he then 
said, "it 'ull soon catch up, for this Flying Machine, 
as they call it, is no match for them Virginia pacers 
the Canadian folk is mounted on." 

This prediction was soon fulfilled. Ere the stage 
coach had passed the outskirts of the city, a little 



AT THE SIGN OF THE GEORGE. /I 

above Vine Street, the three riders had cantered by 
at a gait that promised soon to take them far ahead. 
"Nay, don't be cast down," quoth Tom. "We're 
like to run across them on the journey, and they'll 
have to wait in New York for their baggage, which 
goes by wagon. I mind now, frae the gentlemen's 
talk, they'll go up the Hudson by sloop till Albany, 
then by horse again to Montreal, and then by the St. 
Lawrence to Quebec. What a pity they don't be 
bound for Boston, eh, lad ! But whist, Dickie ! 
The sea do be full of good fish, and it's mony a sonsie 
face ye'll be drawing deep breaths about, now yje're 
over the hills and far away, and ganging f urder 
every turn of the coach-wheels." 



CHAPTER IV. 

OF A BROKEN SABBATH AND BROKEN HEADS. 

IN those days the tri-weekly stage-coaches made 
the trip from Philadelphia to New York in the un 
precedented time of two days, passing Bristol and 
several other thriving Pennsylvania villages, taking 
ferry over the Delaware River to Trenton, which then 
consisted mainly of two straggling streets and their 
rustic tributaries ; bowling through New Jersey 
woods and farms and hamlets, and crossing ferries 
and marshes to Paulus Hook, where the passengers 
alighted and boarded the ferry-boat for the city whose 
fort, spires, and snug houses adorned the southern 
most point of the hilly island of Manhattan. Sev 
eral times, during the first day of their trip, Dick and 
MacAlister had brief sights of the three Canadians, 
who sometimes fell behind the stage-coach, and as 
often overtook and passed it again. Dick nursed a 
hope of meeting the party at dinner, or at the tavern 
where the coach should stop for the night, yet he 
inwardly trembled at thought of such a meeting, 
knowing how awkward and abashed he should feel in 

72 



A BROKEN SABBATH AND BROKEN HEADS. 73 

the presence of that girl. His hopes, however, were 
disappointed, for, though the riders stopped where 
the stage did, they ate in private rooms, and the only 
one of the party who came into the bar or public 
dining-room anywhere was the English lieutenant, 
Blagdon, who ignored MacAlister, and bestowed on 
Dick only a look of disdain. 

On the second morning the Canadians, as before, 
started with the stage and were soon out of sight 
ahead. Dick kept a lookout forward, while Mac 
Alister engaged in talk with the other passengers, 
with whom his narrative powers had by this time 
made him highly popular. For a long time Dick 
was rewarded with no glimpse of the scarlet riding- 
habit his eyes so wistfully sought. But at last, at a 
turn of the road, it came into view against the green 
of the woods. Strangely, though, it was not on 
horseback. The two young gentlemen stood beside 
the girl in the road, and not one of their three animals 
was to be seen. All this was quickly noticed by the 
others in the stage-coach, who uttered prompt expres 
sions of wonder, while the driver whipped up his four 
horses. 

When the coach came up, Lieutenant Blagdon 
hailed the driver, who immediately stopped. 

"We are in a predicament," began the young 
lieutenant, in an annoyed and embarrassed man 
ner. " Half an hour ago, as we were riding by these 



74 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

woods, several wild-looking ruffians rushed out from 
these bushes on either side of the road, with pistols 
and fowling-pieces, which they aimed at us, and de 
manded our money and horses. We were so com 
pletely taken by surprise, our anxiety for this lady's 
safety was so great, we could not have drawn our 
pistols before they could have brought us down, 
in short, we had to yield up our horses and what 
little money we carried, and the robbers made off 
by the lane yonder, leaving us here." 

From the passengers came cries of " Outrage ! " 
"See the authorities!" and "Alarm the county!" 
When others had had their say, Tom MacAlister was 
for organizing a pursuing party of the passengers, 
and was seconded by a reverend-looking gentleman, 
who asked if one of the robbers was not blind of an 
eye. 

" The affair was so quickly over, I for one did not 
notice any peculiarities of appearance among them," 
answered Blagdon. 

The young Frenchman, standing with his sister at 
the edge of the road, now spoke, in perfectly good 
English : " One of them called another Fagan, in 
ordering him to keep quiet ; and said ' That's right, 
Jonathan,' to one who said we shouldn't delay in 
hope of assistance, as they wo.uld shoot us at the 
first sound of wheels or horses coming this way." 

"^That makes it certain," said the clerical-looking 



A BROKEN SABBATH AND BROKEN HEADS. ?$ 

man ; " they are the Pine Robbers, as we call them 
in our part of Monmouth County, where they are a 
great curse. It is surprising, though, that they 
should venture so far inland and from their bur 
rows in the sand-hills by the swamps near the 
coast. . I can be of use in tracking them, as I 
live at Shrewsbury, which is not far from the 
swamps they inhabit and the groggeries they 
resort to." 

But the officer, learning from further talk that 
proper steps for the recovery of the property might 
require several days, and yet fail, said the attempt 
was not to be thought of ; that the horses were the 
only considerable loss, as his party had relied on 
money to be taken up in New York, and that there 
fore they could do no more than take places in the 
stage-coach for that city. 

As the inside places were all filled, and one of 
them would be required for the girl, Dick was out 
in the road in an instant, blushingly blundering out to 
the Frenchman an offer of his seat to the lady, with 
the declaration that he would ride outside, which 
in those days meant on the flat roof of the coach. 
The Frenchman bowed thanks and held out his 
hand to lead his sister to the coach; but she 
stood reluctant, and said : 

" But the portrait, Gerard ! " As she spoke her 
eyes became moist. 



/6 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

" I fear we must lose it, Catherine," said Gerard, 
sadly. 

" If I can be of any service," said Dick, speaking 
as calmly as his heartbeats would let him, and meet 
ing with hot cheeks the first look the girl's fine eyes 
ever cast upon him. 

" I thank you," said Gerard, " but I fear nothing can 
be done. My sister speaks of a miniature portrait of 
our mother, who is dead. One of the robbers, the 
one called Jonathan, seeing the chain by which it 
was suspended from her neck, tore it from her and 
carried it away." 

" I will try to recover it, sir," said Dick, bowing 
to the girl while he addressed the brother. Hearing 
a derisive " Huh ! " behind him, Dick turned and 
saw Blagdon viewing him with a contemptuous 
smile, which was assumed to cover the chagrin 
caused by Dick's undertaking a task the officer 
himself had shirked. Dick reddened more deeply, 
with anger, but said nothing and went to the 
coach for his rifle and baggage. MacAlister, always 
accepting whatever enterprise turned up for him, 
promptly got out, with his own belongings, as also 
did the reverend gentleman, who explained that he 
had intended leaving the coach at the next village, 
to go thence by horse to his home at Shrewsbury. 
The vacant places were taken by the Canadians, 
accounts were settled with the driver, Gerard de St. 



A BROKEN SABBATH AND BROKEN HEADS, fj 

Valier courteously thanked Dick again, giving him a 
New York address but begging him to reconsider so 
desperate a project, Catherine sent back one grate 
ful but hopeless look, the driver cracked his whip, 
the coach rolled off, and the three men were left 
alone in the forest-bordered road. 

After a brief consultation, in which it came 
out that the clerical gentleman was the Reverend Mr. 
McKnight, the Presbyterian pastor of Shrewsbury, 
it was decided that the three should go back to the 
last village passed, which was nearer than the next 
one ahead, hire horses there, then return, and make 
for Shrewsbury by way, first, of the lane down which 
the robbers were said to have fled. They would stop 
at Freehold, report the robbery to the county authori 
ties, and call for the services of sheriff and constable 
in hunting down the malefactors. 

" If the loss were merely of money and horses," 
said the pastor, as the three trudged along with their 
baggage on their backs, " I should not stir far in the 
matter, seeing that the losers are apparently well 
supplied with this world's goods. But the young 
lady's sorrow at the loss of the keepsake was too 
much for me. It will be a kind of miracle if we get 
it back. The man Fagan is a desperate rascal, and 
so, for that matter, are Jonathan West and all the 
others. The man whom those young people heard 
giving orders to the rest was doubtless Fenton, who 



?8 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

learned the blacksmith's trade at Freehold and was 
an excellent workman at it before he took to crime. 
These men will stop at nothing. When they are 
not at refuge in their sand-caves on the edges of 
swamps, among the brush, they are plundering, burn 
ing, and killing, by night, or spending their ill-gotten 
money at some low groggery in the pines. They 
will rob anything, from a poor tailor's shop to a 
wagon carrying grain to mill, and, though it doesn't 
sound like Christian charity to say so, they ought to 
be hanging now in chains from trees, as they probably 
will be some day." 

At the village, so much time was lost in obtaining 
horses, that it was dark before the three arrived at Free 
hold, and therefore they put up for the night at the 
tavern next the court-house, which abode of justice was 
of wood, clapboarded with shingles, and had a peaked 
roof. In the tavern it was learned that Fenton and 
his gang had been seen passing two miles east of 
the court-house, that afternoon, going towards Shrews 
bury, three on horseback, the others in a wagon. 
Mr. McKnight visited a justice of the peace, the 
sheriff, and the constable ; but, as it was now Satur 
day night, those useful officers would not think of 
budging before Monday. Dick feared that if a day 
were lost, even though the miniature should be 
recovered, the Canadians would have left New York 
before he could arrive there to restore it to them. 



A BROKEN SABBATH AND BROKEN HEADS. 79 

Accordingly, the next morning, the three men set 
oui alone towards Shrewsbury, the clergyman having 
stipulated that his share in the enterprise should be 
kept secret, lest his act might serve the undiscrimi- 
nating as an example of Sabbath-breaking. 

" I am clear in my conscience on that score," 
said the minister to Tom and Dick, " and, having put 
my hand to the plow in this business, I will not turn 
back. I can guide you to a rough drinking-place in 
the woods, where it is most likely the ruffians will be 
found. To counterbalance their superior numbers, 
we must use strategy, and we have in our favor the 
fact that most of them are likely by this time to be 
helpless with liquor." 

" ' Oh, that men should put into their mouths an 
enemy to steal away their brains ! ' " misquoted Tom, 
who thought it proper that he should speak piously 
in the presence of the minister. 

" It is fortunate for us if they have done so, in this 
case," said the clergyman, with a smile. A moment 
later he sighed pensively. " My congregation will be 
disappointed this morning. I was expected to arrive 
home last night and to preach to-day. I have my 
sermon in my pocket." 

" What is the text, sir, if I may be so bold ? " 
asked Tom. 

" Leviticus, sixth chapter, fourth verse : ' Then 
it shall be, because he hath sinned, and is guilty, 



8O THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

that he shall restore that Which he took violently 
away.' ' 

" By the powers," cried Tom, forgetting himself, 
" ye're like to get more results putting that text into 
action the morning than by holding forth on it frae 
your ain pulpit ! " 

Under the pastor's guidance, the party turned 
presently from the road into the pine forest, through 
which their horses passed freely by reason of the 
complete absence of undergrowth. MacAlister and 
Dick had left their baggage at Freehold, and Mr. 
McKnight's was so light as to encumber him little. 
Dick and Tom had their rifles, while the minister 
carried Tom's pistol. They proceeded in silence 
some miles, now and then emerging on clear places, 
skirting swamps, and advancing over ground that 
became more and more sandy. At last, in the midst 
of woods, the minister held his finger to his lips, and 
all three stopped. From a distance came the sound 
of a coarse voice singing in maudlin tones a tuneless 
song. The three dismounted, tied their horses to 
trees, and walked cautiously forward in single file, 
Mr. McKnight leading. A low, one-story log build 
ing came into view among the trees. At one end of 
it, under a shed roof, stood four horses and a wagon. 
The bawling of the song came through a small, 
unglazed window, of which the oiled paper was torn. 

"They take their pleasure in security now," whis- 



A BROKEN SABBATH AND BROKEN HEADS. 8 1 

pered the minister, halting a moment, " because the 
officers of justice will not break the Sabbath to 
attack them. On other days they would not be so 
unguarded. I will look through the window, and see 
how the land lies ; then we shall decide what to do." 

He led the way to the groggery and applied his 
eye to a slit in the oiled paper, while Dick and Tom 
stood on either side. In a moment, the preacher 
crouched down beneath the window, and, motioning 
Tom and Dick to do likewise, whispered : 

"There has evidently been a fight. Fagan and 
another are lying on the floor with their heads bound 
in bloody rags. Another is lying near them, dead 
drunk, as his position shows. Jonathan West is sit 
ting on the floor, also drunk ; it is he who is singing. 
Fenton and Burke are playing cards, Fenton's back 
towards the door, Burke facing it. The keeper of 
the place is lying asleep on the bar, and his wife is 
behind it paring potatoes. If we are speedy, two of 
us shall have only Fenton and Burke and the woman 
to deal with, while one goes through West's clothes 
in search of the miniature." 

"Then let us go in at once," said Dick. 

"Softly," quoth the minister; "let us all under 
stand what each is to do. You, lad, perhaps should 
search West " 

" Nay," put in Tom ; " trust me for that. I've 
plied my fingers on the battle-field, and can do the 



82 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

thing so quick I can tak' my ain fu' share of 
the fighting, too." 

"You are right," said the pastor. "The door is 
unbarred. Let us all three burst in at once. You, 
lad, who look the strongest, deal with Fenton, the 
man sitting with his back to the door. Strike him 
down with the butt of your rifle, and be ready to 
shoot if he attempts to rise. I shall take care of the 
other card-player. You, Captain MacAlister, search 
Jonathan West for the portrait, and keep your eye 
on the woman behind the bar. If I am not mistaken, 
she will prove the worst foe of all." 

At MacAlister's suggestion, he and Dick each 
looked through the slit to get a view of the chosen 
field of battle. Then the three stepped softly around 
to the door. Each grasped his weapon tightly, and 
the minister pushed the door open. All made a 
move to rush in, but started back on being con 
fronted by Fenton and Burke, who stood, each with 
pistol raised, doubtless put suddenly on their guard 
by the sound of footsteps. 

Old Tom was the first to recover from surprise. 
He made a swift lunge at Burke, which caught that 
person in the neck, almost breaking it, and sent him 
flying back into the room. Tom leaped after him, 
and was followed by the minister. Fenton turned to 
shoot the latter with his pistol, and Dick availed 
himself of this movement to bring down his rifle- 



A BROKEN SABBATH AND BROKEN HEADS. 83 

butt heavily on the rascal's unkempt head. Fenton 
did not fall, but, after staggering a moment, during 
which Dick reversed his weapon, turned to shoot the 
latter, uttering a savage curse the while ; he thus 
opened his mouth wide, and Dick thrust the muzzle 
of the rifle therein, and forced Fenton rapidly back 
ward into the groggery, to the very farthest corner 
thereof, pinning him therein with the rifle-muzzle in 
his mouth. " Drop the pistol, or I'll fire," cried 
Dick ; and Fenton, perceiving his disadvantage, did 
so. Dick kicked the pistol towards the minister, who 
picked it up. The gentle McKnight had been rain 
ing blows on the head of Burke, who now succumbed 
and lay without protest, leaving the minister free to 
draw the woman's attention from Tom. She had run 
around the bar and threatened with her knife the deft- 
fingered MacAlister while the latter was going through 
West's clothes, an operation preceded by a quieting 
blow on the robber's skull from Tom's rifle-butt. Of 
the four prostrate men, the drunkest one slept on 
through the fray, the two gory-headed rascals opened 
their eyes and looked on with apathy, while the pro 
prietor got down off the bar and looked around for 
some weapon with which to take a hand. At this 
moment Dick, who continued to hold the ferocious 
but speechless Fenton against the wall, felt something 
smooth slipped into his left hand, heard from Tom 
the words, " 'Tis yours to guard, lad," saw at an 



84 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

instant's glance that it was the miniature portrait of 
a woman, and thrust it into his waistcoat pocket. 
The proprietor of the place had now picked up a 
fowling-piece from a corner and was aiming it at 
Dick. It was knocked up by MacAlister, who then 
fell on its holder and was in a fair way to beat out 
his brains, when the woman, having seen her spouse 
in danger, abandoned her contest with the minister, 
and bounded panther-like at Tom. She lodged the 
point of her knife in his cheek, and drew it out for a 
second blow, whereupon the minister, putting a pistol 
in each of his coat-pockets, ran up behind her, caught 
her by the long hair, and dragged her out of the 
house. He did not stop until she was on her back 
on the ground. Before she could rise, Tom had sent 
her husband reeling with a final blow, and had come 
to aid the minister, knowing that the latter had more 
than a match in the woman. Tom placed his feet 
on her hair, which was lying about her head, and, 
digging his heels into the sandy earth, put the muzzle 
of his rifle against her forehead, and told her it was 
his custom, as a soldier, to make short work of cut 
throat she-devils of camp-following buzzards. So 
she lay still, glaring and panting. Mr. McKnight 
reentered the groggery, aimed both his pistols at 
Fenton, and told Dick to release that worthy and 
back out of the place with rifle kept ready to shoot. 
Dick obeyed, and backed out side by side with the 



A BROKEN SABBATH AND BROKEN HEADS. 85 

minister. A minute later, the three thief-hunters 
were running for their horses. They mounted, and 
made their way back to the place where they had 
turned into the pines from the road. 

" And won't ye stand in danger of retaliation from 
the devils ? " queried MacAlister, as Mr. McKnight 
turned to take leave. 

" I think they were so drunk, and the thing was so 
quickly done, they did not know me from a stranger 
like yourselves. They would not suspect a minister 
of such work on a Sabbath day." 

" Begorra, if more such work was done by minis 
ters on Sabbath days, more of the wicked would get 
punishment in this world ! By the Lord, 'twas a fine 
illustration ye gave of the penalties that follow wrong 
doing, and none the waur for that ye thumped a 
rascal's head instead of the pulpit, and made the way 
of the transgressor hard instead of merely saying it 
was." 

" That's the grandest minister I ever saw, and the 
only sermon I never went to sleep at," said Mac 
Alister to Dick, as the two rode back towards Free 
hold, Mr. McKnight having taken his way towards 
Shrewsbury after a friendly farewell and a tender of 
his compliments to the young lady to whom Dick 
was to restore the miniature. 

That night they slept at the village where they 
had hired their horses. They had to lose another 



86 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

day in waiting till the stage-coach came along, and 
so it was Tuesday morning when they found them-, 
selves again on a " Flying Machine " bound for New 
York. This time MacAlister's face was tied up in 
cloths, the wound in his cheek being not serious, but 
vastly inconvenient for the time being. " Another 
war-scar, bedad ! " quoth he. " A mark of the battle 
of Shrewsbury Pines." 

The greater part of the journey was dampened by 
a series of April showers, but when they arrived at 
Paulus Hook and descended from the coach, the sun 
reappeared for a brief display before setting. As 
they crossed in the ferry to New York, that English- 
Dutch-Huguenot seaport town, in the midst of its 
hills and trees, seemed to smile upon them. Look 
ing out towards the bay, with its backing of green 
heights, Dick got his first hint of the ocean beyond, 
and was deeply stirred thereat. In those days a 
beach ran at the foot of bluffs that were crowned 
by gardens and other grounds behind the spacious 
residences on the west side of Broadway. There 
was no commerce along the North River, all the Dutch 
Hudson sloops and the New Jersey boats rounding 
the point to make landing in the East River. Dick's 
gaze, coming in from the bay, past the green islands 
close at hand, rested successively on the fort whose 
walls rose from sloping green banks, the governor's 
garden, the water ends of crooked streets, the little 



A BROKEN SABBATH AND BROKEN HEADS. 8/ 

forest of masts in the East River, the tiny village of 
Brooklyn nestling at the foot of the heights on Long 
Island, and finally on the ferry landing-place, on 
which he and Tom presently set foot. On the 
recommendation of a fellow passenger on the ferry, 
they took lodgings in a small tavern near the White 
hall slip. During supper Dick was absent-minded 
and perturbed. He was all afire to return the min 
iature to Miss de St. Valier. Tom advised him to wait 
till the next day, as it was now quite late. But 
Dick was fearful the Canadian party might depart 
before he could see them. Moreover, the prospect 
of again beholding the entrancing Catherine and re 
ceiving thanks from her own lips, although a delicious 
one, was also disquieting, and Dick was anxious to 
face the interview at the earliest possible moment. 
He therefore put himself and his clothes into the 
best possible appearance, and, while Tom sought the 
Coffee House, found the way to the boarding-house 
in Queen Street at which Gerard de St. Valier had 
told him the party would stay. At the door, where 
he inquired with much concealed trepidation, a black 
servant told him the Canadians had left. His heart 
sank, but rose again a moment later, when the mis 
tress of the house, Mrs. Carroll, having overheard, 
told him the St. Valiers and Lieutenant Blagdon 
had gone to the King's Arms Tavern for their last 
night in New York, intending to take sloop the next 



88 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

morning for Albany. It was now dark, the street 
lamps having been lighted for some time, and. Dick 
decided that, after all, the morning would be the 
more suitable time for approaching the Canadians. 
Being very tired and desiring to rise early, he went 
to bed, and dreamt of the eyes of Miss de St. Valier. 
The next morning he made a hasty breakfast, and 
was already on the way to the King's Arms when it 
occurred to him that he might make himself ridic 
ulous by intruding on the peerless Catherine too 
early. He therefore walked about the town awhile, 
viewing the markets near the East River ; then going 
up Broad Street from the Exchange to the City Hall 
of that day ; then admiring the marble image of 
William Pitt in a Roman toga, at Wall and William 
Streets ; the great dry goods shops in William Street, 
up to Maiden Lane ; the fine broad red and yellow 
brick residences, some with many windows, double- 
pitched and tile-covered roofs, balustrades and gar 
dens, in William Street, Queen Street, Hanover 
Square, and elsewhere : finally crossing to the Broad 
way, and beholding the leaden statue of King George, 
in the Bowling Green or parade-ground before the fort. 
At last he entered the King's Arms, which was next 
but one to the fine Kennedy house at the foot of the 
west side of Broadway, both facing the Bowling 
Green and fort. In the public room he saw Tom, 
who sat reading the New York Gazette, and who 



A BROKEN SABBATH AND BROKEN HEADS. 89 

now merely winked at him, being of no mind to 
figure with him in the restoration of the portrait. 
Dick put on a bold face and asked the man in charge 
to announce him to Mr. and Miss de St. Valier. 

" And, pray, what do you desire of them ? " queried 
an insolent voice at Dick's elbow. He looked around 
and encountered Lieutenant Blagdon, who stood eye 
ing him with a manifest resentment that betrayed an 
uneasy divination of Dick's purpose. 

Dick was on the point of answering hotly, but 
contented himself with a defiant look and the quiet 
reply : 

" I wish to restore the portrait of which Miss de 
St. Valier was robbed while in your company last 
Saturday." 

Blagdon' s wrath was now mingled with chagrin, at 
the confirmation of his fear that another had accom 
plished for the lady the task he had not offered to 
undertake. After a moment's pause, controlling his 
expression, he said : 

" Miss de St. Valier and her brother left New York 
yesterday. As I sail after them on the next 
Albany sloop, you can give me the portrait. I'll 
carry it to them." 

Dick looked the other in the face for a moment in 
surprise, then said, with a contempt as genuine as 
the lieutenant's was affected : 

" You lie, you know they are still here." 



9O THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

" What ! " gasped Blagdon, and turned to an Irish 
officer in whose company he was, for there were 
still a few British troops in New York, the last of 
them not leaving the barracks in Chambers Street 
for Boston until June 6th. "By God, did you hear 
that ? " And with great fury, Blagdon, who was him 
self unarmed, grasped the other officer's sword, drew 
it from the sheath, and would have thrust it into 
Dick's breast, had not the Pennsylvanian quickly 
leaped aside. Furious in turn, at so sudden and 
violent an onslaught, Dick caught the sword with 
both hands near the guard, wrenched it from Blag 
don, and struck the latter heavily on the head with 
the hilt. The lieutenant fell, leaving a curse un 
finished, and lay quite motionless on the floor. 

After a moment, during which every one in the 
room stood startled, the Irish officer stooped over 
Blagdon, felt his head and chest, and said, looking 
up: 

" He's done for ! The blow has killed him ! " 

Dick heard a whisper in his ear, " Run for your 
life, lad ! " and felt himself pushed aside by old Tom, 
who gave no sign of knowing him, and the seeming 
purpose of whose violent movement was to get a look 
at the prostrate man. 

Mechanically, as in a dream, Dick took the hint 
and sped out of the tavern. As he issued forth, a 
picture of the Bowling Green with its statue and 



A BROKEN SABBATH AND BROKEN HEADS. 9 1 

locust-trees, the green and gray fort and the one 
linden and two apple-trees that stood on the city 
side thereof, was imprinted lastingly on his memory, 
heedless as he was of it at the time. Still holding 
the officer's sword, and with no course determined on, 
he ran up the Broadway. He had not gone far, 
when he heard a shout behind him, doubtless from 
some witness of the blow, " Murder ! Murder ! Stop 
that man ! " On he went, while the hue and cry 
gathered behind him. Up the roughly paved Broad 
way, steering wide alike of the house-stoops at the 
side and the gutter in the middle, he ran. Once, as 
he neared Trinity Church, he glanced back. The 
pursuing crowd behind him now looked a multitude, 
and at its head, crying " Stop that man ! " louder 
than any other, but giving him a quick gesture to 
hasten on, was Tom MacAlister. 



CHAPTER V. 

FROM BROADWAY TO BUNKER HILL. 

DESPITE the circumstances, Dick had a brief feel 
ing of mirth at the ludicrous appearance of his com 
rade, who led the chase with such well-simulated zeal 
and a face still circumscribed by the white cloth 
used to keep in place the bandage on his cheek. 
Determined to resist capture to the last, now that he 
had adopted the course of flight, Dick plunged for 
ward and on past Trinity Church. Broadway was 
not then a business street, and the few people whom 
Dick passed or who emerged from the residences or 
cross streets did not know what was the matter 
until it was too late to head him off, so great a start 
he had of his pursuers. Before he had reached St. 
Paul's Church, he looked back again, whereupon 
Tom, with his hand before his body so that the pur 
suers behind him could not see it, motioned to turn 
off into the next cross street. Dick obeyed, and was 
thus for a time lost to the sight of the party in chase. 
Presently the loud voice of Tom showed that he, too, 
had deviated into the cross street. Dick turned his 
head and saw that Tom was the only one who had 

92 



FROM BROADWAY TO BUNKER HILL. 93 

yet done so. MacAlister now violently gesticulated 
to the effect that Dick should turn into some yard or 
other hiding-place. Dick immediately ran through 
the open gateway of what proved to be a yard used 
as a repository for tan. He took refuge behind a 
high pile of this article, and sank to the ground, 
breathless and half-exhausted. There was no one 
else in the tan-yard. As he lay panting, he heard 
Tom stride by, still hoarsely bawling, " Stop that 
man ! " The direction taken by the voice indicated 
that its owner had turned from this street into 
another, and soon the sound of the crowd running 
by was evidence that they had seen Tom make this 
last turn and had supposed he was still on the trail 
of the hunted man. Their voices and footsteps 
died out presently, and Dick was left to ponder on 
the situation. 

He dared not venture out of the yard, lest he be 
seen by one of those who had engaged in the chase. 
He knew that Tom, having led the hue and cry on 
a false track, would at the proper time come back 
for him. Therefore he could only wait. Meanwhile, 
as he was led to consider by the approaching voices 
of some boys at play, what if he should be discovered 
in the tan-yard ? Swiftly choosing the remotest and 
highest pile of tan, he crouched behind it, hastily 
scooped out a hole with both hands, backed into this 
extemporized burrow, laid Blagdon's sword beside 



94 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

him, and then, with his hollowed palms, drew in 
after him sufficient of the previously removed tan to 
conceal himself from any but the most minute ob 
server. Thus buried in the tan, with barely enough 
space open about his head to admit a little dim light 
and a small quantity of dusty air, he made himself as 
comfortable as might be. By and by his ears told 
him that the small boys had entered the tan-yard ; 
then that they were having a sham battle, 'playing 
that the tan-pile next his own was Ticonderoga. 
History was soon reversed, and the English drove 
the French from Ticonderoga, whereupon the French 
properly fell back to Quebec, which was no other 
place than the tan-pile in which Dick lay entombed. 
He felt the tan shift above him, and saw it slide 
down before him and cut off more of his meagre 
supply of light and air, while the shouts of Quebec's 
defenders came to him from overhead. Finally the 
English charged Quebec and tumbled the French 
back from the heights, an operation that resulted in 
Dick's having a series of heavy weights alight on 
his head, a foot thrust into his eye, his opening 
entirely closed up, and himself almost choked. 
Regardless of consequences, he thrust his head out 
through the tan, and saw, to his unexpected joy, 
that the last small warrior was scurrying away from 
behind Quebec. After awhile the boys left the 
tan-yard, and Dick found some relief in a change of 



FROM BROADWAY TO BUNKER HILL. 95 

position, though he did not emerge from his cave. 
Now and then, as the day advanced, he could hear 
steps and voices of people passing the tan -yard, and 
would lie close in fear that some of them would turn 
in. He amused himself by imagining what would 
follow should the tan in which he lay be loaded on 
some cart or wagon. So passed an interminable 
day, beautiful outside with New York's incomparable 
sunshine, but to Dick an age of numbness and pain, 
due to his long retention of each cramped position 
he assumed ; of hunger and thirst, of alarms and 
conjectures, and of frequent thoughts of the man he 
had felled, thoughts which he invariably put from 
him in his horror of regarding himself as a slayer. 
At nightfall he came out of his hole, but remained 
behind the tan-pile, listening for a familiar step. At* 
last it came, cautious but unmistakable. Dick rose, 
saw a gaunt form in the gateway, and bounded 
towards him. 

"Whist, lad!" said Tom, grasping Dick's of 
fered hand. " Sure ye sprung up like a ghaist. 
The coast is clear now, though eyes will be kept 
open for ye in the city and about, for mony a day 
to come. Let us sit down and wait a minute or two,, 
till it do be just a wee bit darker. 'Twas a grand 
chase I led them, mon, was it not, now ? " 

"'Twas the best trick I ever saw played. But 
where did you pass the day ? " 



96 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

"Why," said Tom, as he sat on a tan-pile, " that's 
just it. If ony of them had caught up wi' me, 
'twould have come out sure what joke I'd played 
them, for, ye see, they'd 'a' found out I was crying 
' Stop ' at naething at all. So, for your ain skin's 
sake, I had to keep well ahead until I had got out of 
the town, and then lose myself frae the ither shout 
ing devils, which I did by turning into the woods at 
a bend of the road." 

" You had the devil's own endurance to outrun 
them all," put in Dick. 

"Why, ye see, when I got near blowed, I found 
ither legs than my ain to help me out. In front of 
a tavern, ayont yonder, a horse was whinneying as I 
came up. All I had to do was to jerk the knot of 
'his halter and jump on, and who could say me nay 
when it was chasing a law-breaker I was, in the inter 
ests of justice ? And that's how I got away frae the 
chasing mob. What was there to do but spend the 
day in the woods, safe out of sight and ken of man ? 
For, d'ye mind, if I had come back into the town, 
and gone to the tavern for my clothes, why, seeing 
that news and descriptions must have been all about 
by then, as word of mouth goes nowadays, I'd have 
been held for complicity in your escape, and then 
who'd have come to let you out of your ain hole, 
for I ken you maun hae lodged in one of them tan- 
piles the day. Nay, nay, lad, never thrust yourself 



FROM BROADWAY TO BUNKER HILL. 97 

in the way of forcible detention ; that's a rule of 
mine ! We'll let our shirts and blankets and guns 
rot in the tavern, and gang on our way rejoicing." 

" But Blagdon, do you think he is dead ? " 

" Devil a bit ! He'll have come to before they 
were done chasing his murderer, and the time he'll 
spend nursing a bloody head will enable him to 
reflect on his sins. But, for a' that, we'll be gang 
ing our way, for murderous assault is nane sic a 
pleasant charge to face, however innocent ye be, 
when the other side has money and great friends 
and ye're a penniless stranger. Besides that, this 
Blagdon will have the backing of the soldiery and 
the lieutenant-governor, and the tavern people will 
naturally swear to onything on his side, even to 
attempted robbery or the like. Come, Dickie boy, 
that sword ye retain, as your proper spoils of war, 
is worth in money all we leave behind at the tavern." 

The two friends went from the tan-yard and by 
obscure streets to the Bowery lane, and followed 
that till it became the Boston highroad, along which 
they then proceeded northward through the country. 
When they had passed a few suburban mansions, 
some fields and swamps and wooded hills, Tom said, 
"Whist a bit ! " and turned aside into a little copse. 
In a moment he emerged, leading a large horse. 

" This will save expense of transportation, lad," 
said he, as he came into the road ; " and moreover ( 



98 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

'twill further compensate us for the loss of our guns 
and baggage. Bedad, 'twas a lucky blow ye struck 
that there lieutenant, to make me lead a chase in 
front of the tavern where the good horse here called 
my attention by a loving whinney." 

"What?" cried Dick. "You don't mean to say 
you are going to keep the horse you found at the 
tavern ! " 

" And wha better should keep him ? Do ye see 
what horse it is ? Lad, there's the hand of Provi 
dence in all this ! -Sure, your eyes ain't used to 
starlight if ye couldn't make out auld Robin at the 
first glance." 

Dick stood in joyful amazement. The horse was 
indeed the one that had disappeared beneath the 
self-styled merchants with whom Dick and Tom had 
agreed to ride and tie, on the road to Lancaster. 
The comrades now went on in the 'darkness, taking 
turns at riding, but keeping together and holding 
the horse to a slow pace. Dick felt in his pocket 
the miniature whose restoration he had failed to 
effect. When, now, might he hope to place it in 
the hands of the charming Canadian girl ? He put the 
question, but in other words, to his companion, as 
they rode by the dark Murray mansion and began 
to descend towards Turtle Creek. 

"If there is war," he added, "there's little chance 
of my getting to Quebec for many a day to come." 



FROM BROADWAY TO BUNKER HILL. 99 

"Don't presume to read the future, lad!" said 
MacAlister. "Wha kens what turn of the wind of 
circumstance may blaw ye to Quebec ? The older 
ye grow in the ways of this precarious world, the 
less ye'll pretend to say what to-morrow will bring 
forth. ' He started east and he landed west,' as the 
auld song says." 

It was near dawn when they passed the Blue Bell 
Tavern, but, hungry and tired as both were, Tom 
advised that there be no stopping till they should 
have left the island of Manhattan behind. "When 
ye're an auld hand at the business of this warld," 
said he, "ye'll no tak' ae chance in a hundred, of 
trusting yersel', e'en for the time being, in the arms 
of justice. Law and justice, my son, are fearfu' 
things for an honest man to have aught to do wi'. 
I'd rather trust my case to the decision of auld Nick 
himsel', putting it to him in my ain way, man to 
man, and perhaps over a good glass of spirits or 
two, than to ae judge or jury in Christendom." 

Giving Hyatt's Tavern also the go - by, they 
crossed the Harlem by the Farmers' Bridge and 
continued on the Boston post-road ; presently took 
the left, where the road forked, and so arrived be 
times at East Chester, which stood invitingly in 
its pleasant valley, its church tower and belfry rising 
among the locust-trees. At the tavern there Tom 
casually threw off a brief story to account for having 



IOO THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

ridden all night, and the two speedily possessed 
themselves of a stiff drink, a hot breakfast, and a 
clean bed. In the afternoon, being anxious to get 
out of the province of New York, lest some extraor 
dinary effort might be made to detain them, they 
again took horse, passed through the Huguenot 
village of New^ Rochelle, stopped later at Mamaro- 
neck to rest the horse, crossed the Byram River to 
Connecticut at evening, and put up, before night 
was well advanced, at Stamford, which wound irreg 
ularly along an undulating and stony road. When 
they took the road for Norwalk the next morning, 
they were thoroughly refreshed, and Dick, having 
got all the tan-dust out of his ears, nostrils, and 
pores, was able to enjoy fully the beauty of Long 
Island Sound where it was visible beyond the coves 
that here and there indented to the road. That 
day and th'e next two days were uneventful. Between 
Norwalk and Fairfield they met a courier from the 
Massachusetts Committee of Safety to the Continen 
tal Congress. He tarried no longer than to tell 
them the New England army was increasing daily 
and holding the King's troops tight in Boston. At 
Stratford and Milford the tavern talk was all of the 
war ; of how the Connecticut troops already started 
would acquit themselves, and how many more would 
be needed ; how this village farmer or that would be 
have when faced by a British grenadier ; of what steps 



FROM BROADWAY TO BUNKER HILL. IOI 

the Continental Congress would take, what dark plots 
the Tories might be weaving in New York, and what 
might occur should the British war-vessels bombard 
the coast towns. 

In New Haven, which they entered on a bright, 
sunny forenoon, a newly formed company was awk 
wardly drilling on the green, in sight of the churches 
and the college building. While the horse rested, 
Dick got into conversation with a young gentleman 
who stood watching the crude manoeuvres. Learn 
ing that he was Mr. Timothy Dwight, a tutor -at the 
college, Dick obtained the favor of a view of the 
college library, and had the delightful sensation of 
handling copies of Newton's works and Sir Richard 
Steele's, presented by those authors themselves. 
The scenes of military preparation witnessed here 
and at Brentford increased Dick's eagerness to be 
at the scene of action. Riding on Sunday through 
Seabrooke and to New London, he and Tom had 
difficulty, by reason of the strict observance of the 
day, in obtaining tavern accommodations. But, as 
Tom remarked, the rule of not letting the left hand 
know what the right one does may work both ways 
and concern the receiving as well as the giving of 
money, and their coin at last found takers. At New 
London, where the New York and Boston stage 
coach was resting over Sunday, they learned from 
its passengers that both the British and the provin- 



102 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

cials had barriers on Boston Neck, that the pro 
vincials barred Charlestown Neck as well, and that 
no one could come out of Boston without a pass 
from General Gage, while the American army al 
lowed no one to enter Boston without a permit. 
The Connecticut Gazette was full of war tidings. 
All these signs of the times made Dick glow with 
delightful anticipation. The two comrades crossed 
the Thames, by ferry, to Groton, the next morning, 
and in the forenoon they passed by fair green slopes 
and blossoming orchards to the village of Stonington, 
which lay drowsily on a point of land that jutted out 
into a beautifully surrounded bay. 

While they drank a pot of ale together at the 
tavern, they left the horse Robin tied by the trough 
in the roadway, where he was viewed with some 
admiration by two or three villagers and a well- 
dressed gentleman who appeared to be a stranger 
in the place. Drinking rum and water, near Mac- 
Alister and Dick, sat a sea-captain, who, after 
overhearing a part of their talk, asked them why, 
inasmuch as they were in haste to reach Cambridge, 
they did not take passage on his schooner, which was 
about to sail that afternoon and would land at some 
port near Boston within the territory under the pro 
vincials' control. Not waiting for their answer, he 
asked them to drink with him, toasted the Conti 
nental Congress so heartily, damned the King and 



FROM BROADWAY TO BUNKER HILL. 103 

Parliament so valiantly, and proved so stout a patriot 
and jolly companion, that Dick, allured also by the 
prospect of a sea-voyage, soon declared that for his 
part he would prefer going by the schooner, and 
Tom offered no objection. When the bargain had 
been made, a mild, pale-eyed old farmer came in, 
called Tom and Dick aside, and asked if they would 
sell him their horse, or trade it for another, as he 
was in need of just such an animal for his farm work. 
He made so good an offer that Tom, foreseeing little 
use for the horse on his joining the army, consented 
after very little haggling ; whereupon the farmer 
went home to get the coin from his strong-box. 

"Whist ! " said Tom to Dick, with sparkling eyes 
and a grim smile. " 'Tis the intervention of Provi 
dence again. No sooner do we plan to go by sea 
than this honest farmer offers to take our horse off 
our hands, and names a price I'd nae be sic a fool to 
ask, mysel'. 'Tis a sin and shame to profit by sic 
innocence ! " 

They rejoined the sea-captain, whose convivial 
society made time so rapid that the farmer was 
soon back with the money, which he emptied from 
a stocking to the table. Tom rattled each piece and 
found it good, then went out and untied the horse 
and placed the halter in the farmer's hands, saddle 
and bridle having gone into the bargain. Tom then 
returned to the tavern, where he and Dick had din- 



104 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

ner with the sea-captain. When, after dinner, all 
three set forth to go aboard the schooner, they saw 
the horse Robin being ridden up and down the road 
by the well-dressed strange gentleman, who was ap 
parently trying the animal. The sea-captain saluted 
the rider as an acquaintance and asked him when he 
was going back to Providence. In the short conver 
sation that ensued, it came out that the gentleman 
had just bought the horse from the farmer who had 
owned him. " When I came here this morning, I 
had no intention of buying a horse, though I really 
needed one," the gentleman added. " I saw this 
beast in front of the tavern yonder, and said to the 
farmer, who I didn't then know was the owner, that 
I would give so much for it. I went about my busi 
ness then, and when I got back, there was the 
owner, offering me the horse at the price I had 
named." 

" Begging your pardon," queried Tom MacAlister, 
with a queer look, " might I inquire without offence 
what that price was ? " 

" Certainly," replied the Providence gentleman, 
and he mentioned an amount once and a half as 
large as that for which the innocent farmer had 
bought the horse from Tom. 

Dick looked up at the sky, while MacAlister 
heaved a deep sigh, shook his head dismally, and 
walked towards the schooner. 



FROM BROADWAY TO BUNKER HILL. 1 05 

It was already laden, and the crew were busy with 
ropes and sails, under the direction of the mate. 
The gentle lap of the waves, the creak of the tim 
bers, the straining of the ropes, and the flapping of 
canvas, had their due effect on Dick in the lazy, 
sunny afternoon. When they had cast off, and the 
little wharf and still town and green slopes swiftly 
receded, while the creaking schooner sped under a 
light wind towards the open ocean, Dick felt as in 
a kind of joyous dream. When that green cape, the 
"Watch Hill" of the Indians, in fact and name, had 
been some time passed, the wind changed both in 
quarter and force, and the mate opined possible 
sudden bad weather from the east. Dick felt inward 
threats of seasickness, but repressed them. Tom, 
the piper's son, showed no sign of the slightest 
qualm. At nightfall, having feasted his stomach 
with fresh-caught codfish, for he had promptly taken 
ori a sea appetite, and his eyes on the far-reaching 
billows, Dick retired with Tom to a bunk beneath 
the hatches, and soon slept. When he awoke, he 
was in pitchy darkness. 

"Whist ! " said a voice in his ear. "What do ye 
think, lad ? For why did I pinch ye then ? Because, 
sticking my head out the hatchway for a taste of air, 
I heard the rascal captain prattling with the scoun 
drel mate. This vessel's bound straight for Boston, 
lad, and their cursed intention is to hand us ower to 



IO6 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

General Gage for a pair of treasonable rebels ! How 
d'ye like that, now ? " 

" Let's scuttle his damned vessel first ! " quoth 
Dick. 

" Softly, Dickie boy ! Aiblins it 'ull come to that, 
and aiblins we'll find ither means. Devil a bit let 
him know we've spied their dirty trick, mind ! Provi 
dence is mostly our friend, saving in the matter of 
horses." 

So the two kept their own counsel. Going on 
deck at dawn, they found the captain so sharing the 
mate's fears of a bad blow, -that he had decided to put 
back to Block Island. MacAlister sent Dick the 
faintest hint of a wink. When the old harbor in 
the east side of that green rolling island whose Indian 
name was Manisses was made, MacAlister said he 
and his friend would like to go ashore to stretch 
their legs a bit. The captain, doubtless deeming it 
not yet wise to arouse their suspicions, called a fisher 
man's boat, which landed them from the schooner's 
place of anchorage. They walked up from the land 
ing to some fishermen's shingle houses, well back 
from the beach, and speedily closed a bargain with a 
sea-browned islander to take them to the mainland 
in his smack. 

The fisherman, allured by the large price offered, 
and having less to risk than the captain of the laden 
schooner, promptly embarked, under the astonished 



FROM BROADWAY TO BUNKER HILL. IO? 

eyes of the anchored captain, whom Tom gravely 
saluted by placing thumb to nose and wiggling his 
fingers. The captain replied by vociferously hoping 
to God the gale would blow the two travellers to 
hell. The gale, however, continued to remain in 
abeyance, though the sky was filled with clouds 
and the sea had an unaccountable choppy look and 
feel. Tom, having questioned the fisherman regard 
ing localities, now proposed that the latter should 
take them to Newport, and doubled his offer of pay. 
Induced by greed and by the confidence born of pre 
vious good luck in all weathers at sea, the islander 
consented, regardless of the capricious behavior of 
his sail and the sudden ominous quiverings of his 
boat. Yet the storm held off. 

Making clever use of the wind when it was brisk, 
the skipper had his boat at evening off the precipi 
tous southern coast of the island on which Newport 
lies. As he was about to tack, in order to round the 
point and so reach the town, which then occupied 
only a spot on the island's western side, the storm 
came, almost without a moment's warning, and bring 
ing with it a pelting deluge of rain. Before the 
mariner could regain any kind of mastery of his little 
craft, it had been dashed close to the corrugated land. 
Dick and Tom escaped being thrown out of the boat 
only by grasping its timbers and holding on with all 
strength. The vessel was tossed about, for a time, like 



I'O8 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

a cork. Once it seemed in the act of hurling itself 
into a gaping chasm which rent the rough sea-wall 
from the height of forty feet to unknown depths, 
a cleft as wide as a man is tall, and cut back into the 
land a. hundred and fifty feet. But the boat fell 
short of these grinning jaws and in another minute 
was far away from them. 

From the time when the storm first broke upon 
them to the time when, by some strange freak of 
wind and sea, the smack was riding in a broad bay 
east of the threatening sea-wall, a direction there 
from exactly opposite to that which the elements 
seemingly ought to have borne it, no one aboard 
spoke a word. But now the skipper, whose nasal 
voice and distinct New England enunciation easily 
cut through the tumult of wind and water, briefly 
expressed his intention of letting the sea carry the 
boat straight towards the smooth beach ahead, 
there being one chance of safety therein. Tom 
and Dick awaited the issue with more of curi 
osity than of aught else, MacAlister looking ex 
ceedingly grim, as always in times of peril, and 
Dick, as always in similar times, wearing a kind 
of droll smile, as if the joke were on his courage for 
having got into such a plight. Before cither's senses 
had caught up to the passing occurrence, there was a 
sudden tremendous shock underneath them, a grind 
ing through some gritty yielding substance, a rolling 



FROM BROADWAY TO BUNKER HILL. IOQ 

away of the sea from the nearly overturned boat ; 
and they found themselves high on the beach, out 
of reach of the next wave, that rushed angrily in as 
if to clutch them back again. 

" 'Twas the big brother did it," shouted the skip 
per, starting to draw his craft farther up on the 
beach, and motioning for the aid of the others. 

" What's the big brother ? " shouted Dick. 

"The third wave. It be always the highest. We'll 
make the rest of the voyage to Newport in these here 
craft," and he pointed down to his boots. 

They moved off through the rain accordingly, and, 
after a walk of a mile and a half, arrived at the town, 
then a busy seaport with a goodly commerce and a 
lively trade to the African coast. " For a cold wet 
ting outside, a hot wetting inside," said Tom, heading 
for the first tavern sign ; and the three rain-soaked 
voyagers promptly put his prescription to the test, 
taking it in the shape of a steaming punch of kill- 
devil, and looking the while through the tavern win 
dows at the rain pouring down upon the wharves and 
the vessels safe in harbor. 

Next day's weather deterred the two travellers 
from taking the sloop through Narragansett Bay 
for Providence, but they arrived at that town on 
the 1 8th, and lodged in a tavern in the street that 
ran at the hill's foot on the eastern side of the 
Cove, occupying a room that looked up towards 



I 10 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

the street crossing the hillside and towards the 
college on the summit beyond. Leaving Provi 
dence the next day, and going afoot with a newly 
recruited body of troops bound for the provincial 
camp outside Boston, they passed through Attle- 
boro and other places where the signs of war's 
proximity were increasingly plentiful, lodged for the 
night at Walpole, and on the evening of May 2Oth 
reached the outskirts of the camp of Rhode Island 
troops at Jamaica Plain. 

Dick thrilled as his eyes ranged over the field 
dotted with tents, and as they rested on the 
muskets and cannon, for the Rhode Island 
men had a train of artillery, and were well 
equipped, though as yet an insubordinate lot. 
Wishing to be nearer the heart of affairs, Dick 
hastened on to Roxbury, followed by the unobject- 
ing MacAlister, and there found several Massa 
chusetts and Connecticut regiments quartered in 
tents, log and earth huts, barns, taverns, and pri 
vate houses. So well did MacAlister know what 
steps to take, that on the following Monday the 
two were accepted as volunteers, and quartered 
with Maxwell's company in Prescott's regiment ; 
were comfortably lodged in a dispossessed horse's 
stall, and had traded off Dick's Irish officer's sword 
for a fiddle, with two fowling-pieces thrown into the 
bargain. 



FROM BROADWAY TO BUNKER HILL. Ill 

On the previous day, Sunday, which was the day 
after that of the arrival of Dick and Tom, a vessel 
had taken some British troops to Grape Island, in 
Boston Harbor, to get the hay there stored. An 
alarm of bells and guns had brought out the people 
of Weymouth, Hingham, and other towns, and they 
had landed on the island with three companies sent 
by General Thomas from Roxbury, driven the British 
away, burnt the hay, and taken off a number of cattle. 
This un-Sabbath-like exploit was the talk of the 
camp on Monday, and Dick deplored his not 
having heard of it in time to have sought a part 
in it. 

Captain Maxwell's men proved excellent hosts, and, 
though not on its rolls, Dick and Tom shared the 
company's service and experiences in every way. 
Colonel Prescott's regiment was soon ordered to Cam 
bridge, where was stationed the centre of the New 
England army, consisting of fifteen Massachusetts 
and several Connecticut regiments, one of the latter 
being .General Putnam's. Here were the headquar 
ters of General Ward, the commander-in-chief, in a 
fine wooden residence near Harvard College, and 
here was Colonel Gridley, the chief engineer, with 
most of the artillery. Here were also most of the 
Yankees' fortifications, these being yet in process of 
construction, and consisting mainly of breastworks 
in Cambridge and on the road near the base of Pros- 



I 1 2 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

pect Hill. Further north and northeast was the 
army's left wing, consisting mainly of Colonels Stark's 
and Reed's New Hampshire regiments, and stationed 
at Medford, Chelsea, and near Charlestown Neck. 

It was the lot of Dick and MacAlister, as partici 
pants in the fortunes of Maxwell's company, to 
occupy part of a log hut near Cambridge Common 
and in sight of the college, and to have no share in the 
enterprises of May 2/th and 3Oth, in which American 
detachments went to Noddle's Island, near Chelsea, 
and drove off sheep, cattle, and horses, on the first 
occasion killing and wounding several British marines 
and capturing twelve swivels and four four-pounders 
from a British schooner. There was a skilful re 
moval of sheep and cattle from Pettick's Island also, 
on May 3 ist ; and on the night of June 2d Major Grea- 
ton took from Deer Island eight hundred sheep and 
a lot of cattle, and captured a man-of-war's barge 
and four or five prisoners. Dick pined and chafed 
that circumstance kept him out of all these interest 
ing proceedings, but Tom the Fiddler (a name 
promptly bestowed on him by Prescott's men) con 
soled him with many a " Whist, man, bide a wee ; 
there'll be bigger business a-brewing ! " 

So Dick bided, with eager anticipations, although, 
in his inexperience, heeding the grumbling of others, 
he thought the conviviality between certain Ameri 
can and British officers on the man-of-war Lively, on 



FROM BROADWAY TO BUNKER HILL. 113 

the occasion of an exchange of prisoners, June 6th, 
did not look much like war. He was better pleased 
at the derision with which the raw troops received 
General Gage's proclamation of June I2th, which 
somehow promptly found its way into camp. In that 
document the British commander pronounced those 
in arms and their abettors to be rebels and traitors, 
and offered pardon to such as should lay down their 
arms, excepting Samuel Adams and John Hancock. 
Continually there came exciting rumors that the 
British intended to sally out of Boston to attack 
their besiegers. But Dick did not know what the 
American commanders knew, on June 1 3th, that 
General Gage intended to take possession of Dor 
chester Heights on the 1 8th ; hence it was with sur 
prise and a keen thrill that, on Friday evening, the 
1 6th, he obeyed the order to fall in, and marched 
beside MacAlister with the company to Cambridge 
Common. 

There he found that Maxwell's men were part 
of a detachment which included other companies of 
Prescott's regiment, a part of Bridge's, a part of 
Frye's, and a number of Connecticut troops under 
Captain Knowlton, of Putnam's regiment. There 
was also some artillery, with Colonel Gridley himself. 
And there stood the tall, powerful figure of Colonel 
Prescott, wearing a long blue coat, his strong, stern 
face shaded by the slightly turned up brim of a great 



114 TIfE ROAD TO PARIS. 

round hat. The air was charged with expectation, 
with a sense of great events at hand. The force 
paraded on the Common, and then stood with heads 
bared and hands resting on the guns, while a ven 
erable-looking gentleman, whom a whispering com 
rade named to Dick as President Langdon of Harvard 
College, raised his hand heavenward and uttered a 
tremulous prayer for the aid of the Lord of Hosts. 
There was a period of waiting, during which the 
colonel consulted quietly with Gridley and the other 
officers, while the suppressed excitement of the men 
made some appear moody and abstracted, some ner 
vous and sharp in their whispered speeches, others 
extraordinarily calm in tone, , others oddly jocular. 
Dick was one of the last, in mood and countenance, 
but was so filled with emotion that he dared not 
trust himself to speak. Tom was placidly grim and 
patient, keeping his wits about him and exhibiting 
no change in tone or manner. The fallen darkness 
gave the human figures, the distant trees and scat 
tered houses, the rolling landscape, a mysterious 
look. At last, at nine o'clock, in low, quick tone, 
the order was given to march. 

First went two sergeants, carrying dark lanterns ; 
then strode Colonel Prescott, at the head of the 
detachment. Behind the infantry and the cannon, 
the shovels and other tools were borne, with which 
to make entrenchments. Keeping strict silence, as 



FROM BROADWAY TO BUNKER HILL. 11$ 

they had been ordered, the men trailed past Inman's 
Woods, Prospect Hill, and Cobble Hill, crossed a level 
space (another common), and halted at Charles- 
town Neck. Here, in the darkness, General Putnam 
rode up, and they were joined by other officers 
also. 

Presently Captain Nutting's company and a few 
Connecticut men separated from the detachment 
and marched to the lower part of Charlestown, to act 
there as a guard. The main force was soon on the 
march again, and followed the road over a smooth 
round hill (the real Bunker's Hill), at the base of 
which it halted again. Prescott gathered the officers 
around him, and quietly made known the orders he 
had come to carry out. Watching the group alertly, 
Dick saw the officers look or point, now at the hill 
just crossed, now at the hill ahead, as if discussing 
which to use for the purpose in hand. Finally the 
men were marched to the hill ahead, from which 
Boston on its hills and hillsides could be seen sleep 
ing, across the wide mouth of the Charles River. 

As soon as the men halted, Colonel Gridley began 
to move rapidly about the summit of the hill, mark 
ing out lines and angles in the earth as he did so. 
Guns were stacked by all but certain designated 
men, of whom Dick and Tom were two, who re 
mained under arms. Spades were distributed to the 
others, who were soon turning up the earth along 



Il6 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

the lines traced by Colonel Gridley. As General 
Putnam started to ride back over the road they had 
followed, Captain Maxwell received an order from 
Colonel Prescott, and in turn gave the word of 
march to a party of his men, in which were numbered 
Dick and Tom. 

This little force followed the captain down into 
Charlestown, whose commodious houses among the 
trees were now deserted. When the party neared 
the Old Ferry, which led to Boston, the men were 
assigned to different posts along the shore, to watch 
the motions of the enemy, on their men-of-war in the 
river and in Boston opposite, during the night. 
With what delicious feelings did Dick pace the shore, 
to the sound of the lapping water, in sight of the 
dark looming vessels of the foe, in hearing of the 
British sentinel's voice who passed the " All's well " 
on to his comrade ! Twice during the night Colo 
nel Prescott came down with another officer to see 
what might be seen from the shore. It was almost 
dawn when Tom and Dick were marched back to 
the hill, where the men had been doing beaver work 
in the night. 

A great change had been made in the appearance 
of the hill. Mounds of earth six feet high now 
enclosed the crest on three sides and most of the 
fourth. A rough breastwork had been thrown up 
as if in continuation of one of the sides of this re- 



FROM BROADWAY TO BUNKER HILL. II J 

doubt. On the inner side of these works rough plat 
forms of wood and earth were being made, and Dick 
and Tom were now assigned to aid in this duty, the 
rule of the night having been that men should dig 
and mount guard alternately. Dawn came, calm and 
clear, while the men were working at the spades. 
As both mounted a pile of earth, to level it, Dick 
took the opportunity to look down over the parapet, 
towards Boston. At that instant there came a flash 
of fire and a belch of smoke from the port-hole of a 
vessel in the river, a sullen boom, and a spattering of 
earth and dust in the near hillside. 

" Bedad," said old Tom, looking down towards the 
man-of-war, "that vessel's called the Lively ; and 
frae the way she says good morning I'm thinking 
we're like to have a lively day of it ! " 



CHAPTER VI. 

THE WIND OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 

IT was a fine, clear morning, promising a hot 
day. Looking across the earthwork, Dick could 
see people on the housetops and hills of Boston and 
the near-by country, attracted by the sound 'of the 
Lively s firing and by the news that the Yankees 
had fortified the hill. Dick and MacAlister were 
presently relieved, whereupon they rested at their 
rifles, while others went on working at the platforms. 
The firing from the river ceased, but the calm which 
followed was so like that which precedes a storm, 
that Dick was not even startled at the louder boom 
ing that soon arose, from a hill-battery in Boston as 
well as from the war-vessels in the river. The men 
around Dick made jokes about the enemy's fire, 
and about what fate might befall one another within 
a few hours. The prevalent spirit accorded with the 
half tragic, half comical feeling that thrilled Dick's 
breast and showed in his face. 

There came a slight shock and a general sensation 
when the word went around that one of the British 

1 18 



THE WIND OF CIRCUMSTANCE. I 19 

cannon balls had struck and killed Asa Pollard, of 
Stickney's company in Bridge's regiment ; and there 
followed some ado over the matter of his burial, (Colo 
nel Prescott commanding that he be buried imme 
diately, a chaplain insisting on performing a service 
over the body, and Prescott thereupon ordering 
dispersed the crowd of men that gathered to hear 
the service. At this a number of men rebelliously 
left the hill. To shame the timid and encourage the 
brave, Prescott stepped to the top of the parapet 
and walked calmly around thereupon, coolly giving 
orders, in perfect heedlessness of the balls that plowed 
the hillside near at hand. A captain did likewise, 
and thereupon the men took to cheering defiantly at 
each notable specimen of British marksmanship. 

Keyed up to the pitch of recklessness, the men 
could laugh at the British fire, but the intense heat 
of the sun, the fatigue of their labors, and the 
hunger and thirst due to the neglect of many to 
bring provisions, were foes not as easily disdained. 
Thanks to Dick's respect for orders, and to Tom's 
wisdom of experience, these two had enough to eat 
and drink ; but many, as they perspired or lay 
exhausted, growled or cursed, and thought war a 
useless, uncomfortable business. 

During the morning, while the men worked with 
the spades, or waited idly and wondered when, if 
ever, their first shot would be fired, there were 



120 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

frequent consultations of the officers, frequent des- 
patchings of messengers from the hill, or from one 
part of the hill to' another, frequent signs that 
seemed to promise action but brought none. There 
was a moment of interest for Dick when he became 
aware, first by sound, and then by sight, that the 
cannon in a corner of the redoubt had begun to 
reply to the British fire, which had gained in sever 
ity and in the number of its sources. 

At about eleven o'clock the men were ordered to 
cease work on the entrenchments, and their tools 
were piled in the rear. General Putnam now rode 
up, evidently from Cambridge, and had some dis 
cussion with Prescott, and, apparently as a result 
thereof, a large party took up the tools and started 
off towards Charlestown Neck. Some of this party 
stopped at the next hill, to which Putnam rode, and 
there they began to throw up breastworks under 
his orders. Thus the morning passed, in tedious 
expectancy. 

The burning noon found Dick and Tom again at 
the parapet, which was now manned with waiting 
musket-men. Dick's wandering gaze rested on two 
war-ships that were moving up the river towards 
those already firing. " Begorra, there's a thing or 
two doing, yonder in the town," said MacAlister, 
with a slight revival from a tone of languor. Dick 
looked across to Boston. Through some streets and 



THE WIND OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 121 

towards the wharves, trailed a long, wide line of 
scarlet, flashing at countless points where the sun 
light fell on polished metal. The line was of British 
regiments, doubtless coming to attack the Yankee 
redoubt. 

An oppressive silence fell for a moment on Dick 
and all his comrades, while their eyes glistened ; 
then, simultaneously, they raised a wild, half hys 
terical cheer, and many a man grasped his weapon 
tighter, and sent towards the scarlet line afar an 
unconscious smile of defiant welcome. 

The thunder of the British batteries and ships all 
at once swelled to tremendous volume. The fields 
by the river, below the redoubt, were deluged with 
cannon-shot. "To hinder us frae ganging doon to 
stop their landing," explained MacAlister to Dick. 
Scarlet troops could be seen moving in Boston 
towards different wharves, from which at last they 
crowded into barges, a few of them hauling field- 
pieces along with them. 

Dick thrilled at the fine sight when the barges 
were rowed out into the river and towards a point 
of land eastward from the hill on which the Yankee 
army waited. Passing between the belching vessels 
and the river's mouth, and as the wind drove the 
cannon smoke westward, the barges with their loads 
of scarlet and steel stood out clear in the sunlight. 

It was one o'clock when the barges huddled 



122 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

together at the point, and the red-coated troops 
filed ashore, and began to form in lines, now on 
the same side of the river with the colonials who 
had defied them. Dick admired the precision of 
the three lines in which they formed, the patience 
with which they waited while their officers consulted 
and while the barges went back apparently for more 
troops, the matter-of-fact manner in which many of 
them ate their dinners while they stood. 

He was drawn from this sight presently by a 
cheer from his own comrades, which heralded the 
arrival of some teams with provisions and barrels 
of beer. While he was partaking of the consequent 
good cheer, there was another outburst of enthu 
siasm, this time over the arrival of Doctor Warren, 
recently made a general, and General Pomeroy, who 
both came to serve for the day in the ranks, as vol 
unteers. Soon General Putnam rode back again to 
the redoubt. 

Now the British were seen beginning a movement 
from the point, and along the Mystic River, which 
ran by the hill's northern base as the Charles ran 
by its southern one. Some artillery and some Con 
necticut troops, detached to oppose this movement, 
went down the hill and began to construct a kind 
of breastwork of a pair of stone and rail fences and 
some fresh-cut hay that lay in the fields. But Dick 
had no attention for this business, or for the rein- 



THE WIND OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 123 

forcements that began to arrive over Charlestown 
Neck in the fire of the British ships and batteries. 
All his powers of sight were for the well-drilled 
enemy, who had ceased to move along the Mystic, 
and now stood near the point. 

At about three o'clock the British barges came 
back from Boston on their second trip, and, landing 
short of the point, disembarked their troops at a 
place much nearer the redoubt than the first force 
was. " It's them we'll be having dealings wi'," said 
MacAlister, nodding towards the new arrivals. 
"There's a regiment that we'll ken the name of 
later, and a battalion of marines, not to speak of 
them companies of light infantry and grenadiers. 
Whist, lad, it's like we'll hae the worth of our 
labors." 

While Dick waited, with his eyes on the force at 
the foot of the hill, in front of him, he was vaguely 
conscious that things were doing elsewhere ; that the 
field-pieces of the British right wing the force first 
landed were conversing with the Yankees' can 
non ; that parties were being sent out from the 
redoubt to flank the enemy and were doing a little 
futile skirmishing ; and that the roars of cannon 
were more deafening, the balls raining more thickly 
and incessantly on the hillside from the ships and 
the Boston batteries. At last the British left wing 
the newly landed force, of which Tom had spoken 



124 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

began to march towards the redoubt. This left 
wing had meanwhile been augmented by some of the 
regiments that had crossed the river on the first trip 
of the barges. 

"They're coming, boy," said old Tom. "It's a 
general movement of both divisions. They are the 
best troops in the world, son, dour devils every ane 
of them, and they mane to tak' this hill as sure as we 
mane to hould it. It's a grand disputation ye' re like 
to see this day, lad ! " 

Colonel Prescott strode around the platform, in 
structing the men upon it how to fire, the men 
behind it how to hand loaded guns to the first, how 
to reload, how to take the places of the disabled. 
" Remember," said he, " wait for the word before 
you fire. Mind you put every grain of powder to 
good use ; there's none for wasting. Aim at their 
waist-bands, and bring down their officers. That 
musket must be lower, man, when you come to fire. 
You, there, with your finger ready to pull, wait for 
the word, I tell you ! " 

Warfare and orders were different with the Yankee 
army on the hill, from what they were with the disci 
plined soldiers marching up to the attack. 

Dick was dimly aware of flashes from British 
artillery posted near some brick-kilns near the hill's 
foot, but all his thoughts were on the infantry, as yet 
distant but steadily approaching, with a precision 



THE WIND OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 12$ 

that was proof against marshy ground, tall grass, 
stone or rail fences, and other impediments. On 
they came, at a steady walk, to the beating of their 
own drums, marching in silence, looking neither to 
right nor to left, outwardly as calm as if on parade, 
showing in their faces no complaint against the heat 
nor any fear of the fate that might await them, men 
patient, machine-like in response to orders, their 
scarlet coats blazing in the sun, their steel bayonets 
flashing, men perfectly groomed, lifted to disdain of 
death by the sense of comradeship and of the occa 
sion's bigness and by devotion to the sun-lit flag that 
fluttered slightly in the faint breeze, so they came, 
their faces fixed with a mild curiosity on the redoubt, 
and it seemed to Dick that, coming in fashion so 
orderly and businesslike, they could not in possibility 
be turned back or stayed. Thrilled with admiration, 
"By the Lord," he said to MacAlister, "that's the 
way to march to one's death ! Who could be afraid 
to face all hell, either marching with them, or waiting 
here to fight against them ? " 

" Bedad, ye've got the feeling, lad ! " Tom 
answered. "When great matters do be brewing, a 
man's ain life is sic a wee sma' thing, he'll no haggle 
over it ! " 

The British left wing approached in long files, its 
right composed of tall-capped grenadiers, who came 
towards the breastwork north of the redoubt, its 



126 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

centre consisting of several regiments of ordinary 
foot, its extreme left being made up of marines, 
whose commander's figure was recognized by one of 
Dick's comrades as that of Major Pitcairn, who had 
called on the rebels on Lexington Common to dis 
perse. When the redcoats were still at a consider 
able distance, they deployed into line and fired at the 
Yankees' works, all in unison, as if each was part of 
a great machine. In his admiration of their move 
ment, and of the quiet and easy manner in which the 
marching officers had ordered it, Dick heeded not the 
whizz of bullets overhe'ad. On some of his comrades 
the strain was too great to resist, and they impul 
sively fired their pieces at the approaching scarlet 
lines. Prescott's voice rose in loud reproof of these, 
and some of the officers ran along the top of the 
parapet, kicking up the guns of men who were 
taking aim. 

On came the enemy, firing at regular intervals in 
obedience to slight gestures of their officers. And 
now they were so near that man might be distin 
guished from man, each by his face, though all the 
countenances had in common the impassive, obedient, 
patient, unquestioning look of British veterans. 
With the Yankees the tension of inward excite 
ment was such that Dick and most of his comrades 
would not trust their voices to speak ; but some 
grumbled nervously, or even growled as in ordinary 



THE WIND OF CIRCUMSTANCE. I2/ 

moods. " Bean't we ever going to give it to them ? " 
demanded one, and " Air we going to let them walk 
right into the fort, 'thout our moving a finger?" 
queried another. It began to look to Dick as if the 
enemy were indeed dangerously near, and he glanced 
at Tom MacAlister, who was motionlessly breasting 
the parapet, gun-butt against shoulder, eye following 
out the barrel, finger bent to pull at the word. Pres 
ently all growlings ceased, and nothing was heard 
but the roar of the cannon, the throbbing beat of the 
enemy's drums, and the singing of the bullets in 
the air. Then the powerful voice of Prescott rang 
out in the single word, " Fire ! " 

There was flash, a crack, a belch of smoke, along 
the whole redoubt ; and, when the smoke rose, Dick 
got an indistinct impression of great gaps in the 
scarlet lines, of red-coated soldiers lying on the ground 
in various positions, some writhing and grimacing, 
some perfectly still, some pierced and bleeding, some 
without visible wound. Those still afoot were look 
ing astonished and were trying to retain or recover 
the regular formation of their lines. Some of them 
fired back at the redoubt. Dick mechanically grasped 
the loaded gun handed to him by a man behind the 
platform, and as mechanically relinquished his own 
emptied weapon to the same man ; in another moment 
he was blazing away again at a scarlet coat. Then 
he himself reloaded, and fired a third time ; and after 



128 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

that he saw the broken scarlet lines in front of him 
roll back down the hill, -in a kind of disorderly order, 
many of the redcoats falling behind and plunging 
presently to the earth. 

" We have actually driven them back ! " was his 
thought, and he bounded to the top of the parapet, 
thrown forward by an irresistible impulse to give 
chase ; but he was stayed by the hindering grasp of 
Tom MacAlister upon the seat of his breeches. He 
looked around in surprise, for several men had 
leaped over the parapet, with a cheer, to follow the 
fleeing foe. But officers leaped after these men and 
vehemently ordered them back into the redoubt. 
" They're beaten ! " cried Dick, ecstatically. 

"Maybe," quoth old Tom; "but it'll no be them, 
I'm a-thinkin', if they stay so ! " 

All the world knows they did not stay so ; that the 
rest of that hot, eventful afternoon, until the termi 
nation of the fight, had nothing in it to give Dick an 
impression different from those he had already 
received ; that the British re-formed by the shore, 
charged up the hill a second time, and were a second 
time driven back by the deadly American marksman 
ship ; that to aid their second attempt they set fire 
to Charlestown, but, the smoke being driven west 
ward, failed to accomplish their purpose thereby ; 
that the British cannon did a little more work this 
second time ; that the British soldiers were somewhat 



THE WIND OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 12Q 

impeded in their charge by the bodies of dead and 
wounded comrades they had to step over ; that their 
officers had to do some threatening and sword-prick 
ing and striking to persuade them forward ; that their 
second retreat was in greater disorder than their first, 
and left 'the ground covered more thickly with dead 
and wounded ; that they waited a long time before 
they began their third attack ; that on the American 
side there was much bungling in attempts to bring 
on reinforcements that arrived over Charlestown 
Neck ; that many of the cowardly and the disgruntled 
slunk away ; that in each charge the occurrences at 
the redoubt were similar to those at the breastwork 
and at the stone and rail fence ; that the second 
attack left the Americans with very little ammuni 
tion. The few artillery cartridges that contained all 
the powder at hand were opened, and the powder 
was given out to the men with instructions to make 
every kernel of it tell. 

" If they're driven back once more, they can't be 
rallied again," said Colonel Prescott ; and his men 
cheered and replied, "We're ready for them ! " The 
few men with bayonets were placed at points the 
enemy would probably attempt to scale. It was 
seen that the British boats had been sent back to 
Boston, so that the British troops would not have 
them to flee to, as old Tom divined, also that the 
British had received reinforcements from the vessels. 



130 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

When they advanced in column to the third attack, 
they came without knapsacks, and their whole move 
ment was concentrated upon the redoubt and breast 
work, while their artillery was sent ahead and so 
placed as to enfilade the Americans in flank. The 
red lines were but twenty yards away when Prescott 
gave the order to fire. The columns wavered at 
the volley, but recovered form in a moment, and 
sprang forward with fixed bayonets, without firing 
in return. Dick, knowing he had fired his last 
round, and following Tom's example, turned his 
weapon around to use it as a club. He was now 
at the southeastern corner of the redoubt. 

The British surged up to the southern side, like 
a tidal wave, their front line being lifted by the 
men behind. A red-coated officer set foot on the 
parapet, cried out " The day is ours ! " and fell, 
pierced by the last bullet of some Yankee inside 
the redoubt. The whole first rank that mounted the 
parapet was shot down, but there was no powder 
left for the ranks that followed. -Dick brought down 
his rifle-butt with all his strength on the head of the 
nearest redcoat. Before he could raise his weapon, 
he felt in his leg the violent thrust of a British 
bayonet. He made a wild movement to clutch it, 
but it was drawn out of him by its owner's hand. 
Dick fell forward on one knee, and a moment later 
toppled over the parapet and fell outside the redoubt, 



THE WIND OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 131 

upon the quivering body of a dying redcoat, by 
whose advancing comrades he was soon trodden into 
insensibility. 

When he opened his eyes again it was late in the 
evening. The melee was over. He lay on some 
hay on the hillside, with a number of other men, 
some wounded, some apparently whole, all under 
guard of sentries who paced on every side. He soon 
perceived that the men under guard were of the 
Yankee army, while those who guarded them were 
British, and, as he presently recognized the redoubt 
not far away, he knew that the British had won the 
day and that he was a prisoner. Before night a sur 
geon came and examined his wound, had it washed 
and tied up by an assistant, and pronounced it of no 
consequence. Dick passed the night in exhaustion, 
pain, and thirst, on his bed of hay on the hillside. 

The next day, while the British were fitting the 
redoubt for their own service, and also beginning 
new works, Dick and his fellow prisoners were 
marched down to the river, conveyed by boat to 
Boston, and led through certain streets of that town, 
some of which were curved, some crooked, some 
steeply ascending, some flanked by closely built 
rough-cast houses with projecting upper stories, some 
by commodious brick or wooden residences in the 
midst of fine gardens ; and so into a stone jail that 
stood with its walled yard on the south side of the 



132 THE ROAD 7V PARIS. 

way. At one side of the entrance, within this 
prison, was a guard-room, into which each prisoner 
was taken for his name to be entered in the records. 
Dick was the last to be directed thither. When he 
had been duly registered by the proper officer, he 
turned to follow the guard to the cell assigned him. 

" So we've got you at last," came, in a slightly 
Irish accent, from a British officer, who appeared to 
be in some authority at -the prison, but whom Dick 
had not before observed closely. " Faith, we'll take 
care you shall stay with us awhile, and we'll not 
give you a chance to murder English officers, either, 
as you tried to murder Lieutenant Blagdon in New 
York. What have you done with my sword, you 
spalpeen ? " 

Dick recognized the officer in whose company 
Blagdon had been at the time of the occurrence in 
the King's Arms Tavern. He would have made 
an answer, although the other's question did not in 
its tone imply expectation of one ; but the guard 
hurried him away, in obedience to a sudden gesture 
of the Irishman. 

" At least," thought Dick, " though that man, as 
Blagdon's friend, counts himself my enemy, he has 
done me the service of informing me that Blagdon is 
not dead. * Tried to murder Blagdon,' he said. Tom 
the piper's son was right. And, thinking of Tom, 
I wonder where he is now. Evidently not a pris- 



THE WIND OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 133 

oner, for our lot seems to comprise all that were 
taken. Killed ? I can't think that ! Does he know 
what has become of me, I wonder ? Shall I ever see 
him again ? " 

Having been conducted up a narrow stairway, he 
was led along a corridor and ushered into a large, 
bare apartment whose wooden door opened thereupon. 
But if this apartment was bare as to its wooden 
walls and floor and ceiling, it was far from empty, 
being occupied already by half a score of men, some 
of whom were of the party of prisoners that had 
come with Dick. The guard now closed the door 
and fastened it on the outside, Dick having been the 
last prisoner lodged. 

Dick and his roommates had of floor space barely 
sufficient for all to lie down at once, and of light 
they had only what came from a single window, 
which looked across the jail-yard to some rear out 
buildings and gardens appertaining to houses in the 
street beyond. The unpainted wood that encased 
the cell was interrupted only by the window and in 
certain places where the inside of the stone outer 
wall of the prison was visible. There were in the 
cell two large wooden pails, which were removed and 
returned once a day. 

Regularly each day the door opened to admit men 
who brought water, bread or biscuit, and sometimes 
porridge or stew or other food ; and the prisoners 



J 34 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

were now and then taken, singly or in small par 
ties, to walk in the yard. They were made by 
their guards to suppose themselves recognized not 
as prisoners of war but as rebels or traitors, and 
to consider the slightest acts of consideration to 
wards them as unmerited privileges. As the days 
passed, it became manifest that Dick received fewer 
such privileges than fell to any of his fellow prisoners. 
He promptly attributed this to the influence of the 
Irish officer. 

Did that officer, Dick asked himself, know the 
story of the miniature? Probably not, or he 
would have made some attempt, on Blagdon's 
behalf, to obtain it. Such an attempt would 
doubtless have failed, however, as was shown in 
the search made of Dick's person on his capture, 
a search which had not disclosed the picture. For 
Dick, to be ready against the chance of war, had 
encased the keepsake in a tight-fitting silken bag, 
which he had then concealed in his plentiful back 
hair, fastening it by means of tiny cords entwined 
with locks of hair and with the ribbons that tied his 
queue. There it 'remained during his imprisonment. 

Of the thirty prisoners taken by the British in 
the battle, only a few were in Dick's cell, the 
others being confined in other apartments in the 
jail. Among Dick's roommates were some citi 
zens of Boston, in durance for various alleged 



THE WIND OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 135 

offences against the royal government. One was 
charged with having drawn plans of British forti 
fications, another with having given intelligence to 
the rebels by means of correspondence smuggled 
through the lines, another with having had fire 
arms concealed in his house, the people having, 
on unanimous vote of town meeting, delivered up 
their weapons on April 2/th. A printer was held 
under the accusation of having published seditious 
matter, and one childlike old gentleman pined in the 
cell because he was said to have made signals to 
the rebels from a church steeple. 

This last-mentioned person, a mild, bewigged 
individual, his features rendered sharply angular 
by age, spent his time sitting in a corner of the 
cell, his eyes fixed distressedly on vacancy, his 
lips now and then opening to utter a childish 
whimper of protest against his situation. The 
printer knew this old gentleman, and gave Dick 
an account of him. He was, it appeared, a re^ 
tired merchant and ship-owner, who, at a time 
when people were frequently ascending to roofs 
to view the doings of the besieging Yankees, had 
climbed to a church steeple, on being bantered by 
some jocular fellows who had cast doubts on his 
ability for such exertion. The gesticulations with 
which he had called attention to his success were 
taken by some prominent Tories to be designed for 



136 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

the information of the rebels outside the city. De 
nunciation and imprisonment had speedily followed. 
The printer, although he had no sympathy for the 
old man, whom he pronounced a rank Tory, said 
that the charge was all the more absurd for the 
very reason of the prisoner's Toryism, which cap 
tivity had not extinguished. When the old gentle 
man came out of his state of staring and moaning, 
as he infrequently did, it was to deplore articulately 
the rebellion that had got him into trouble, and to 
curse the rebels who were responsible. " Though he 
has enemies among the Tories," said the printer, 
"he has friends among them also, and it is quite 
likely he will be released as soon as General Gage 
takes time to consider his case." 

But July came and went, and the old Tory still 
lingered in prison, growing constantly more fretful 
in his active moments, more trance-like in his pas 
sive ones, more feeble and more attenuated. Mean 
while, Dick suffered exasperatingly from the heat, 
confinement, vile air, want of sleep, and lack of 
exercise. His wound, slight as it was, was slow 
in recovery, because of the bad conditions of his 
prison life ; yet he scarcely heeded it, so insignificant 
it was in comparison with the wounds and other ail 
ments of some of his fellow prisoners. One of these, 
in whose thigh a grape-shot had torn a hideous gash 
that finally became insupportable to more senses than 



THE WIND OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 13? 

one, was declared by the surgeon to require amputa 
tion, and the operation was consequently performed 
in the prison, little to the sufferer's immediate relief, 
although he ultimately recovered. Accounts came, 
through guards and surgeon's assistants, of similar 
operations in the jail, not all of which were as success 
ful as that performed on Dick's cell-mate. 

Fevers and numerous internal disorders assailed 
Dick and his comrades, and their cell, in its half 
light by day and in its black darkness by night, was 
the lodging of enfeebled wretches who sat or lay in 
close contact on the floor, thrown by pain or rest 
lessness into every conceivable attitude. Accus 
tomed as he was to outdoor air, and deprived, as 
he came to be, of a breath of it, as well as of all 
exercise, Dick began early in August to lose vitality 
with alarming rapidity. He became as thin and as 
sharp of feature as the old Tory himself. His 
exclusion from the occasional outings in the prison 
yard became a theme of general talk in the cell. 

One day the surgeon examined Dick's wound, 
assuming as he did so a kind of grave frown, and 
uttering certain ominous ejaculations to himself, his 
manifestations having, to Dick's keen intelligence, 
the appearance of being put on for a purpose. 
Later, the same day, through a good-natured guard, 
the prisoners received two pieces of news. The 
first was that the new commander-in-chief of the 



138 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

rebels, Washington, who had arrived at Cambridge 
early in July, had threatened retaliation for any ill- 
treatment of American prisoners, and was taking 
measures that must eventually result in the exchange 
of those now in the jail. The second was that the 
old Tory's friends were working vigorously on his 
behalf, and that an order of release from General 
Gage might soon be expected. To every one's 
surprise, the old gentleman heard this information 
with stupid indifference. 

The next day, the surgeon returned, accompanied 
by the Irish officer, and made another examination 
of Dick's wound. This done, the surgeon turned to 
the officer, and said, in a kind of forced tone and 
shamefaced manner, as if he were- acting a part he 
despised, " Amputation will be necessary in this case, 
sir." 

" Indeed ? " said the officer, without even a seri 
ous pretence of surprise. " Then let it be done 
immediately." 

" Immediately, the devil ! " cried Dick. " Cut my 
leg off ? Why, there's nothing the matter with it ! 
I walked on it all the way to this prison ! " 

" My good man," said the officer, loftily, " you don't 
know what is best for you. It's our duty tp care 
for you, even against your own will. Don't double 
up your fists ! You'll only hurt yourself by resist 
ing. We shall use force, for your own welfare, if 



THE WIND OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 139 

need be." The officer left the cell, and the surgeon 
briefly told Dick to be ready to be taken down-stairs 
in half an hour, by which time preparations would be 
made for the operation in the room used for such 
purposes ; then he followed the officer. 

Before Dick could recover from his bewilderment, 
or his comrades could offer other than expressions 
of indignant amazement, the cell door again opened, 
and the friendly guard came in and whispered to the 
printer that some of the Tory's friends were down 
stairs with a coach and with an order for the old 
gentleman's release. The guard had been sent up 
stairs to break the news to the Tory and to make 
him so presentable, if possible, that his friends might 
not have too much cause to complain of the effects 
upon him of his imprisonment. The guard, knowing 
the old gentleman's state, preferred to entrust the 
news-breaking to the superior delicacy and tact of 
the printer, and, having easily engaged the latter to 
perform it, went from the cell to wait in the corridor. 

The printer, glancing at the old man and suppos 
ing him to be asleep, rapidly confided to his fellow 
prisoners what the guard had said, and then stepped 
over to the Tory and shook him gently by the 
shoulder. After a pause, he repeated the shaking, 
then stooped closer to the old man and grasped his 
body. A moment later, the printer turned to the 
expectant prisoners, and said in a loud whisper, " By 



140 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

God, I think they're too late with their damned 
release ! If I know anything, the old man's dead ! " 

Meanwhile, the Tory's friends, three gentlemen of 
middle age, sat down-stairs in the guard-room, talk 
ing with the Irish officer, who explained that the 
prisoner would take a few minutes to make his toilet. 
When ten minutes had passed, the officer went to 
the corridor, and called up the dim stairway, " Mr. 
Follansbee's friends are impatient to see him," a 
speech meant as a signal for the guard to conduct 
the old gentleman down-stairs. The officer then 
stood at the side of the stair-foot, while the three 
gentlemen waited just within the guard-room door, 
opposite the officer. 

In a minute the guard appeared at the head of the 
stairs, followed by two armed comrades, and sup 
porting by the arm a bent, trembling, heavily wigged, 
sharp-featured, blinking person, whose clothes, of 
rich texture, were the same the old Tory had worn 
into the prison, but were now sadly soiled. 

Slowly and painfully their wearer descended from 
step to step, in the half light of the stairs and corri 
dor. When he reached the foot, the Irish officer 
stepped back to make more room for the Tory's 
three friends. These now came from the guard 
room, and stood with half smiling, half shocked faces, 
to give the old man greeting. When he reached the 
lowest step, they held out their hands to him, but, to 



THE WIND OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 141 

their astonishment, as the guard let go his arm, he 
darted forth between two of them, strode past the 
sentries at the outer prison door, and, ignoring the 
waiting coach, plunged down the street with an 
alacrity miraculous in one so enfeebled, and turned 
off at right angles into the first street that ran 
southward. 

" His imprisonment has crazed him ! " cried one of 
the three gentlemen. 

" Hell and damnation ! " cried the Irish officer, 
rushing up the stairs and motioning the guard to 
follow. Entering the cell, he stepped over the pros 
trate bodies of several prisoners to a figure that lay 
motionless in a corner. The clothes on this figure 
were Dick Wetheral's, but the face was that of the 
dead old Tory. With a curse, and a gesture of 
threat at the prisoners in the cell, the officer 
bounded back to the door, fastened it, and leaped 
down the stairs to order a pursuit. 

At about the same moment, Dick, tossing the 
old man's wig back towards the prison from which 
he ran, thus conversed jubilantly and defiantly with 
himself : 

" Cut my leg off, eh ? Not if it and its comrade 
serve me properly to-day ! The printer was right, 
'twould have been a shame to waste that order of 
release on a dead man ! " 

As he ran, he divested himself of the old Tory's 



142 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

cumbersome coat, throwing it over a gate into an 
alley-way between two houses, and he also mentally 
justified his apparent selfishness in consenting to be 
the one who should use the opportunity of escape. 
As the printer and others had argued, in the few 
moments available for discussion, Dick's leg was at 
stake, he had been singled out for the harshest treat 
ment, there was an evident intention 'to persecute the 
life out of him, and the others might be presently 
exchanged, which Dick could not hope to be as long 
as the machinations of his enemy could hinder. 

When the vital resources called forth by excite 
ment were used up, and Dick fell back to his 
weakened and wounded condition, his gait became 
a walk. Fortunately, until that time, "his way had 
been mainly through a deserted street, so that his 
running had attracted no attention. Reaching a 
more populous thoroughfare, on which he saw more 
soldiers than citizens, he proceeded southwestwardly 
in a preoccupied manner, his coatless condition being 
easily accounted for by the heat of the season. At 
last he sat down to rest on the steps of a large 
brick church, at a corner where the street opened 
to a great, green, hilly, partly wooded space, which 
he knew, from previous description and from the 
military tents now upon it, to be the Common. 

While he was viewing the scene, and gaining 
breath, and wondering how he should ever get out 



THE WIND OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 143 

of the town, he became conscious of a hurried move 
ment of men, at some distance back on his own 
route. Standing on the highest church step to look, 
he saw a squad of soldiers led by an officer whom he 
took to be the Irishman. Other people about had 
noticed this movement, which was rapidly nearing. 

To get out of the way inconspicuously, Dick 
descended from the church steps, and started at a 
walk up the steep street that ran by the side of the 
church and which bounded the end of the Common. 
As he tugged up the hill, he knew by cries and foot 
steps that the soldiers were making good speed 
towards the corner he had left ; and just as he 
reached the top of the hill he heard a shout from 
the foot of it. 

" Stop that rebel ! " were the words, and the voice 
was that of the Irish officer. Dick turned into the 
street that went along the upper side of the Common, 
and thence he bounded through the first open gate 
on the right-hand side, into a flowery garden before 
a broad residence whose wide door, flanked by glass 
panels and surmounted by a great fan-light, gaped 
hospitably from a spacious vine-embowered porch. 
As he made for this porch, for the time hidden from 
his pursuers on the up-hill street by the trees at the 
corner of the Common, a young lady came idly from 
the door. She first halted at the approaching cry, 
" Stop that rebel," and then stepped back in surprise 



144 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

as Dick, tripping on the steps that led up to the 
porch, fell prone at her feet. 

" Dear me, what's the matter ? " she said, breath 
lessly ; then quickly stooped and picked up something 
from near Dick's head. 

" That belongs to me ! " he said, hoarsely, rising 
to his knees, and reaching out for it greedily. It 
was the precious miniature, which had in some 
manner worked from its fastenings in Dick's 
queue. 

"Who are you ?" asked the girl, who was slender, 
blue-eyed, and fair, still retaining the portrait. 

" Stop that rebel ! " came the cry from around the 
corner of the Common. 

Dick's mind worked quickly. " I'm the man 
they're hunting," he said. 

The girl frowned, murmured the word " rebel," 
and looked down at him with an expression of dis 
like. From this he knew she was a Tory, hence 
friendly to his pursuers and at bitter enmity with 
his cause. 

She looked mechanically at the portrait, which 
had escaped from its silken bag. " Is this a lady 
who is waiting for you to come back from the fight 
ing?" she asked, with sudden softness of tone and 
countenance. 

" Yes," lied Dick, promptly ; " as you also doubt 
less wait for some one ! " 



THE WIND OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 145 

The girl blushed, and looked sympathetically at 
the portrait, then at Dick. 

" Stop that rebel ! " The voice had turned the 
corner of the Common, but its owner was still con 
cealed from view by the trees and bushes of the 
garden. " The open gate yonder," it added ; " search 
that place ! " 

"Sit down," quickly whispered the girl to Dick, 
handing him the portrait. "There, under that 
bench ! " 

Dick obeyed, from lack of other choice, at the 
same time losing hope, for the space beneath the 
bench was open to the view of any one entering 
the porch. 

A moment later he felt and saw himself closed in 
from sight, by the skirts and petticoat of the young 
lady, who had taken her seat on the bench immedi 
ately over him. 

In this novel hiding-place he lay, half stifled, while 
the girl politely answered the questions of the Irish 
officer, whom she directed to a rear alley, whither, 
she said, the fugitive must have betaken himself; and 
when the last soldier had gone from the premises she 
blushingly arose and faced her equally flushed guest, 
who stammered the thanks he could better look 
than speak. Not waiting for talk, she immediately 
conducted him to the garret of the house, where 
he passed the rest of the day, and the ensuing night, 



146 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

on a pile of old bedclothes behind some barrels. 
Next afternoon, she brought him a pass obtained 
from Major Urquhart, the town-major, permitting one 
Dorothy Morrill to pass the barriers at Boston Neck. 
She gave Dick a maid-servant's frock and cap, 
showed him how to put up his hair in feminine 
fashion, and led him out of the house and grounds 
by a back way while the family sat at supper. 

" Tis all for the sake of the lady who is waiting 
for you," were her last words, and Dick, bowing low 
so as to avoid her eyes, took the way she had 
described, to Boston Neck. In the streets he was 
chucked under the chin by certain jocular soldiers, 
which demonstrations he took as evidence of the 
excellence of his disguise. 

His heart was in his mouth when he showed his 
pass to the sergeant of the guard, at the gate in the 
barriers, for failure at the last moment is a sickening 
thing. But he was passed through without special 
question, and went on his way rejoicing to Roxbury, 
past the George Tavern, and so to the American 
lines, where, taking off his woman's garb before the 
astonished sentries, he was recognized by one of 
General Thomas's officers, and allowed to proceed 
through Brookline to Cambridge. 

There he found things greatly changed since he 
had been taken prisoner, as he had found them 
at Roxbury also. The camps were larger, better 



THE WIND OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 147 

equipped, and more orderly. Everywhere manifest 
was the presence of the new commander-in-chief, 
whose headquarters were at Cambridge, where the 
army's centre lay. Best of all, to Dick, companies 
of riflemen had arrived from Virginia and Pennsyl 
vania, one from his own county, Cumberland. He 
knew its captain, Hendricks, by reputation, and, learn 
ing from Captain Maxwell that Tom MacAlister had 
regularly joined this organization, he hastened to 
follow the last-named hero's example, much to the 
said hero's unconcealed delight, although not to his 
surprise, for nothing ever surprised him. Dick found 
him quartered on Prospect Hill, in a hut of boards, 
brush, stones, and turf, and just returned from a day 
spent with a rifle in picking off British soldiers in 
Boston. 

Dick was warmly welcomed by Captain Hen 
dricks, and speedily mustered in. He doffed his 
prison-worn clothes for a rifleman's suit, which had 
belonged to a man who had died in camp ; renewed 
acquaintance with his friend, M'Cleland, who was now 
a lieutenant in the company, and with Lieutenant 
Simpson and others from his own part of the coun 
try ; and passed his days, like the other riflemen, on 
the hills, blazing away at British soldiers afar in the 
town, even bringing down a redcoat near the camp 
on the Common now and then. 

He counted as a great event his first sight of 



148 THE ROAD TO PARIS, 

Washington, as the commander-in-chief rode along 
the lines when the regiments were assembled for 
morning prayers. The large, soldierly figure, the 
mien of dignity and simplicity, the self-contained 
countenance, quite equalled all Dick's previously 
formed impressions of the Virginia hero, and would 
have done so without aid of the buff -faced blue coat 
over the buff underdress, the epaulettes, the small 
sword, and the great, warlike cocked hat with its 
black cockade. 

On a fine September morning, the 8th of the 
month, Dick and Tom took note of these general 
orders of the commander-in-chief : " The detachment 
going under the command of Colonel Arnold, to be 
forthwith taken off the roll of duty and to march 
this evening to Cambridge Common, where tents and 
everything necessary are provided for their reception. 
The rifle company at Roxbury and those from Pros 
pect Hill, to march early to-morrow morning, to join 
the above detachment. Such officers and men as are 
taken from General Green's brigade, for the above de 
tachment, are to attend the muster of their respective 
regiments to-morrow morning, at seven o'clock, upon 
Prospect Hill ; when the muster is finished, they are 
forthwith to rejoin the detachment at Cambridge." 

"And what do ye think of that, now, sonny," said 
old Tom, softly. " Do ye mind a word I spoke to ye 
once, about the wind o' circumstance ? " 



THE WIND OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 149 

"Why, what do you mean?" queried Dick. 

" Nothing," said the piper's son, " only that 
order includes us, and maybe it's well ye keep it 
guid hauld of the bit picture, for this detachment 
will be bound for nane ither place than Quebec, 
lad ! " 

Quebec ! Dick reached back and clutched the 
portrait, which had been restored to its former 
hiding-place ; and only in a vague, distant way he 
heard the next ensuing words of MacAlister : 

" It's ever over more hills and farther away, boy ; 
and wha kens but the road will lead to Paris yet, 
afore all's said and done ? " 



CHAPTER VII. 

THE MARCH THROUGH MAINE. 

IT was on Monday morning, September nth, that 
Dick and Tom marched with their fellow riflemen 
from Prospect Hill, bound first for Newburyport, 
thence by sea for the mouth of the Kennebec 
River, and thence through the Maine wilderness 
into Canada and to Quebec. 

The little army of 1,100 men, consisting of the 
two Pennsylvania rifle companies, one from Cum 
berland County and one from Lancaster County, 
Captain Morgan's company of Virginia riflemen, and 
two divisions of New England infantry, set forth in 
gay spirits. Its commander, Col. Benedict Arnold, 
of Connecticut, had recently arrived in Cambridge 
from his achievement with Ethan Allen at Ticonder- 
oga, his deeds on Lake Champlain, and his capture 
of St. John's. He was a short, stout, ruddy, hand 
some man, with a face complacent but resolute. His 
soldiers admired his bravery, and the most ungovern 
able of them yielded to his great persuasiveness. 

Dick found himself more immediately under the 
150 



THE MARCH THROUGH MAINE. 151 

command of Capt. Daniel Morgan, who led the divi 
sion composed of all three rifle companies ; a large, 
strong man, whose usually severe mien softened on 
occasion into a .singularly kindly one ; a rigid disci 
plinarian, impetuous yet sagacious, easily aroused 
but soon calmed. Dick's own captain, William 
Hendricks, was tall and noble-looking, gentle and 
heroic in face and heart. The two lieutenants, 
John M'Cleland and Michael Simpson, were both 
old acquaintances of Dick's, the former being not 
able for his openness of character, the latter for his 
gaiety and his skill as a singer. Sergeant Grier was 
a faithful, reliable man, whose stout and intrepid wife 
accompanied him on the campaign and without diffi 
culty kept the respect of the soldiers. The Lancas 
ter company's captain, Matthew Smith, was soldierly 
and good-looking, but unlettered and turbulent. Two 
of his best men were a pair of adventurous youths 
no older than Dick, Archibald Steele and John 
Joseph Henry. 

Of the two New England divisions, one was under 
Lieutenant-Colonel Christopher Greene, of Rhode 
Island, the other under Lieutenant-Colonel Enos, 
of Connecticut. But Dick, on the march, came 
little in contact with the Yankee troops. 

Sleeping by the way on the first night of the 
expedition, the army reached the little town of 
Newburyport on Tuesday, and camped here sev- 



152 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

eral days, completing its equipment. It was joined 
here by several volunteers, including two young 
men named Aaron Burr and Matthew Ogden, and 
Colonel Arnold attached these two to his staff. 
On Monday afternoon, September i8th, the army 
embarked on ten transports, which set sail in the 
evening, and which, under a fair, strong breeze, 
reached the mouth of the Kennebec at dawn. 
Continuing on the transports a short distance up 
this river, to Gardiner, the army left them at Colo 
nel Colborn's ship-yard, and proceeded in two hun 
dred bateaux to Fort Western, on whose site the 
city of Augusta was later built, reaching that place 
on Saturday, September 23d, having camped by the 
river during the nights. 

Here Colonel Arnold sent forward a pioneer party 
to explore the river and to blaze a way through the 
wilderness at each place where boats could not navi 
gate and where the men would have to go by land. 
Dick openly envied the lucky fellows selected for 
this duty, Steele, Henry, four more of Smith's 
men, and three of Morgan's. As, from the camp 
on a pine-clad slope, he watched them set out, he 
would have given much for a place in one of their 
two light birch-bark canoes, each of which was partly 
laden with pork, meal, and biscuit. 

" Hoot toot, lad ! " said MacAlister, divining the 
boy's feelings. " It's work enough ye're like to have, 



THE MARCH THROUGH MAINE. 153 

whether ye gang before or behint, ere ye set eyes on 
the inside of Quebec town ! " 

It was Dick's lot not to go behind. The rifle 
companies constituted the van of the army, and 
set out from Fort Western in their bateaux a day 
in advance of the second division, Greene's, which in 
turn by a day preceded Eno's division, the third and 
last. This order was to be maintained until the 
army should have gone some way up the Kennebec, 
marched to that stream's branch, the Dead River, 
proceeded thereon, and made thence to the Chau- 
diere, where all should unite for the advance on 
Quebec. Colonel Arnold waited at Fort Western 
till the last division was off, then took a canoe, with 
Indians at the paddles, passed the third and second 
divisions, and overtook the advance at Norridgewock 
Falls, in the country of the moose deer. 

Dick now found himself in a wilderness more soli 
tary and picturesque than his own Pennsylvania for 
ests. The last cabin of white settlers had been left 
behind. Civilized habitation would not again be seen 
until the army should reach the French settlements 
in Canada. The river, pursuing a turbulent way 
among rocks and over cataracts, was set amidst 
solitudes of fir-trees, hemlocks, birch, and other 
species, and these crowned the eminences that 
rose now gently, and now abruptly, on every hand. 
Within sound of the eternal tumult of Norridge- 



154 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

wock Falls, were the ruins of a deserted Indian 
village, and as Dick lay at night under his blanket 
on his bed of evergreen branches, listening to the 
noise of the waterfall, and of MacAlister's snoring, 
he would look through his tent opening and imagine 
the ghosts of bygone red men, or that of the good 
French priest, Father Ralle, who had come to this 
village in 1698, and been killed when a party 
from Massachusetts suddenly attacked the place in 
1724. 

It was the task of Dick and his fellow riflemen to 
open the way, remove impediments from the streams, 
learn the fords, explore the portages or carrying- 
places where, the waters not being navigable, the 
boats had to be carried over land, and free these 
last of obstructions. For this work their attire was 
more suitable than was such garb as Dick had dis 
carded on joining them ; it consisted of hunting-cap, 
flannel shirt, cloth or buckskin breeches, buckskin 
leggings, moccasins, and outside hunting-shirt of 
brown linsey-woolsey, with a belt in which a knife 
and a tomahawk were carried. Each of Morgan's 
men wore on his cap a front-piece inscribed with 
the words, " Liberty or Death." This ever present 
reminder to the men, of the cause for which they 
toiled and suffered, came not amiss. It was not 
from the rifle companies that the desertions occurred, 
which united with swamp-fever and fatigue to reduce 



THE MARCH THROUGH MAINE. 155 

the army to fewer than a thousand able men before 
October I3th. 

Dick soon realized the truth of old Tom's pre 
diction concerning hard work. At the times when 
some of the men marched along the river banks, 
while some forced the bad and heavy bateaux, with 
their loads of provisions and other supplies, up the 
rapid stream, the lot of the former, struggling 
through thickets and swamps and over rocks, was 
no worse than the lot of the latter, wading and 
pushing against the current, which oftentimes up 
set or swamped their boats, and damaged provisions, 
arms, and ammunition. More than once a whole day 
was spent in getting around some single cataract, 
the men unloading the cargoes, carrying them 
and sometimes the boats also on their shoul 
ders, then relaunching and reloading for another 
tug against the swift stream. Before the Great 
Portage, from the Kennebec to the Dead River, 
had been traversed, Dick was inured to the life of 
an amphibious being, as well as to that of some 
swamp-infesting animal or of some inhabitant of the 
underbrush. His breeches and leggings were torn 
almost from his legs by thickets, which spared not 
the skin under them, and below the hips he was 
thoroughly water-soaked. But he still slept and 
ate well, there being at this time plenty of trout 
and salmon in the ponds and streams, with which 



156 THE ROAD TO IRAKIS. 

to eke out the diet of pork, meal-cakes, and biscuit. 
As yet the weather, though cold at night, caused no 
suffering to a youth of Dick's hardiness, or to a 
veteran as well seasoned as MacAlister. 

" I prophesy that will be the langest fifteen mile 
ye' 11 often gang over," said Old Tom, when he and 
Dick came to a halt at last on the bank of the Dead 
River, having put behind them the Great Portage 
and its three intervening lakelets, after days of 
dragging and pushing of boats over a rough ridge, 
and through ponds and bogs. " I gather from offee- 
cial sources," continued the Fiddler, " that we're like 
to reach the Chaudiere River in eight or ten days, 
though I hae my doots, seeing it's mony a mile up 
this river we'll be ganging, and then over God knows 
what kind of country after that. Weel, weel, lad, 
it's Quebec or nothing now, if ye hauld out, for devil 
a bit will ony mon of us gang willingly back over 
the road we've come by ! " 

So jubilant were the men at having overcome the 
difficulties of the great carrying-place, that they 
whistled and jested as they launched their boats on 
the sluggish waters of the Dead River. They acted 
as if the end of their journey were in sight. Colonel 
Arnold had already sent an Indian messenger to 
General Schuyler, whose army from the province of 
New York had in August started under Montgomery 
from Ticonderoga to enter Canada below Montreal 



THE MARCH THROUGH MAINE. 157 

and eventually unite with Arnold's force before Que 
bec. The colonel thought to receive an answer to 
this letter on arriving at the Chaudiere. 

" It's a blithe lot of men, true for ye, wi' their 
whistling and capering," said old Tom, in an under 
tone, as he and Dick stood recovering their breath 
after much pulling and shoving of boats. " All looks 
weel and bonny the day, but ye maun put nae trust 
in appearances. Do ye moind, ayont Curritunk, 
afore we left the Kennebec, how ye steppit sae 
merrily on the green moss that seemed to cover 
level ground for sae lang a stretch, and how ye 
found 'twas rotten bog beneath the surface, and full 
of them snags that tripped ye up and cut your feet 
in the devil's ain way ? Mony's the mon like that, - 
and woman, too ! " 

Up the Dead River for eighty-three miles the 
army proceeded, the riflemen still leading. Seven 
teen times they had to unload their boats and carry 
the loads past places that were not navigable. On 
this part of the journey the men were assailed by 
rains and cold weather. Lieutenant M'Cleland, 
more fragile in body than in spirit, was one of many 
whose constitutions began to yield to these assaults. 
With a cold in the lungs, he toiled on, performing 
his duties and refusing aid, until his increasing weak 
ness compelled him to relinquish the former and 
accept the latter, on his comrades' insistence and 



158 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

his captain's orders. When the chosen route de 
parted from the Dead River, to cross a mountain, 
M'Cleland was placed on a litter and so carried 
forward. 

" If I can only hold out till we enter Quebec ! " 
he said from his litter, one bleak, drizzling day, while 
Captain Hendricks, Dick, MacAlister, and others 
bore him up the wooded mountain-side, for the 
captain took his turn at the litter with the others. 

Captain Hendricks cheerily said there could be no 
doubt of that, and Lieutenant Simpson, who hap 
pened to be walking immediately behind the litter, 
predicted that the sufferer would begin to mend as 
soon as the troops should reach the Chaudiere, and 
reminded him, for the tenth time, that a boat was 
being carried across the mountain purposely to take 
him down that river while his comrades should 
march along the banks. 

The lieutenant brightened up at this reassurance 
that he was not to be left behind, as more than 
one ailing man had necessarily been, and, turning 
his eyes to Dick, said : 

" Do you remember the morning, Dick, when I 
galloped up to your house with the news of the 
beginning of this business ? How long ago that 
seems, and how far away ! " His voice had sunk, 
and he was silent and thoughtful for a moment. 
Then he resumed, with as much cheerfulness as his 



THE MARCH THROUGH MAINE. 159 

weakened state would allow him to show, " We 
didn't imagine ourselves, that morning, marching 
into Quebec together, as we shall be before many 
a day ! " 

Dick's answer was prevented by a fit of coughing 
on M'Cleland's part, after which the sufferer closed 
his eyes and went into a feverish doze. Old Tom 
glanced down at him, and for a moment looked 
grimmer than usually. 

Before starting to cross this mountain, which was 
one of the great snow-covered chain running north 
eastwardly, Colonel Arnold and the first division had 
camped at the base to rest. The tents had been 
flooded by heavy rains and by sudden torrents from 
the mountains. The inundation had upset several 
boats, destroyed provisions, and dampened the spirits 
as well as the bodies of the men. Rations were 
shortened-, and the dejecting news went round that 
there remained a journey of twelve or fifteen days in 
a wilderness devoid of supplies. After consulting with 
the officers on the ground, Arnold sent orders back 
to Colonel Greene and Colonel Enos to bring for 
ward as many men as they could furnish with fifteen 
days' provisions, and to send the rest of their forces 
back to Norridgewock. These orders despatched, 
Arnold and the riflemen started on their march 
across the mountain. 

Drenched with rain at the outset, they were soon 



160 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

chilled by wintry winds, and presently impeded by 
snow and ice. But at last the crest of the mountain 
no longer crossed the bleak sky ahead. Valleys, set 
with icy streams and frozen lakes, came into view, 
their sombreness not lessened by the color of their 
dark evergreens. The down-hill and cross-country 
march of the scantily fed men brought them at last 
to Lake Megantic, the source of the Chaudiere. 
Here, they met a courier whom Colonel Arnold had 
sent ahead to the valley of the Chaudiere to sound 
the French habitant, whose humble farms would be 
the first human abodes reached in Canada. This 
emissary said that the peasants would give the 
American army a hospitable reception. Colonel 
Arnold thereupon chose to precede the army down 
the Chaudiere, with a foraging party, that he might 
obtain and send back supplies and also have provi 
sions collected for the army's use on its arrival at 
the habitations. He therefore caused the little 
remaining food to be given out equally to the com 
panies, ordered them to follow as best they could to 
the Chaudiere settlements, and set out with a birch 
canoe and five bateaux. In the colonel's party was 
Archibald Steele, with whose pioneer force the rifle 
men had reunited at the Dead River, and whom 
Dick, compelled as before to remain behind with the 
main advance, again had reason to envy. 

"Whist, lad!" quoth old Tom. "The post of 



THE MARCH THROUGH MAINE. l6l 

honor, ye'll find, is back where the starving will be. 
There'll be low spirits henceforth, I'm thinking, and 
waurk for the fiddle, hearting up the men when 
they've leetle dourness left to fa' back on and it's 
devil a bit of difference whether they live 'or die. 
Lord, Lord ! It's a gang of living ghaists we are, 
Dickie. Wi' the clothes of us torn to flinders by 
the stanes and briars, and wi' nowt left to our shoes 
but the tops, we'd do fine to scare away the crows 
from the corn fields in a ceevilized country. Sure, 
the wind is like to pull the tatters frae our backs, 
and make us a shocking sight to the ladies when we 
march in triumph into Quebec ! " 

"If we ever get to Quebec," said a soldier, dis 
mally, who had overheard Tom's last words. 

"We'll get to Quebec!" said Dick, positively; 
and he involuntarily put back his hand and felt his 
queue. 

Dick now went to speak to his friend M'Cleland, 
who had been placed in a boat, which was to be 
navigated across the lake and down the Chaudiere 
by Sergeant Grier and several others. 

"Mind you land him safe!" called out the ser 
geant's buxom wife, as the boat moved off; and 
the sergeant replied he would do his best. 

" I'm afraid the poor lieutenant finds it a long way 
to Quebec," said Mrs. Grier, taking place in the line 
of riflemen as it started for the Chaudiere by land. 



1 62 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

" It's a lang way for some more of us," replied 
Tom MacAlister, who marched behind her. " There's 
that puir blind Shafer, the drummer in the Lancas 
ter company. Look at him now, yonder. It's ten 
to one he can't see a dozen foot ahead of his nose, 
yet he's always in his place, next man to one ahint 
Captain Smith, except when he fa's into a bog, 
through lack of eyesight. It must be the sense of 
hearing keeps him sae straight after the heels of 
young Henry afore him. Sure, if every man was 
like him, Captain Morgan would never have to look 
black and curse inside because of stragglers from the 
camp." 

" It's a sin," said Mrs. Grier, " the tricks the men 
play on him, stealing his cakes away from under his 
very eyes. Och ! there he goes now, tumbling off 
the log into the gully, drum and all ! You're right, 
MacAlister, the way to Quebec is a long one to 
Shafer, the drummer." 

" Yet I'd wager a pound or two, if I had it," said 
Tom, " the puir, blind, naked, hungry body will be 
beating his drum at Quebec, when mony a stout ras 
cal that laughs at him now will be sleeping here in 
these gullies wi' the bitter wind for bed-covering." 

The troops came presently to a pond, which would 
require so wide a detour to skirt, that the far shorter 
way was to cross it. Trying the ice that covered it, 
the men found that too thin to bear their weight. 



THE MARCH THROUGH MAINE. 163 

With dogged resignation, they began to break the 
ice with their guns, and waded in. Mrs. Grier 
raised her skirts above her waist and followed the 
man ahead, through the chilling water, to the oppo 
site shore. Dick and Tom waded immediately after 
her. No one offered either smile or comment. On 
the tired troops marched, in Indian file, hungry, 
shivering, aching, each man feeling that the next 
step might be his last. 

When they reached the Chaudiere, many of the 
riflemen did not wait for the order to halt, but ex- 
haustedly sank to the frosty ground in line. Tom, 
always respecting discipline, trudged on till the word 
came, followed through force of example by Dick ; 
and then these two also dropped in their places. 

" Chaudiere," said MacAlister, glancing down that 
stream. " That means caldron, and frae the look of 
things down yonder I won't gainsay the fitness of 
the name. It's unco' wild navigation we're like to 
have, down that there boiling torrent, I'm thinking! " 

And so it proved, when an attempt was made to 
launch boats. Every one that was put into the river 
was stove in by rocks, on being hurled forward by 
the rapids. But Captain Morgan persisted, until he 
had lost all of his boats. The ammunition, arms, and 
other equipments were thereupon taken up by the 
men, who proceeded along the banks of the turbulent 
stream, 



164 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

It happened that Dick and Tom were at the front 
of the division, when they turned the corner of a pro 
jecting rock, and came unexpectedly on a group that 
stood around a fire, beside which a man was lying. 
It required but a glance to inform Dick that this 
group consisted of Sergeant Grier's party and that 
the man on the ground was Lieutenant M'Cleland. 
The sight of a damaged boat, and of a rock near the 
verge of a cataract, told the story, that the boat 
had lodged on the rock, and that the men had 
managed to bring the feeble lieutenant ashore in 
time to save him from speedy death. In a moment 
Dick was kneeling at his side, whither he was 
soon followed by Captain Hendricks and Lieutenant 
Simpson. 

" It was a foolish thing to let you go by the river," 
said Hendricks to the prostrate man, whose breath 
came in quick, feeble movements, and whose weather- 
browned features had an ashy pallor. 

"We'll carry you on as we did over the moun 
tain, all the way to Quebec," said Dick, pressing 
M'Cleland's hand. 

But the lieutenant merely smiled faintly, took 
on a look of drowsy resignation, essayed to shake 
his head, and whispered the word, "Farewell!" 
Dick had to yield the hand he held, and his place by 
his friend's side, that his captain and certain of his 
comrades might clasp the hand once ere it should 



THE MARCH THROUGH MAINE. 165 

be cold. Even as Dick was thinking of the sunny 
April morning when his friend had ridden up, all 
life and animation, with the news of Lexington, the 
soldier sighed his last farewell. 

When the troops took up their march and left the 
dead man there, as they had left many another in 
those bleak wilds, Dick had a moment of heart-sick 
ness,, when all seemed dark before him, and when 
he wished that he and M'Cleland might be back in 
their Pennsylvania valley, and that there had never 
been a war. 

" Heart up, lad ! " came over his shoulder, softly, 
the voice of old Tom. " It's mony a friend ye'll 
leave cauld by the wayside ere ye come to lie there 
cauld yoursel'. Ye'll learn to keep looking forward, 
as ye gang over the hills and far away. Sae hauld 
up your head, and swallow your Adam's apple, and 
fasten your mind's eye on Quebec ! " 

And Dick braced himself and did so. 

By the 2Qth of October the last mouthful of meat 
was eaten and the last biscuit gone. A little flour 
remained, and this was divided equally, each man 
receiving five pounds. This they boiled in kettles of 
water, without salt, into what they called a bleary, 
subsequently eating it out of the wooden bowls 
around each one of which several half-numb fellows 
sat or lay at meals. At such times, those who were 
not reduced to a state of wretched apathy or speech- 



1 66 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

less despair, discussed the probabilities of their ever 
receiving food from Colonel Arnold's advance party, 
or of their perishing in the chill wilderness. Many 
were the growlers and foreboders of evil. 

" Bedad," said Tom MacAlister, after two or three 
of these had been having their say, " ye put me in 
mind of the complaining children of Israel, though 
it's far waur than them ye be, for they had forty 
years in the wilderness afore ivver they set sight on 
the Promised Land." 

"Ay," replied one of the malcontents, "but the 
Lord sent them manna from heaven, whereas he 
sends us only rain and snow and wind. And who 
can say for certain when we shall catch sight of our 
Moses again, eh, boys ? " 

Suspicions like this, real or pretended, that their 
leader had deserted or even betrayed them, were 
plentiful among these troops, as they were, indeed, 
throughout the American armies during most of the 
war for independence. It was by making men for 
get these thoughts, or ashamed of them, that the 
example of uncomplaining endurance set by Dick, 
and the soldierly conduct and musical performances 
of old Tom, were of great use to the officers in hold 
ing the troops to their weary task. At night an 
immense fire was made, and, while the men lay 
around it to warm their bodies, MacAlister fiddled 
and Lieutenant Simpson sang for them. The lieu- 



THE MARCH THROUGH MAINE. 167 

tenant had a rich, manly voice, and as many songs at 
command as Tom had tunes, songs of war, comic 
songs, songs of love, and his voice and that of 
Tom's fiddle, rising above the crackling of the fire, 
made sounds unwonted in that wintry wilderness 
accustomed only to the murmur of waters and the 
howling of winds. 

The last pinch of flour found its way into the pot 
and thence into some half famished stomach. The 
men's lives now depended entirely on the arrival of 
supplies from Colonel Arnold's foraging party before 
starvation could complete its work. After going a 
day unfed, MacAlister and Dick boiled their leather 
cartouch-boxes in the pot, drank the broth, and 
afterward chewed up the leather. The next day 
they discussed the advisability of following the ex 
ample of some of the other riflemen, who had boiled 
their moccasins and leggings. Wandering through 
the camp, while off duty, they came to a startled 
halt, at sight of a number of men actually eating 
some roasted meat. Partaking speedily of this feast, 
on invitation, Dick, not recognizing the flavor of the 
flesh, asked what it was. 

" Whist, lad," said old Tom, tearing the meat from 
a bone with his teeth, " be content with what Provi 
dence sends, and discipline your curiosity. Ye'll no 
relish your supper the better for speering." 

But the men's talk soon disclosed that the meat 



1 68 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

was of Captain Dearborn's Newfoundland dog, which 
had been an army pet. Dick ate no more that 
evening, but the next day, drawn irresistibly to the 
same mess, he accepted a ladleful of greenish broth, 
which, the men told him, had been made of the 
dog's bones, these having been pounded up for the 
purpose. 

"He's all gone now, poor fellow," said one of 
the men ; " even the insides of him, and Lord knows 
when we'll eat next ! " 

On the march, the troops came to a place where 
the Chaudiere swept a smooth beach, through which 
protruded parts of sand-roots. At sight of these, 
many of the men broke madly from the file, dug out 
the roots with their fingers, and ravenously ate them 
on the spot. 

Captain Morgan, sharing without exemption the 
sufferings of the men, was no less severe against 
insubordination during this starving time than he 
had formerly been. His rigid yet fair rule, and 
the kindly and tactful authority of Hendricks, kept 
the men moving along towards the distant goal, 
however listlessly and hopelessly some of them 
went. As for the Lancaster company, if Captain 
Smith was unduly boisterous, his men had before 
them such examples of unquenchable spirit as young 
Henry, and of unwearying patience as Shafer, the 
half blind drummer. But it was, on the whole, a 



THE MARCH THROUGH MAINE. 169 

despairing band of haggard and half naked men 
that moved at crawling pace along the rocky 
Chaudiere. 

"The farther we march, the farther away seems 
the Promised Land," muttered the man whom old 
Tom had once likened to the murmuring children of 
Israel. 

MacAlister, who had begun to limp, for the once 
made no answer, and Dick, toiling heavily along 
behind him, had to clench his teeth and think of 
the girl in Quebec, to keep from succumbing to the 
general despair. 

Suddenly, from the tree-hidden distance in front, 
came a sound that made every man's head go up in 
eager, half -incredulous joy. It was the lowing of 
cattle. 

The troops pushed rapidly forward, every ear and 
eye alert. When a clear space was reached, and a 
few men of Colonel Arnold's party, with some Cana 
dians and Indians, were seen coming up the river 
with a herd of cattle, several of the soldiers shrieked 
wildly, others laughed like lunatics, many wept like 
women, and some rushed forward and threw their 
arms around the great brown necks of the cattle. 
Dick smiled and cheered and waved his hat, and 
old Tom's face warmed for a moment into a gratified 
grin. In after years both often used to say that 
the joyfullest sight of their lives was that of these 



I/O THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

cattle coming up the river on that wintry day in 
the wilderness. 

While they ate, around their camp-fire, they heard 
how Arnold's party had fared, how three of its boats 
had been dashed to pieces on the way down the 
Chaudiere, the cargoes lost, the crews put in great 
peril of their lives, one boat-load of men nearly 
thrown over a cataract ; how the party was cor 
dially received at Sertigan, the nearest French set 
tlement, whose first house Arnold had reached on 
the night of October 3Oth, and how he had started 
provisions back towards the army early the next 
morning. 

It was two o'clock on Saturday afternoon, Novem 
ber 4th, when the riflemen, having swiftly waded 
mid-deep through a wide stream that flowed from 
the east, came in sight of the first house they 
beheld in Canada, a small, squat, wooden building, 
which, with its barn and little outhouses, had a look 
of snugness and comfort all the greater for the bleak 
surroundings. The men rushed forward to it joy 
fully, and found that Colonel Arnold had laid in a 
great quantity of food. 

Stared at curiously by the wool-clad Canadian 
family of seven persons, the famished troops ate 
voraciously, cramming their throats with boiled 
beef, hot bread, and boiled or roasted potatoes. 
Warned by MacAlister, Dick restrained his appe- 



THE MARCH THROUGH MAINE. \*Jl 

tite and fed but moderately. Within a few hours 
he realized the value of old Tom's admonition, for 
many of the men sickened from the sudden reple 
tion and some died of it. The army now had not 
only supplies but also a reinforcement, which con 
sisted of the Abenaqui chief, Natanis, with his 
brother, Sebatis, and several of his tribe, all these 
Indians having distantly accompanied the troops, 
unseen, from the Dead River. They had feared 
that, in the wilderness, the army might receive 
them as enemies. These allies were welcomed as 
compensating slightly for the defection of the en 
tire third division, which, through the misunder 
standing or disobedience of Enos, had gone back 
in its entirety, with the medicine-chest and a large 
stock of provisions, when Arnold had ordered its 
incapacitated men returned to Norridgewock. 

The army made a halt at the French settlements, 
while Colonel Arnold distributed among the Cana 
dians a printed manifesto furnished him by General 
Washington, of which the purpose was to enlist 
Canadians to the cause of the revolted colonies. 
On the 7th of November the two divisions, now 
together and numbering only six hundred men, were 
four leagues from the St. Lawrence. Hope and 
expectation had reawakened. Around the camp- 
fire that night there were conjectures as to how 
and when the attack on Quebec would be made; 



172 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

as to how it was at present garrisoned and forti 
fied ; as to what the army from New York, under 
Schuyler and Montgomery, must have done by this 
time in the vicinity of Montreal ; as to when Colonel 
Arnold should receive replies to the messages he 
had sent by Indians to those commanders ; as to 
when the two armies would unite ; as to which side 
would be taken by the different elements of Canada's 
population, the old French aristocracy, the Cath 
olic priesthood, the French peasants, the few British 
and Irish immigrants who had come in since the 
English had taken the country from the French. 
Thus far, the humble habit ans, at least, had given 
the Americans kindly welcome, calling them nos 
parivres frtres and refusing payment for lodging 
and food in their little farmhouses. Again and 
again was told the story of Wolfe's victory in '59, 
and it was questioned whether the American com 
manders would ascend to the Heights of Abraham 
to attack, as he had done, or would assail the city 
on some other side. 

Arnold's boldly outlined, resolute countenance, with 
the fire in the eyes, and the look of inward planning, 
had the prophetic aspect of victory, and throughout 
the little army confidence grew apace. Lieutenant 
Simpson's voice and Tom MacAlister's fiddle now 
sounded out blithely. Even the cold was less 
heeded. A deeply thrilling expectancy glowed in 



THE MARCH THROUGH MAINE. 1 73 

Dick, making him view things about him as in a 
kind of dream. 

"Sure, the Promised Land seems to be coming 
into sight, after all," said old Tom, to the grumbler 
who marched ahead of him. The army had broken 
camp and was marching towards the St. Lawrence. 

" Who said it wasn't ? " queried the other ; but he 
added, a moment later, " Though we haven't set foot 
on it yet, and as for what's in sight, all I can see 
ahead is woods, with a parcel of ragged walking 
corpses trailing through." 

They were, indeed, a procession of sorry-looking 
creatures. Unkempt, ill-shaven, limping from foot- 
soreness, bending forward from the habit induced by 
fatigue, sunken of cheek, haggard of eye and fea 
ture, half naked, many of them barefoot, bearing their 
rifles and baggage as heavy burdens, they were an 
army more fitted to appall by their ghastly aspect 
than by military formidableness. So they plodded 
through the forest. 

On Thursday, November Qth, blinking their eyes 
at the sudden light as they emerged from the shades, 
Dick and MacAlister stepped out in file from the 
woods, presently came to a halt, drawn up in line 
with the little army, and stood staring in a kind of 
stupid wonder at the scene before them, first a 
clear space sloping gradually, next a wide river flow 
ing tranquilly, a few vessels moored in the river, then 



THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

some houses and walls massed irregularly at the base 
of high cliffs, and finally, at the top of these cliffs, 
a huddle of fortifications, towers, spires, and roofs, 
and, over all else, the flag of England. 

"'Tis Quebec, lad ! " said old Tom, in a singularly 
dry tone, little above a whisper ; " the Promised 
Land ! " 

Dick made no answer, but stood gazing with 
moistened eyes, unable to speak for the emotion 
that stirred within him. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

WITHIN THE WALLS OF QUEBEC. 

To be in front of Quebec was one thing, but to 
be inside of it was another. Dick could only bide 
in patience, depending on the doings of those in 
authority, and on circumstance, for his hoped-for 
entrance into the city and meeting with Catherine 
de St. Valier. 

There was neither any visible sign of the army 
from the province of New York, nor any news from 
it. Dick was promptly assigned to duty with a party 
sent to look for boats, that the army might at the 
chosen time cross from Point Levi, near which it 
camped, to the Quebec side of the river. Neither 
Dick nor any of his comrades found craft of any 
kind ; instead, they got, from the habitans, the 
information that the British at Quebec had re 
cently removed or destroyed all the boats about 
Point Levi. So the coming of the American army 
had been expected ! The inference from this fact, 
and from the non-arrival of word from the New York 
army, was that Arnold's Indian messengers had be- 



THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

trayed his purpose to the enemy in Quebec, and time 
proved this conclusion true. There was naught to 
do but remain at Point Levi and search the river 
side afar for boats. 

In a short time this quest resulted in the assem 
bling of forty birch canoes, obtained from Canadians 
and Indians, with forty Indians to navigate them. 
But now came windy, stormy weather, in which the 
roughness of the river made impossible a crossing in 
such fragile craft. 

During this period of discomfort in the camp, 
intelligence began to come, through the inhabi 
tants, of the state of affairs in Quebec. Gen 
eral Carleton, the governor, was away, up the St. 
Lawrence, perhaps directing movements against the 
army from New York, somewhere in the vicinity of 
Montreal But the defences were being strengthened 
and the garrison reinforced, under the direction of 
the lieutenant-governor, Caramhe, and of the veteran 
Colonel Maclean, who had returned from Sorel with 
the Royal Highland Emigrants, three hundred Scotch 
men enlisted by him at Quebec. Recruits had come 
also from Nova Scotia and elsewhere. Quebec had 
observed the colonial troops camped between woods 
and river, and the military and official people despised 
and laughed at them. The merchants and business 
folk disliked Governor Carleton for his affiliation ex 
clusively with the official and military classes and the 



WITHIN THE WALLS OF QUEBEC. 

old French aristocracy, but would nevertheless stand 
stanchly for English rule and the defence of the 
city. The French seigneurs, reconciled to the treaty 
of 1763, had no reason to desire a change of govern 
ment, and it was likely that the priesthood, the arti 
sans, and the peasants would be neutral save when 
favoring the winning side. 

Such reports helped to furnish camp talk, and 
Dick was as interested in it as any one was, but the 
walled town that loomed high across the wide river 
had for him another interest. He would stand gaz 
ing at it by the hour, wondering in what part of it 
she was, and what would be the manner of his first 
sight of her. When he saw young Burr, of Arnold's 
staff, set forth in a sledge, and in a priest's disguise, 
from a friendly monastery, at a distance from the 
camp, with a guide, Dick promptly guessed the mis 
sion, the bearing of word from Arnold to the New 
York army ; and for once Dick did not envy another a 
task of peril, for Dick preferred now to remain near 
Quebec. 

Four days after the army's arrival at Point Levi, 
there came at last a messenger from General Mont 
gomery, whom Schuyler's illness had left in supreme 
command of the expedition from New York Province. 
His news set the camp cheering. The town of St. 
John's, which the British had retaken after Arnold's 
capture of it, had fallen to Montgomery on the 3d 



1/8 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

of November, after a siege of seven weeks. The 
New York general was to have proceeded thence to 
Montreal, capture that town, and come down the 
river to join Arnold. On top of these inspiriting 
tidings, came the joyfully exciting orders to make 
ready for an immediate crossing of the river. 

At about ten o'clock that night, Monday, Novem 
ber 1 3th, the troops paraded noiselessly on the beach 
near a mill at Point Levi. Dick's heart exulted as 
he found himself still in the van when the riflemen, 
directed in the gloom by the low-spoken orders of 
Morgan, stepped into the canoes that awaited them 
at the edge of the dark river. Silently, at the 
word, each boat pushed off, the Indians dipped their 
paddles, and the men found themselves in the swift 
current. Dick looked over the shoulder of old Tom 
towards the distant frowning heights, and recalled the 
story of how Wolfe, traversing the same river towards 
those same heights, on that fateful night sixteen 
years before, to find death and immortal fame on 
the morrow, had recited some lines from Gray's 
" Elegy in a Country Churchyard " and said he would 
rather be their author than take Quebec. Dick's 
emotion on realizing that he was where great history 
had been made, mingled presently with the one 
image that dominated his mind whenever his eyes 
or thoughts were on Quebec. 

But now and then an incident occurred to disturb 



WITHIN THE WALLS OF QUEBEC. 

his contemplations. The canoe behind him upset, 
and there was excitement, with loss of time, in res 
cuing its occupants, some of whom had to cross the 
river half submerged in the chill water, each holding 
to the stern of a canoe. Dick's boat, overcrowded, 
spilt a few of its passengers without entirely over 
turning, but no man was lost. The course lay be 
tween two of the enemy's war-vessels, a frigate and 
a sloop, yet the riflemen passed undiscovered. The 
transit seemed interminable, much to Dick's wonder, 
for from Point Levi the opposite shore had not 
appeared to be half as far as it was. 

At last the canoe glided along the shore of 
Wolfe's Cove, at the base of a steep ascent a mile 
and a half from the town, and Dick leaped ashore 
after Lieutenant Simpson, on the spot where the 
English general had landed on that September night 
in '59. The little landing-place was soon thronged 
with the dark figures of the men from the first 
boats, and Dick, ere he had taken time to look 
around, was stealthily scurrying up the slanting 
path, one of a party quickly sent in different direc 
tions by Morgan to reconnoitre the town's approaches. 

Clambering up the way by which Wolfe's army 
had ascended, he looked back and saw the dark river 
dotted in a long line with the boats of the crossing 
army. The continued silence testified either to the 
skill or good luck of his comrades, or to the blind- 



180 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

ness of the watches on the British vessels and on 
the guard-boats that patrolled the river. Reaching the 
top of the precipice and standing at last on the Plains 
of Abraham, Dick made sure that the head of the 
ascent was unguarded, and he thereupon, in obe 
dience to his orders, descended back to the landing- 
place, and reported. More of the army had now 
arrived, and in an uninhabited house at the Cove a 
fire had been made, at which Dick went to warm 
himself and found old Tom. 

At four o'clock in the morning, a sudden angry 
booming in the river proclaimed that the British had 
discovered the boats then crossing. But the bark 
was not followed by a bite, and at last the entire 
army was safe on land at the Cove. The men were 
in eager expectation of an immediate attack, which 
Captain Morgan openly showed himself to favor ; but 
Colonel Arnold probably supposed from the firing 
that the garrison would be on the alert, and so, with 
guards set, the troops passed the night, as best they 
could, at the Cove. 

On Tuesday the gaunt army marched up the 
precipice and stood where Wolfe's regiments had 
formed on the day they took Quebec from France. 
Far in front lay the town, behind its walls and bas 
tions, and by them cut off upon its promontory. 
Old Tom knew the place from description, and 
pointed out, to Dick, Cape Diamond at the right, 



WITHIN THE WALLS OF QUEBEC. l8l 

and the citadel crowning that height ; at the left, 
close to a bastion, the open gate of St. John's, where 
Montcalm fell; between these two, the St. Louis 
Gate, the towers of churches, and the roofs of official 
residences. The soldiers waited, while the officers 
held council. 

Suddenly, from the wall-encircled city, came the 
sound of drums beating to arms, and soon the walls 
became thronged with troops and citizens. At the 
same time the gate of St. John's was closed. Colonel 
Arnold thereupon marched his men towards the town 
and paraded them within a hundred yards of the 
walls, ordering them to give three cheers, which they 
did heartily, Dick tingling with the expectation of 
battle. 

But the enemy stayed behind his walls, even 
though presently the Americans fired a few taunting 
volleys at him ; and, after awhile, their demonstra 
tion being answered from the ramparts by a large 
piece of artillery, they marched back to a safe dis 
tance and encamped. That evening Colonel Arnold 
sent a flag, demanding surrender, but the Highlanders 
guarding the city gate fired on it. Then ensued 
more days of waiting. 

The officers quartered in some now abandoned 
country residences and farmhouses, and many of the 
men were lodged in peasants' cottages and barns. 
During these days of inaction, riflemen were sent to 



1 82 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

the suburbs, outside the walls, to annoy the enemy, 
as they had annoyed him in Boston from the hills 
about Cambridge. While engaged in this, in the 
suburb of St. John's, Dick and MacAlister, by crawl 
ing away betimes on knees and elbows, narrowly 
escaped the capture that befell one of the Vir 
ginians who lay concealed with them in a thicket, a 
party of the enemy having made a sortie from the 
gate. 

When they got back to camp, they learned that 
fresh news had come from Montgomery, that 
Montreal had capitulated to him on the I2th, but 
that Governor Carleton had contrived to elude him 
and was supposed to have fled down the river, bound 
for Quebec. Orders were now given to be in readi 
ness to march, it having been decided to retire up 
the river to Point aux Trembles, to await Mont 
gomery at greater distance from the enemy. Dick's 
heart fell at thought of going, even for a short time 
and a score of miles, further from Quebec. Before 
he had time to brood over the matter, he was sum 
moned to wait on Captain Hendricks, whom he found 
sitting with Colonel Arnold and Captain Morgan at 
a table in the chief room of a stone farmhouse. 
Hendricks returned his salute with a friendly look, 
Morgan with an approving one, and Arnold with a 
pleasant but piercing gaze and the words : " How 
would you like to go into Quebec, and learn the exact 



WITHIN THE WALLS OF QUEBEC. 183 

strength of each battery there and of each force of 
men in the garrison ? " 

When Dick grasped the full sense of this question, 
which he was delayed in doing by his mental notice 
of the present harmony between Arnold and Morgan 
after an open quarrel over the short allowance of 
flour to the riflemen, he waited a moment for breath, 
then answered : 

" I should be delighted, sir ! " 

"It is necessary," Arnold went on, "that we have 
information more reliable than the reports we are 
getting from the inhabitants, for no two of these 
reports agree. There is a method just now by which 
a shrewd man may easily enter the city, without 
arousing suspicion there. This method requires that 
our man shall play a part. I am told you have ability 
in that direction." 

Dick recalled his Boston escapes, and bowed. 

"Here," said Arnold, handing Dick a sealed mis 
sive from the table, " is a letter from General Carle- 
ton, who is now somewhere up the river, to Colonel 
Maclean in Quebec. The messenger who carried it 
has fallen into our hands. It was so carelessly sealed 
that we were able to open and refasten it without 
seeming to have broken the wax. You are to per 
sonate the messenger, carry the letter to Colonel 
Maclean, get the information we want, and send it in 
a way I shall tell you of, for you will probably be 



1 84 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

kept in the city, and any failure in your own attempt 
to get away might keep your information from reach 
ing us. After that, you may escape when you best can. 
You understand, your report to me is not to be put 
to the risk that your body will doubtless undergo in 
getting back from the enemy." 

" I understand." 

" As General Carleton's message doesn't contain 
any description of the bearer, but merely tells 
Maclean to enroll him into service, you may 
assume what character you please. The messen 
ger was a Tory hunter, from the province of New 
York, dressed much like you. So it may be well 
to pretend that character, wearing your own clothes. 
Captain Hendricks tells me you know enough of 
Montreal and the intervening country, from descrip 
tion, to answer knowingly if you should be ques 
tioned about it. Sit yonder, and read this letter 
from General Montgomery to me, and this copy 
of General Carleton's message to Colonel Maclean. 
They will let you know how matters were at 
Montreal, and with General Carleton, when the 
messenger left." 

Dick glanced down at the papers pushed towards 
him, and resumed heed of Arnold's instructions, 
which continued while the speaker now and then 
jotted down a word or two on a piece of paper : 

" You will leave the camp with this pass, on the 



WITHIN THE WALLS OF QUEBEC. 185 

side farthest from the town, so it may appear you 
are going to reconnoitre up the river ; for your 
destination must of course be a secret, lest some 
informant of the enemy's might follow and expose 
you. You will go around the camp by land, and 
reach the city after dark. The letter you carry 
will get you admittance without delay. Once within 
the walls, obtain the information as you are best 
able to. Put it in writing, and take it to a woman 
called Mere Frappeur, who keeps a wine shop in the 
upper town, near the Palace Gate. She is an Irish 
woman, the widow of a French fish-monger, and she 
has a boat in which she sometimes goes fishing her 
self. When you meet her, if no one else is about, 
whistle 'Molly, my Treasure,' do you know the 
tune ? " 

Dick, who had heard Tom fiddle it a thousand 
times, softly whistled the opening part. Arnold 
nodded, and went on : 

" If you look at her in such a manner as to show 
that the tune is a signal, she will soon come to an 
understanding with you. You will ask her, in my 
name, to take your written message, in her boat, 
at night, close to the shore immediately on this 
side of the British stockade near the foot of Cape 
Diamond. There she will whistle ' Molly, my Treas 
ure,' and will be answered with the same tune by a 
man whom I shall have in waiting there each night, 



1 86 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

from to-morrow. She will give him the message and 
afterwards report to you. When you are sure the 
information is safe in that man's hands, you may 
escape and report to me, when you find opportunity 
or create it. I have made some notes here, that you 
will fix in mind before you start ; but destroy that 
paper and my pass, as soon as you are clear of the 
camp, so that you will carry no papers to Quebec 
other than General Carleton's letter." 

Dick took the sheet handed to him, and read the 
words : " Strength of each battery, number men 
in each force, Mere Frappeur, wine shop near 
Palace Gate, Molly, my Treasure, boat, each 
night, shore this side stockade near foot Cape 
Diamond." While the three officers discussed in 
low tones at one end of the table, Dick sat at the 
other end, and mem'orized every circumstance men 
tioned in the letters of Montgomery and Carleton. 
He then rose, and, being noticed by Colonel Arnold, 
returned those two letters, and took his leave, retain 
ing the pass, Arnold's brief notes, and the genuine 
letter from Carleton to Maclean. He was followed 
from the room by the kindly smile of Captain 
Hendricks. 

It was now almost nightfall. Dick returned to 
his quarters, in a barn loft, put from his pockets 
and attire whatever might betray him, and saw with 
satisfaction that his clothes, now mended by old 



WITHIN THE WALLS OF QUEBEC. l8/ 

Tom and replenished from the stock of a dead 
comrade, no longer bore striking evidence of his 
march through Maine. He assured himself for the 
thousandth time that the miniature was still in its 
hiding-place ; made a hasty supper with his mess on 
the barn floor below ; called MacAlister aside and 
told of his coming absence on reconnoitring duty ; 
shook the old fellow's hand, and was gone. 

" Guid luck, and a merry meeting in this waurld or 
some ither ! " was old Tom's farewell. 

Dick tore up his pass as soon as it had been hon 
ored at last by the outermost picket ; for in his zeal 
to respect his commander's every wish he was deter 
mined to make so wide a detour in rounding the 
camp that he could not possibly come near another 
sentry. The night was well advanced when he 
strode finally between the colonial army and the 
frowning city. Skulking past Mount's Tavern, giv 
ing a wide berth to every farmhouse or suburban 
residence that might perchance shelter some Ameri 
can force on special duty, he stood at last between 
the suburb of St. Louis and that of St. John's, and 
hesitated as to which gate to approach. He chose 
that of St. John's, and, hastening up to it with an 
air of importance and fatigue, was challenged at 
some distance by a sentry on the wall. His prompt 
account of himself got him speedily through the 
wicket, and soon a guard officer was escorting him 



1 88 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

to Colonel Maclean, who was for the time quartered 
in a house near the bastion of La Potasse, in order 
to be close to the barracks and St. John's Gate. 

Maclean sat in a room on a level with the street, 
holding vigil with some officers. Dick faced him 
across a table on which were a candelabra, writing 
materials, and a great mass of papers. The British 
commander, Scotchiest of the Scotch, was rugged, 
frowning, and sharp-speaking, but seemed to have 
a solid substratum of good-nature. He read Carle- 
ton's letter in silence, then scrutinized Dick with 
gray eyes as hard as granite, and pelted him with 
a succession of gruff questions, to which Dick replied 
with quiet readiness and a steady return of look. 
The questions were all on matters covered by the 
letter, which, Dick could easily see, the sagacious 
Scot did not suspect of having been opened. Dick's 
answers evidently convinced the colonel that the 
letter had not changed bearers since leaving General 
Carleton's hand. For the colonel's address was a 
little less gruff, when he presently asked : 
"What is your name, my guid mon ? " 
"Tammas MacAlister," replied Dick, under a 
prompt inspiration, and added, in imitation of the 
Fiddler's manner of speech, " Ye maun hae kenned 
my fayther, and his fayther afore him, that baith 
piped ahint the heels of Charlie Stuart in '45, 
though the present generation is loyal, soul and body, 



WITHIN THE WALLS OF QUEBEC. 189 

to the powers that be. I oft heard them tell of the 
Macleans, and what a grand family they are, beg 
ging your pardon." 

" I dare say," answered the colonel, his face 
having lost its rigor. "Though I don't mind at 
the moment, I maun hae kenned your forebears in 
days lang syne. Tis strange I didn't heed your 
Scottish tongue sooner. Ye're the build and face 
of a true Caledonian, and ye'll mak' a braw recruit 
for the Royal Emigrants. Captain, let MacAlister 
mess and quarter with your company for the time 
being, and see that he reports to me to-morrow at 
ten o'clock." The officer addressed sent an attend 
ant for a sergeant, in whose charge Dick was placed, 
and by whom he was soon assigned to a bunk in the 
adjacent barracks, his mind in a whirl of emotions, 
thoughts, and plans, all regarding his military mis 
sion and his intended visit to Catherine de St. 
Valier. 

The next morning, at breakfast, Dick studied 
carefully each man of the mess. Pretending to 
a previous knowledge acquired through a seafaring 
uncle, he asked an old Quebec man whether there 
were any St. Valiers still in the city. He soon 
learned that Gerard and Catherine were the last 
of their branch of the family, that it was an im 
poverished branch, and that they were now living 
with their unmarried uncle in the latter's house in 



THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

Palace Street, near the street that led from the 
St. John's Gate. 

Dick next, observing that a certain prating cor 
poral affected expert knowledge of the town's 
defences, and had a truly Scotch tenacity of asser 
tion, lured him subtly into an argument regarding 
the present state of Quebec as compared with that 
in Wolfe's time ; and thus elicited, as to the disposi 
tion of artillery, a statement so exact and full that, to 
be relied on, it required only to agree with some 
report from another source. Dick secretly assigned 
each section of a piece of biscuit to represent some 
particular post named by the corporal, and on that 
section he made tiny finger-nail scratches equal in 
number to the cannon said to be at the post. Being 
under orders to remain with the sergeant, he found, 
by using his eyes skilfully while about the barracks, 
that the corporal's account was correct as far as con 
cerned certain guns in the vicinity of St. John's Gate. 

During the morning there came to the barracks 
a barber who had customers among soldiers stationed 
at different parts of the town. Now that the troops 
remained near their posts when off duty, ready to 
respond in case of sudden attack, this practitioner, 
instead of keeping shop as usually, made the rounds 
to visit the customers who could not visit him. Dick 
was shaved by him, and, during the operation, led 
him to discourse upon those parts of the city to 



WITHIN THE WALLS OF QUEBEC. IQI 

which duty called him. The observant barber inci 
dentally let fall numerous bits of information that 
confirmed, if they did not augment, certain details 
of the knowing corporal's disclosures. 

This barber and the corporal had the knack pos 
sessed by small boys and dogs, of nosing into every 
opening whence anything might be seen, and had 
come by far more and far other information than 
they were properly entitled to possess. Dick had 
begun the day with the knowledge, won in his own 
experience, that in every score of people there are 
two or three such investigating persons. Keen 
observation had enabled him to single out the two 
such from the host of men he met in the barracks, 
and by the closest attention he had picked out, from 
the chaff of their talk, the few grains that were to 
his purpose. It was not, therefore, mere good luck 
that had brought him so promptly a better approxi 
mate account of the city's heavy armament than he 
could have obtained in hours of suspicious loitering 
around the various batteries. 

At ten o'clock he reported to Colonel Maclean at 
the latter's temporary headquarters. He had to give 
an account of his supposed journey from Montreal 
and of how he had contrived to pass the American 
camp. Maclean said it would be useless to send him 
back with a message to General Carleton, as the 
latter's whereabouts would doubtless remain unknown 



192 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

until his arrival at Quebec, which might occur at any 
time. He proposed, therefore, that Dick should 
enlist in the Royal Highland Emigrants. 

Dick, who had borne in mind from the first that 
his task must be done ere the arrival of Carleton, as 
the governor would know him from the genuine 
messenger, replied that to serve in the Emigrants 
was the ambition of his life. The colonel asked 
Dick what soldiering he had seen. Dick replied, 
" Nane, afore the fighting between the Lakes and 
Montreal. But, considering the stock I'm of, I 
should tak' well to the profession, seeing that I hae 
done weel at most things I've put a hand to, from 
the rifle to the quill pen." At the last words, the 
colonel looked at the mass of papers on his table, as 
Dick had designed he should do, and said, " If ye 
have skill at pen waurk, there's a task of copying ye 
might set to, before we mak' a Royal Emigrant of 
ye. My secretary is more useful at the new fortifi 
cations these times, having the gift of construction in 
works as well as in words ; yet I'm sore wishful for 
a copy of these letters, for my ain keeping." 

Dick repressed his elation, and it was soon ar 
ranged that he should forthwith write out a copy 
of some correspondence that the colonel set before 
him. Maclean then left the office, to make his usual 
rounds, and Dick was left alone with an adjutant, a 
door-attendant, and two guards at the entrance. The 



WITHIN THE WALLS OF QUEBEC. 193 

adjutant sat writing at one side of the table, Dick 
at the opposite side, both using ink from the same 
receptacle. 

To his disappointment, Dick found the correspond 
ence to concern a bygone question of misappro 
priated supplies, and hence to be of no value as 
information for his commander. While he wrote, 
his eye ranged the table, at intervals, and took in 
every visible bit of writing thereon, making note of 
such sheets, wholly or partly in view, as contained 
matter arranged in columns. He acquainted himself 
with the exact location of three such sheets among 
the countless others that encumbered the table. 
He then waited the opportunity that would come 
with the adjutant's departure from the room. 

But the adjutant, whose work was behind, through 
his having accepted more than his regular duties, 
continued to write. Shortly after noon, the colonel 
returned, with some of his staff, and had dinner in the 
adjoining room. Dick was sent to dine with his mess. 
He made short work of dinner, and hastened back, 
hoping he might arrive at the office table before 
the adjutant, who was to have dined with the 
colonel's staff. But Dick found the adjutant already 
at work, an odor of wine about him telling that he 
had finished his dinner. The colonel and the other 
officers presently went out, as they had done in the 
forenoon. The afternoon passed on as the forenoon 



194 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

had, with the difference that, outside the window, 
snow began to fall. Dick utilized some of the time 
by transcribing, on a bare sheet of paper, the state 
ment he had recorded on his piece of biscuit, which 
he now set before him on the table as if intending 
presently to eat it. He then adroitly slipped the 
sheet of paper from the table to his lap and thrust 
it carefully beneath his jacket with his left hand 
while continuing to write with the other. 

When the gray afternoon began to darken, Dick 
resolved on a desperate measure. As if his hunting- 
knife galled him, he took it from his belt and placed 
it on the table, with its point thrust under the ink 
stand. A few minutes later, as if to remove it out 
of the way of his paper, he lifted it suddenly in such 
manner that it overturned the inkstand, deluging 
one of the adjutant's hands with ink. That officer 
arose with an expression of disgust, darted an angry 
look at Dick, called the attendant to mop up the 
ink, and went into a closet to wash his hand. 

Dick, with a pretence of rescuing the papers from 
the spreading pool of ink, swiftly grasped the three 
sheets he had singled out and placed them, each on 
top of a different pile, within range of his eye. The 
adjutant, returning to his delayed work, did not 
notice what rearrangement Dick had made of the 
papers. While the two wrote silently on, Dick 
scanned the farthest of the three papers. He soon 



WITHIN THE WALLS OF QUEBEC. IQ5 

saw that it was a list of provisions, and of trivial con 
sequence. The next one of the three turned out to 
be a statement of arms needed to complete the equip 
ment of a certain militia company. Dick turned his 
eye, with diminishing hopes, to the third and last. 
This is what he saw there, and copied in feverish 
haste, with trembling fingers : 

In garrison at Quebec, November 1 7th. 

70 Royal Fusileers. 
230 Royal Emigrants. 

22 Artillery, fire-workers, etc. 
330 British militia. 
543 Canadians. 
400 Seamen. 

50 Masters and men of vessels. 

35 Marines. 
1 20 Artificers. 



1800 

The copy of this return, deluged with sand in 
Dick's impatience to dry the ink, followed the 
artillery account to concealment, and Dick, casting 
a peculiar smile across the table at the busily 
writing adjutant, went on copying the colonel's 
correspondence. 

Presently candles were lighted by the attendant. 
Then in came Colonel Maclean, shaking off the snow 
and blustering at the cold, and accompanied by two 
officers, one of whom said, hastening to the fireplace : 



196 TJIE ROAD TO PARIS. 

" I'll wager this is the kind of weather they've been 
waiting for, though, to be sure, one never knows when 
they may melt away in the night, as who the devil's 
that ? " 

The colonel turned to look where the speaker did, 
but saw only a flying figure that darted through the 
door, plunged past the guards, and was gone in the 
falling snow and gathering gloom. The figure was 
Dick's, for the man who had spoken was Lieutenant 
Blagdon. 

Dick had been minded for an instant to stay and 
outface him. But on the heels of that impulse had 
come the thought that Blagdon knew sufficient that 
differed from the name and nationality and other 
particulars Dick had given Maclean, to prove the 
imposture, and that the word of a well-known Brit 
ish officer would of course be taken against Dick's. 
Hence the timely bolt for the street. 

He had turned naturally in the direction that led 
towards Palace Street, at which thoroughfare he 
arrived without having attracted attention, his rapid 
pace being that which a soldier might use in carry 
ing a hurried order. He knew Palace Street by its 
width and the rich appearance of its houses. Not 
looking back to see whether a pursuit had yet 
been started, he turned leftward and hastened on, 
now changing his gait from a run to a rapid stride. 
Duty required that he should first make safe his 



WITHIN THE WALLS OF QUEBEC. 

information by finding Mere Frappeur and entrusting 
it to her. He asked an artisan where her wine shop 
was, but the artisan was French and shook his head 
in sign of not understanding. A short distance 
farther on, Dick picked out an English face among 
the snow-pelted passers-by, and repeated his ques 
tion. 

" About the fifth or sixth house in the second little 
street to the right," replied the Englishman, who had 
the look of a merchant's clerk ; " the street that 
turns off beyond the St. Valier house, the house 
with the large garden." 

The St. Valier house ! Dick would have to pass it, 
then, on his way to Mere Frappeur's wine shop ! He 
sprang forward, barely taking time to thank his in 
formant, and ran plump into a begowned priest, who, 
thrown from his balance, uttered a rapid series of 
words, as to which Dick did not know whether they 
were Latin ejaculations or French execrations. Dick 
was further impeded on his way by having to make 
room for a squad of soldiers, and to pass round a 
sledge that had come to a standstill where streets 
crossed. He now cast a look backward, from a 
slight eminence, and saw. a half dozen troops turn 
into Palace Street where he had turned into it. One 
of them carried a lantern, held close to the snow. 
Dick knew what that, meant, they were tracing 
him by his footprints in the snow. He blamed him- 



198 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

self now for having, in his desire to avoid collisions, 
kept so clear of other walkers. 

At last he reached the street indicated by his in 
formant. He readily recognized, by its location and 
the great garden in whose midst it was set, the St. 
Valier residence. Through the half-open gate in the 
wall, he saw a light in the two windows at one side 
of the wide front door ; and the momentary sound of 
confused voices told him that a numerous assemblage 
was within. He turned into the little street that ran 
by the long side wall of the garden. Presently he 
passed a smaller gate, which also stood open and 
which led to the rear of the grounds. Just across 
the street from this gate, there was a crowd looking 
excitedly in through the open door of a narrow one- 
story house, in whose lighted window appeared the 
inscription, " C. Frappeur, Vins." 

"The wine shop," thought Dick, and, as he ran 
across the street towards the crowd, he asked himself 
how he should go about transacting his business with 
Mere Frappeur in the presence of so many people 
and in the brief time before the arrival of the troops 
on his track. He edged into the crowd and elbowed 
his way towards the door, but so great was the curios 
ity of the people to see what was within, that he had 
considerable strife to enter the shop. The crowd re 
sented his forcible passage, and jabbered noisily in 
French. The throng in the shop was as great as that 



WITHIN THE WALLS OF QUEBEC. 199 

without. Dick laboriously pushed his way to the 
front. " What the devil are you doing ? " quoth the 
first English voice that Dick had heard here, that 
of a burly subaltern of militia. 

" I must see Mere Frappeur," cried Dick. 

" See her, then," replied the subaltern, shoving 
Dick forward, and pointing to a bench, on which she 
lay, a priest at her head, a surgeon at her feet. 
Mere Frappeur was dead from the accidental dis 
charge of a militia captain's pistol, whose owner 
had been getting drunk in her wine shop. 

It took Dick a few seconds to comprehend the 
truth and to consider what next to do. He turned 
and struggled out of the shop and through the 
crowd in the street. As he came finally free of con 
tact, he glanced towards Palace Street, and saw the 
soldiers with the lantern, coming around the corner 
of the St. Valier garden. He dashed immediately 
through the gate in the side wall, crossed an open 
space between snow-covered evergreens, and bounded 
up a half dozen steps to the rear porch of the St. 
Valier mansion. From this porch a large door led into 
the house. Dick boldly gave four quick, loud knocks. 
As the lantern's light appeared at the gateway in 
the side wall, the door of the house gaped wide, and 
Dick stepped at once into a dim, spacious hallway, 
which led to several rooms and a staircase. While 
the servant closed the way behind Dick, and looked 



200 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

inquiringly at him, a door near the farther end ot 
the hallway opened, admitting from a brilliant parlor 
a noise of merry conversation, and then a woman, 
who stopped in the centre of the hall, and looked at 
Dick with the surprise due to his s*udden intrusion. 
It was Catherine de St. Valier. 



CHAPTER IX. 

THE INCIDENTS OF A SNOWY NIGHT. 

THERE was a moment's pause, while Dick hastily 
tore open the silken bag in his queue and took there 
from the miniature. Then he advanced to her, 
bowing low, his hunting-cap in one hand, the por 
trait held out in the other. She glanced at the 
miniature curiously, then uttered a low exclamation 
of pleasure, her face suddenly assuming a faint but 
joyous smile, and took the portrait, her fingers touch 
ing his as she did so. 

" When I said I would get it back for you, in New 
Jersey," quoth Dick, while she looked affectionately 
at the miniature, "I didn't think to take so long a 
time." 

She now looked from the portrait to him. " Then 
you are the young gentleman" who left the stage 
coach, to go after the robbers ? " she said, in a tone 
showing that she had not recognized him at first. 

Dick bowed. " I would have returned it to you 
in New York, but something hindered me." In 
contemplating the fine lines of her face, and the dark 



202 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

lustre of her eyes, Dick heeded not the possibility 
that his seekers might even now be on the porch. 

" How can I thank you, sir ? " she said, her look 
and tone having, from the circumstances, a tender 
ness such as she had not before evinced to any man. 
Perhaps this very exception in Dick's favor, though 
due to the occasion, separated him at once and for 
ever in her mind from all other men, and made it 
natural that he, on whom she had scarcely even 
looked, should acquire in an instant a first place in 
her thoughts. 

Dick had read enough to be able to make such 
fine speeches as were seriously affected and seriously 
taken in those days. He answered : 

" By permitting me to worship you." 

She looked at him a moment, at loss for a reply, 
but not disapprovingly. Before she could speak, 
there came a loud pounding at the rear door. The 
old servant, who had locked it after Dick's entrance, 
now returned to it to open it again. 

" I think that is a party of troops in search of 
me," said Dick, quietly, to Catherine. " I came to 
Quebec on a secret mission for the United Colonies, 
and I have been discovered." 

" Mon Dieu ! " exclaimed Catherine, suddenly show 
ing deep concern. " Don't open the door, Antoine ! 
Do you mean, sir," turning to Dick, "that, if you 
were caught, you would be " 



THE INCIDENTS OF A SNOWY NIGHT. 

" Hanged, probably," said Dick, seeing out of the 
corner of his eye that the servant had stepped aside 
from the door without unlocking it. 

The knock was repeated, more loudly. Catherine 
looked distressed and perplexed. 

"They will be let in, eventually," she said, in a 
whisper, "for my uncle will hear them, and come 
to see what is the matter. You must hide till they 
go!" 

"They will search the house," replied Dick. 

She stood thinking, for a few seconds. " There is 
one room they shall not enter," she said. "Come ! " 

She went swiftly up the wide staircase, Dick fol 
lowing at her elbow. At the first landing, which 
was visible from the front part of the hall, she 
pushed back a door, whereupon Dick, obeying her 
look, stepped into a chamber that had a window at 
the farther end, as could be known by the faint 
whiteness there, and by the sound of snowflakes 
pelting the panes. Dick stopped at the threshold 
to say, " But the servant ? " 

" He is faithful to me," she whispered from the 
landing. At that moment the knocking again 
sounded, this time with angry violence. There 
came from the parlor a young gentleman whom 
Dick, looking through the chamber doorway and 
down the first flight of stairs, recognized as Cath 
erine's brother, and who said to the servant : 



2O4 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

" What is that knocking, Antoine ? My uncle 
wonders why you don't go to the door." 

" I have been busy elsewhere, Monsieur Gerard," 
said the old servant ; and then he could be heard 
turning the lock. 

A moment later there came the sound of men 
rushing in, and then the voice of Lieutenant Blagdon, 
saying, loudly and angrily :' 

"What the devil has come over this house, Gerard, 
that it opens so easily to rebel spies, and stays closed 
all night against the King's troops ? " 

Before the astonished Gerard could reply, another 
gentleman appeared from the parlor, attracted by 
the noisy arrival of Blagdon and the troops. He 
appeared to be about sixty, but he carried his tall 
figure stiffly erect, and his eyes were bright and 
keen. He held a hand of playing cards, and his face 
still wore a smile, which was rather that of heartless 
gaiety than of kindly merriment. Behind him, in 
the doorway, appeared other gentlemen and a few 
ladies, these last standing on their toes to see what 
was the disturbance. 

" What is going on, Lieutenant Blagdon ? " de 
manded the old gentleman. 

" A very remarkable thing, Monsieur de St. 
Valier," replied Blagdon. "A rebel spy, who was 
discovered at Colonel Maclean's quarters, seems to 
have found a refuge in your house." 



THE INCIDENTS OF A SNOWY NIGHT. 2O5 

" What ! " cried the old gentleman, whom Dick 
now understood to be Catherine's uncle. " My house 
shelter a rebel ! You seem to be walking in your 
sleep, Lieutenant Blagdon, under the delusion of 
some ridiculous dream ! " 

" I implied no knowledge on your part, Monsieur 
de St. Valier, when I said the fellow had got into 
your house. We followed his track in the snow, and 
though we lost it for a moment in a crowd, before 
the wine shop yonder, we soon came on the same 
footprint, which led through the snow to your porch. 
The same feet left marks of snow on the porch, to 
your very door, and there are no marks leading away 
from it. Moreover, I know the man, and have reason 
to think he would have come to this house while in 
Quebec." 

At this point Catherine hastened down the stairs, 
at first nonchalantly, but, on approaching the foot, 
assuming a look of wonderment at the scene in the 
hall. 

" Why, what has happened, Gerard ? What is it, 
uncle ? " she asked. 

" And now," cried Blagdon, excitedly, " I know the 
man has been here since I left Miss de St. Valier an 
hour ago ! " Catherine saw, as did her brother, that 
Blagdon's eyes were fixed balefully on the miniature, 
which she had thoughtlessly retained in her hand. 

"What man?" queried Catherine, turning red. 



2O6 . THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

"The man who brought you back that portrait, 
which you didn't have an hour ago," cried Blagdon, 
half mad with jealousy. " Sure proof the man must 
have entered this house since he left Colonel Maclean's 
quarters, where he had been all day ! " 

"You are wrong, Lieutenant Blagdon," said 
Catherine, quietly. " Though you didn't know it an 
hour ago, I have had my mother's portrait since 
yesterday, as I meant to tell my uncle when I should 
see fit. It was handed to Gerard in the street by a 
man who did not wait for any words, is it not so, 
Gerard ? " 

Dick, looking down from the darkness of the 
landing, saw Gerard bow in confirmation, and knew 
that the understanding between brother and sister 
was complete. He saw, also, Blagdon shake his 
head, with a derisively incredulous laugh. 

" If any one came in by that door," said the elder 
St. Valier, " the servant should know it. You were 
here, Antoine. Did you admit any one?" 

" Lieutenant Blagdon and the soldiers," replied 
Antoine. 

"But Antoine could not have been minding his 
business," said Blagdon, " for we had to knock 
several times before he let us in." 

" But," put in Antoine, " the door was locked be 
fore I admitted monsieur and the troops. Monsieur 
must have heard me unlock it. Does not that show 



THE INCIDENTS OF A SNOWY NIGHT. 2O/ 

that no one could have come in before monsieur, 
even if I were not at my place ? " 

" It shows merely that the man, after coming in, 
himself locked the door," said Blagdon. " He doubt 
less found it unlocked when he arrived. I'll wager 
Antoine will not take oath the door was locked at 
the time the man must have entered." 

"Well, well," said Monsieur de St. Valier, "the 
question can be easily settled. I certainly don't wish 
to have a rebel spy lodged in my house. Let your 
troops search the place, lieutenant ! " 

"Thank you, monsieur," said Blagdon, his eyes 
flashing triumph ; while Dick stepped back into the 
chamber from his doorway at the landing. Dick 
dared not close the door after him, lest its creak or 
the noise of its latch might attract the attention of 
the people in the hallway below. Dick had seen that 
some of these guests were British officers, availing 
themselves of a brief relief from duty. 

" Neither Lieutenant Blagdon nor any other man 
shall search my chamber ! " said Catherine, with a 
pretence of that capricious determination which 
a woman may show without visible reason and yet 
not excite suspicion. She ascended the short flight 
of stairs with dignity, and stood on the landing, her 
back to the door. She had the superior sense to 
leave the door ajar, so that her action seemed the 
result, not of solicitude regarding some person in 



2O8 THE ROAD TO PARIS- 

the chamber, but of a whimsical antagonism aroused 
by the manner in which Blagdon had spoken to her. 
Blagdon gave some instructions, in a low voice, to 
an under officer. The latter, whom Antoine accom 
panied in obedience to a gesture from Monsieur de St. 
Valier, led four men into the rooms opening on the 
hall, while Blagdon and two of the troops remained 
where they were, as a guard to the great doors at the 
hall's either end. The searching party next went 
below stairs. During these operations Monsieur de 
St. Valier laughed and chatted with his guests, who 
stood grouped at either side of the parlor doorway, 
while Gerard remained at the stair-foot, apart from 
the others, watching his sister and listening for any 
sign from the searching troops. These presently 
came empty-handed from the lower regions, and 
hurried up-stairs, passing Catherine and her doorway 
as they went. After several minutes they returned, 
disappointed of their prey. Every room but Cath 
erine's had now been looked through, the searchers 
having doubtless been ordered by Blagdon to leave 
that one exempt. He had probably hoped that the 
fugitive might be found elsewhere, and that his own 
duty and inclination might thus be fulfilled without 
further direct conflict with Catherine. He now 
braced himself for such contest, a contest doubly 
difficult from the fact that he was in' love with her 
and desired her love in return. 



THE INCIDENTS OF A SA T OWY NIGHT. 2OQ 

" Search that room ! " he commanded the under 
officer, indicating Catherine's. 

Dick, in the darkness beyond the threshold, ran to 
the window at the chamber's further end, and tried 
to open it ; but it would not yield to his strongest 
pressure. Not able in the darkness to learn how it 
was fastened, he despaired of finding exit by means 
of it. So he returned to his place near the open 
door, outside of which stood Catherine, who dared 
not communicate with him in the gaze of the people 
below. 

Meanwhile Catherine had capped Blagdon's order 
with the words : 

" Whoever tries to enter this room must first deal 
with my, brother and myself ! " 

" Right, sister ! " cried Gerard, at the foot of the 
stairs. " He will have to pass over my body ! " 

Blagdon's men hesitated. Monsieur de St. Valier 
looked puzzled and annoyed. Little as he loved his 
niece and nephew, it would not do, before his guests, 
either to take a stand against Catherine or to risk 
the possible disclosure that she was really concealing 
a rebel in her chamber. So he remained silent and 
motionless, though manifestly ill at ease within. The 
guests waited curiously for developments. 

" Miss de St. Valier betrays the truth," said Blag- 
don. " Her unwillingness to have the room examined 
shows that the man is there." 



2IO THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

"Mile, de St. Valier," replied Gerard, "is not 
accustomed to having her chamber invaded by 
men ! " 

" She has apparently made no difficulty of admit 
ting to it the favored man ! " cried Blagdon, in a 
voice evidently designed to be heard by Dick. 
The lieutenant had been suddenly inspired with the 
thought that such a spirited youth as Dick, being in 
love with the girl, would himself come forth to resent 
an insult offered her. Dick, indeed, now back from 
the window, heard the words, and, grasping his hunt 
ing-knife, would have bounded to the landing ; but 
at that instant came Catherine's prompt reply, also 
uttered for his ears : 

" If a man were there, Lieutenant Blagdon, he 
would be wiser than to be tricked out, for your pur 
poses, by any insult of yours ! " 

Dick took the hint, and stayed where he was. 

" He would not have to avenge the insult," cried 
Gerard. " That shall be my business. I look to you 
for reparation, Lieutenant Blagdon ! " 

" As you please," said Blagdon. " I shall have 
time presently. But now I am serving the King. 
The rebel, I perceive, is content to leave such mat 
ters to other hands. 'Tis what one might expect of 
a fellow that hides behind petticoats. But petticoats 
sha'n't protect him any longer. To that room, 
men, " 



THE INCIDENTS OF A SNOWY NIGHT. 211 

But Catherine's voice rose louder than the lieuten 
ant's, interrupting the order. "Why, lieutenant," 
she cried, with pretended irony, "if a spy were in 
the room, do you think he would not have escaped 
through the window by this time ? " 

Dick knew these words also were intended for 
him. She was not aware he had tried the window 
in vain. He held his knife the tighter, and awaited 
events. 

" That was meant for his hearing ! " cried Blagdon. 
" Saunders, take Jarvis and MacDonald outside and 
guard the window of that room. Make haste, or the 
rascal may drop from it before you get there." The 
subaltern and two men hurried out by the rear door. 
Blagdon, who now had four men left, cast a quick 
glance at the officers visible among the guests, to 
see if they were commenting on his previous negli 
gence in not having placed guards outside before 
entering the house, a negligence due to his impatience 
and to his certainty that the fugitive was within. 
" Now, men, you first two seize any one who attempts 
to interfere, and you others follow me ! " 

He started for the stairs, but at the foot he en 
countered Gerard, who held the way so well for a 
few seconds, with body and both arms, that no one 
could pass him, the rear soldiers being obstructed by 
the scuffle between Gerard on one side and Blagdon 
and one of his men on the other. Catherine saw 



212 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

that this unequal contest must soon end in her 
brother's being thrown down or dragged aside. She 
shrank at the thought that, unless she could obtain 
other interposition, her own person would next have 
to serve as barrier, in which case Dick would cer 
tainly appear, for she had heard no sound of the 
window being opened. 

"Gentlemen," she cried to the officers in the hall 
way, " you've heard Lieutenant Blagdon's accusation 
against me. Well, if you permit, he may enter my 
room to search, provided he enters alone." 

" But I don't permit ! " cried one of the officers, 
running to the side of the staircase, whence he 
stepped up to the outer end of a stair and then 
leaped with agility over the baluster, landing above 
the scrimmage at the foot. " By gad, I won't stand 
idly by and see such an indignity committed against 
a lady ! " And he drew his sword, which, being in 
uniform and ready for any sudden call to duty, he 
wore. 

" Nor I ! " came from three or four more mouths, 
and in a few moments every officer present, having 
followed the leader's mode of passage, stood with 
drawn weapon on the stairs, between Catherine and 
Blagdon's party. 

" T say, this is not fair play ! " cried one of the 
officers, seeing Gerard at last held down on his back 
by two of the soldiers. Thereupon there was a 



THE INCIDENTS OF A SNOWY NIGHT. 213 

swift charge of the officers down the stairs, each 
impelled to risk court martial by the desire to stand 
well in the esteem of a beautiful woman. Those 
were gallant days ! Men were willing to chance any 
thing for a grateful glance from a pair of lovely eyes, 
that is to say, some men were, and women 
were content to be the kind of women for whom 
men would take the chance. 

The result of this movement was that Blagdon 
and his men were hurled backward to the front door, 
and Gerard, whom the officers leaped over in rescu 
ing him, rose to a sitting posture and regained his 
breath. Blagdon stood defeated, at a loss. There 
came a knock on the front door. At St. Valier's 
gesture, Antoine opened it, and in walked Colonel 
Maclean and a member of his staff. The colonel, 
who had come on invitation, to join Monsieur de St. 
Valier's guests at dinner, looked around in surprise. 

" Colonel," spoke up Blagdon, yet half breathless, 
" there is resistance here. The spy has been tracked 
to this house and to that room. These gentlemen 
have hindered me and my men from going to take 
him." 

" We consider," explained one of the officers, 
" that Miss de St. Valier's chamber ought not to be 
entered without her consent, especially when she 
herself stands in the way, and when violence would 
have to be used against her in order to pass." 



214 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

" Hoot toot ! " said the colonel. " Do you mean 
that the young lady refuses, then ? It must be 
because the matter was gone about in a way dis 
pleasing to the sex. I'm sure she won't object to 
my taking just a peep inside her nest, seeing how 
matters lie." Maclean did not use Scotch words 
save when speaking to Scotchmen. "I didn't notice 
the outside of this house guarded, when I came in," 
he added, turning to Blagdon. 

"There are guards beneath the window of that 
room," replied the lieutenant, "where 'tis certain 
the man is hid." 

"Well," said the colonel, half playfully, "to save 
the lady's proper feelings, which she has full right 
to indulge, I'll go alone into the room. You'll not 
mind the intrusion of a gray-headed colonel, who 
comes in the cause of the King and of Quebec, my 
dear young lady, I'm sure." And he started up the 
stairs. 

" Will you not take my word, colonel ? " asked 
Catherine, in a low, unsteady voice. 

"Why, yes," he answered; "but, as a matter of 
form, duty requires I should take a glimpse. You 
there with the lantern, and the next man, follow 
me." 

Maclean and the two soldiers chosen left all the 
others St. Valier and his guests, Blagdon and 
the two remaining privates, Maclean's staff officer 



THE INCIDENTS OF A SNOWY NIGHT. 21$ 

and Gerard huddled well to the front of the hall, 
in that part whence they could see the landing 
before Catherine's door. Catherine suddenly dis 
appeared into her room. " Go behind the door," 
she whispered to Dick as she passed him. He did 
so. Maclean entered the chamber, followed closely 
by his two men. By the light of the lantern, the 
colonel could see that Catherine was standing before 
a door that had the look of communicating with a 
closet in the side of the room. Her attitude and 
expression were of a desperate determination to 
protect that door from being entered. 

" So that's where the spy is ? " quoth Maclean, 
quickly. Dick saw the ruse, and stood, ready to 
profit by the one chance it gave him against ten. 

" For God's sake, colonel, don't open this door ! " 
cried Catherine. " I give you my word, the spy is 
not behind it ! " 

" Madam, I must ! " said Maclean, gravely. " Your 
own conduct shows you have some one concealed 
there. 'Tis your kind heart makes you wish to save 
the life of a hunted man, but perhaps many lives of 
loyal subjects depend on his capture. I beg you, 
stand aside, madam." 

" I will not stand aside ! While I have the 
strength, I will protect this door ! " said Catherine. 

Completely deceived by her solicitude over the 
door behind which Dick was not, the colonel, with 



2l6 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

as much gentleness as he could use, caught her in 
his arms and drew her from before that door, she 
resisting and protesting with the ejaculations, " For 
the sake of heaven ! Take my word ! There's no 
one there ! Believe me ! Don't open, I beg ! " He 
then threw wide the door, and peered through the 
opening. 

"Why! " he said, "there's a stairway here. Men, 
follow me down the steps ! " He strode through 
the newly opened doorway, the two men at his heels. 
Catherine instantly flung the door shut upon them, 
and locked it. 

"Across the landing," she whispered loudly to 
Dick ; " window at the other side of the house no 
guards there ! " 

" I love you ! " he whispered back, having emerged 
from behind his door. " Shall we meet again ? " 

" God knows ! Perhaps ! Good night ! " she 
said. 

He seized her hand, in the darkness, and pressed 
it to his lips ; then dashed through the doorway, 
across the landing, up the little flight of stairs at his 
left, into the first room ahead whose door he ran 
against, then to a window, which at once gave way 
to the force he brought to bear against it. He 
stepped out to the roof of the porch in front of 
the house, slid down a corner-post, ran through the 
yet open gateway to Palace Street, hastened left- 



THE INCIDENTS OF A SNOWY NIGHT. 21 / 

ward to the first intersecting street, and turned, 
again leftward, into that street, which led him 
towards the wall-crowned precipice that overlooked 
the St. Lawrence. 

Meanwhile, the people in the hallway had caught 
the momentary view of his figure as it leaped across 
the landing, but they, in their ignorance of what had 
passed in Catherine's room, and in the unlikelihood 
of the fugitive's eluding Maclean without any outcry 
or pursuit on the latter's part, had supposed the fly 
ing apparition to be that of one of Maclean's men, 
despatched by the colonel on some business to them 
unknown. Dick had not remained a sufficient time 
in sight for his rifleman's attire to be distinguished 
in the half-darkness of the landing. So they waited 
for some appearance from Catherine's chamber. 

Catherine remained standing in her room. Very 
soon a noise at its inner door told that Maclean had 
returned from his false quest, which had taken him 
only to an unused and bolted outer door originally 
designed to give a side entrance to the room, that 
apartment having been formerly devoted to the pur 
poses of an office. She did not heed Maclean's 
efforts to open the door, which she had locked on 
her side. These efforts soon became extremely 
violent, and at last resulted in the breaking of the 
door, and in the appearance of the now irate colonel, 
followed by his men with the lantern. 



21 8 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

"Why, miss," said he, "somebody locked that 
door behind me ! " 

"Yes," replied Catherine, lightly, affecting a 
triumphant smile of pleased revenge ; " I did ! 
You wouldn't take my word that nobody was 
behind it, and I thought I'd punish you ! " 

With which she left the room and went serenely 
down-stairs, followed by the somewhat mystified and 
crestfallen colonel, who had left his two men to make 
fast the broken door. 

" The young lady was right. No one was there," 
said Maclean, gruffly, and went immediately to Mon 
sieur de St. Valier, who gave a deep breath of relief 
and returned to the parlor, whither his guests ac 
companied him. Blagdon, to be at a distance from 
Catherine and Gerard, who stood talking together 
at the stair-foot, went with his two men to the rear 
of the hall, to wait for the two who had been 
up-stairs with Maclean. Thus it happened that, of 
the people in the hall who had seen the figure cross 
the landing, none but Gerard saw the two privates 
reappear presently from Catherine's room ; and, as 
Blagdon was in no mood for questions when those 
two rejoined him, the impression was not corrected 
that the flying figure had been one of them. Blag 
don forthwith led his four men, with the three who 
had been put on guard beneath the window, to the 
barracks, dismissed them, and repaired to a drinking- 



THE INCIDENTS OF A SNOWY NIGHT. 2 19 

place. Catherine and Gerard went back to their 
uncle's guests ; but the sister, bearing up against 
the exhaustion caused by the scene she had passed 
through, showed an abstraction not entirely to be 
attributed to happiness at the recovery of her 
mother's portrait. 

Dick plodded on through the snow, past near and 
distant churches, monasteries, seminaries, gardens, 
fine houses, and mean houses, keeping a frequent 
lookout behind him, and up and down what streets 
he crossed, and came eventually to the low rampart 
near the grand battery, from which the precipice fell 
steeply to the narrow strip of the lower town that 
lay between the cliff's base and the St. Lawrence. 

This rampart, which could avail mainly to shield 
the batteries that commanded the shipping in the 
St. Lawrence, was easy of ascent from the inside, 
as it could not be expected that any one would 
attempt leaving the upper town by the almost per 
pendicular precipice of more than two hundred 
feet. Yet such was the wild intention that Dick 
had formed. The attempt, on the part of a fugi 
tive, seemed the more preposterous for the fact that, 
should he accomplish the almost impossible feat of 
safely descending the cliff, he would but find him 
self in the lower town, which was defended at either 
end and closely guarded along its river edge, unless, 
indeed, he should traverse the face of the cliff diago- 



22O TUP: ROAD TO PARIS. 

nally, so as to arrive at, the base outside the southern 
barrier of the lower town. As all the world knows, 
the walls of Quebec encircled the upper town on its 
high promontory, while the lower town, lying against 
that promontory's foot, needed no other defence on 
one side than the promontory itself. It was neither 
practicable nor necessary that a wall should run down 
the promontory's side ; hence a man, finding himself 
on the steep declivity between the upper and the lower 
town, had a way of exit open to him, provided he 
could traverse obliquely the face of the cliff and could 
avoid observation from above or below. This way of 
escape recommended itself to Dick because the city 
gates would by this time be watched for him, and 
because it would bring him directly to the place 
where Arnold's man would be waiting to receive 
the report that was to have been brought by Mere 
Frappeur in her boat. 

Dick knew the rampart overlooking the St. Law 
rence would be the least guarded, as the British 
force was too small for the proper manning of the 
many and large defences. Slinking at a distance 
past the right flank of the grand battery, whose 
overworked sentries were shivering in the snow, he 
found a place where a platform enabled him to 
mount easily the rampart. Across this rampart he 
crawled, on hands and knees, making out through 
the falling flakes a single sentry who paced several 



THE INCIDENTS OF A SNOWY NIGHT. 221 

rods away. Looking over the outer edge of the 
rampart, his head turned giddy, for a moment, at 
sight of the precipice falling sheer almost three hun 
dred feet to the narrow fringe of houses and the 
gloomy river below. 

But he chose a spot where there was ample foot 
ing at the rampart's base, turned about, backed from 
the rampart, hung for a moment by his fingers, and 
dropped to the chosen place, his fall softened by 
what snow had lodged there. He immediately 
turned his face towards his distant destination, and 
peered through the flake-filled darkness for what pro 
jections and indentations of the cliff might serve his 
progress. He thanked his stars for the evidence 
soon afforded him that his adopted mode of escape 
was within possibility, perilous though it might be ; 
and then for the falling snow, which shielded him 
from sight, and for the snow already fallen, which 
now and then helped him to adhere to the cliff, for 
the irregularities of the precipice were such that the 
snow's lodgment had endured here and there on its 
steep face. These irregularities gave him footing, 
and so enabled him to proceed. 

Many times he slipped, tearing his clothes and 
scraping his skin, but each time he kept his wits 
and availed himself of the first stopping-place that 
offered. The descent was a work of hours, so- cau 
tiously did he have to proceed, so carefully to pick 



222 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

out his next footing, so often to rest and regain his 
breath. At last he passed above the blockhouse 
and battery which together constituted the inner 
barrier of this end of the lower town. In the light 
from the blockhouse he could see a sentry pacing 
from the cliff's foot towards the wharf by the swift 
river. 

Some minutes more of effort brought Dick past 
the top of a stockade, which formed the outer barrier. 
The exultation of success almost intoxicated him. 
He let himself slide down what remained of the cliff, 
heedless alike of the sharp projections and of the 
Canadian militia housed behind the stockade. As he 
stood, at last, in the narrow way between river and 
cliff, restraining an impulse to shout with glee, he 
took the two sheets of paper, containing his report, 
from beneath his hunting-shirt, and started forward, 
loudly whistling " Molly, my Treasure." 

Suddenly, from over the top of the stockade, a 
shot was fired. Dick felt a sting, in the vicinity of 
the bayonet-wound received at Bunker Hill, and fell 
forward on his hands and knees. A gate in the 
stockade was thrown open, and two soldiers strode 
forth, lowering their faces to avoid the falling snow. 
At the same moment, a tall form sprang out from 
the shadow of a broken rock in front of Dick, com 
pleted the whistled passage of music suddenly cut 
off by Dick's fall, and said : 




"IT WAS THE MAN SENT BY ARNOLD." 



THE INCIDENTS OF A SNOWY NIGHT. 22$ 

" Ye're nae woman in a boat, but ye're a braw 
whistler, and I'll tak' your papers ! " 

It was the man sent by Arnold, old Tom 
MacAlister. 

" Take them, Tom, and away with them quick, for 
God's sake ! " cried Dick, handing them to him. 

" But ye're hurt, lad ! " cried Tom, thrusting the 
papers deep into an inner pocket. 

"The devil I am ! " lied Dick. " Only slipped on 
the snow. You save those papers, or all my work 
will go for naught ! I'll get my wind and follow ! 
Go, Tom ! The papers first, don't you understand ? 
I'll have my breath before those fellows can nab 
me ! " And Dick raised one knee, as if already 
about to rise. 

" Vera weel, lad ! " said old Tom, compliantly, and 
plunged forward to round the point of Cape Dia 
mond and follow the shore up the river. The sight 
of his gaunt figure, swiftly receding in the snow and 
night, between river and cliffs, was the last glimpse 
Dick had of Tom, the piper's son, for many a long 
day. 

Dick was not entirely sure he might not indeed 
elude the two soldiers from the stockade, and over 
take Tom. He got up and found he could proceed 
limpingly. But the soldiers, only a few yards from 
him when he rose, shortened the intervening distance 
so speedily that Dick saw they must catch him in a 



224 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

few seconds. He made to grasp his hunting-knife. 
It was gone, having been displaced from his belt at 
some contact with the cliff in his descent. 

The idea of capture now became intolerable to 
him. A kind of madness arose in him, making him 
determined, at any cost, not to fall into the hands of 
the two enemies at his heels. When he felt himself 
almost within grasp of the foremost, he wheeled 
aside, and plunged head foremost into the swift, icy 
current of the St. Lawrence. While the water 
gurgled in his ears, he jubilantly pictured to himself 
the two men standing baffled on the shore and 
cursing the luck that had robbed them of their 
prey. 

Soon rising to the surface, Dick struck out at 
random, using both arms and the unwounded leg. 
Whither would this swim in the dark lead him ? He 
scarcely cared, now that he had accomplished his two 
missions ; his one wish was that it should , not dimin 
ish his triumph by delivering him up eventually to 
the foe. All at once something black loomed up 
before him, a vessel whose lights he had not taken 
to be so near, and whose size he could not immediately 
make out. 

As he turned to swim away from it, he heard 
a voice call out immediately over him, " Man in 
the river ! " He pulled away, but with a constantly 
weakening stroke. He heard other cries, became 



THE INCIDENTS OF A SNOWY NIGHT. 22$ 

vaguely aware that a boat was being sent after him, 
and presently, when strength and sense were about 
deserting him, he felt himself caught by the back of 
his hunting-shirt and drawn, by several hands, from 
the water to the boat. 

He was too little conscious to answer the few 
questions that were asked him on the way back to 
the vessel. But as they landed him on the deck, he 
experienced a return of consciousness and of power 
to plan. He knew the vessel was a British one, but 
its people must be unacquainted with his face ; hence 
he dared raise one last, desperate hope of completing 
his escape. As he stood on the deck, surrounded by 
the crew that had brought him from the water, he 
was approached by two officers, one of whom ordered 
him to stand forward, while the other remained a little 
aloof in dignified immovability. 

" I beg you will put me ashore, sir," said Dick, 
somewhat excitedly, to the officer who had addressed 
him. "I had just left the stockade yonder, on a 
mission for Colonel Maclean. I fell in with a recon 
noitring party of rebels, and escaped by taking to 
the river. May I be landed immediately on the other 
shore, to go on my mission without delay ? " 

" What papers have you, to show for this account 
of yourself ? " demanded the officer, scrutinizing 
Dick. 

" I had Colonel Maclean's pass in my hand when 



226 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

I was attacked," said Dick, with no outward falter ; 
"but I must have let it go in the river. I had no 
other papers ; the message I carry is a verbal one." 

" A message ? To whom ? " 

"To General Carleton," said Dick, on the moment's 
invention. 

"Why, this is fortunate," said the officer, turning 
to the motionless gentleman. " General Carleton, 
this man says he has a verbal message for you." 

Dick stood, for a moment, speechless and staring ; 
then, yielding all at once to the fatigues of the night, 
sank in a senseless heap to the deck. 



CHAPTER X. 

"BY FLOOD AND FIELD." 

THE silent officer was indeed Sir Guy Carleton, 
governor of Canada, who had eluded the captors of 
Montreal by disguising himself as a Canadian voy 
ager and helping six peasants to row him in a small 
boat with muffled oars to Three Rivers, where he 
had boarded the vessel for Quebec. He now ordered 
Dick held below, while the vessel proceeded to a 
mooring-place. 

The captain of the vessel, on being hailed by 
a guard-boat from the Lizard frigate, announced 
the arrival of General Carleton, and, in the ensuing 
exchange of news, spoke of the man just found in 
the river. The guard-boat officer replied that the 
man must be a Virginia rifleman who had escaped 
that evening from the Adamant, on which vessel this 
rifleman and another, both captured in the suburbs 
of Quebec, had been placed with the rebels taken 
September 24th while attempting a night attack on 
Montreal. Dick fulfilled, in his attire, the descrip 
tion of the escaped Virginian, and was held on Carle- 
ton's vessel when the governor landed, the captain 

227 



228 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

being ordered to hold him for identification by Mr. 
Brooke Watson, in whose charge the rebel prisoners 
now on the Adamant had been put. As the gov 
ernor intended that the Adamant should sail the 
next day with its prisoners, he caused Mr. Watson 
to be summoned from his tavern for the purpose of 
viewing the new captive that night. The governor 
then hastened to the upper town, to confer with his 
lieutenant and with Colonel Maclean, and, in the 
discussion of important affairs, forgot about Dick ; 
while Maclean, on his side, had now other matters 
for thought than the fugitive spy. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Watson, the same eminent mer 
chant who afterwards became lord mayor of Lon 
don, going rather grumpily from inn comforts to 
the vessel, in the snow-storm, stumbled down the 
hatchway, and beheld Dick while the latter lay 
unconscious in a hammock, the whole upper side of 
his face concealed by straggling hair. Desirous 
of getting speedily back to his lodgings, and glad 
that his quota of prisoners might be restored to its 
full number, the honest merchant cast a brief glance 
at Dick in the dim light, unhesitatingly pronounced 
him to be the missing rascal, and stumbled back up 
the stairs to the deck. 

Thus, through no kindness of intention on the part 
of his enemies, Dick escaped the fate of a spy, and 
was assigned to that of a rebel under arms. The 



"BY FLOOD AND FIELD." 229 

next day, having slept well and having had his new 
wound cared for by a surgeon, who pronounced it 
trivial, Dick was put aboard the Adamant, hand 
cuffed, by a guard of soldiers that had in the mean 
time received Mr. Watson's orders concerning him, 
and thrust into a dark apartment, which was already 
crowded with shackled prisoners, whose recumbent 
bodies took up most of the floor. Dick knew not 
what disposition was to be made of him, nor that the 
Adamant, already about to set sail with its prisoners 
and with Governor Carleton's despatches, was bound 
for England. 

" So the minions of tyranny have dragged you 
back to the den ! " rang out a bold, virile voice, from 
the inner darkness, and presently a stalwart, erect 
figure strode forth, stepping easily over the legs of 
the reclining prisoners and planting each foot firmly 
as it fell. The speaker was evidently able, from 
recent habit, to see fairly well in the darkness. 
Coming close to Dick, he suddenly stopped and 
exclaimed, " By the everlasting, 'tis another man ! 
Brother, I took you first for a comrade who broke 
the tyrant's chain yesterday. They removed him 
from this cage, to doctor him, for the filthy air had 
made him sick ; but he broke away and plunged into 
the river, in the snow-storm. Or else the guard who 
brought our supper is a liar. Have you heard any 
thing of his fate ? " 



230 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

11 No, sir," said Dick, wondering what personage 
was this whose style of speech was so oratorical, and 
whose spirit remained so high in this miserable hole. 
" I am a newcomer here. I am Richard Wetheral, 
of Hendricks's company of riflemen, from the county 
of Cumberland, province of Pennsylvania." 

" I welcome you to my acquaintance," replied 
the other, heartily, thrusting forth his manacled 
hands and grasping Dick's. " I am Colonel Ethan 
Allen." 

" What ! The captor of Ticonderoga ? " cried Dick, 
remembering how in the camp at Cambridge the 
news of that bold feat of a May morning had been 
celebrated, and how the name of the Green Mountain 
leader had become an every-day word in the colonial 
army. 

" Fortune threw that prize in my way," said the 
other, with a modesty so unmistakably pretended 
that the affectation could only amuse, not offend. 
" Fortune was not so kind at Montreal, as you may 
have heard," he added, dismally. 

"I had heard of your your bad luck at Mon 
treal," said Dick, leaning against the oaken wall of 
the enclosure, " but I little expected the honor of 
meeting you in these circumstances." 

"Yet in these circumstances we have been in 
this very den, indeed since ever the army ap 
peared yonder at Point Levi." 



"BY FLOOD AND FIELD," 

"And where were you before that?" asked Dick, 
eager to hear the story of so famous a hero from the 
hero's own lips. 

"Why," said the colonel, "we were in more 
places than one, you may be sure. After our bad 
luck, which was all because I was outrageously out 
numbered and not concerted with, I surrendered, on 
the promise of honorable terms, and we were led 
into the town to be interviewed by their comman 
dant, General Prescott, God bless him ! When he 
asked me whether I was that Colonel Allen who took 
Ticonderoga, and I told him I was the very man, he 
went into a rage and shook his cane over my head 
and called me a rebel and several worse names ; and 
when he ordered us put in irons and sent on board 
the Gaspee schooner, he swore I should wear a halter 
at Tyburn. From the Gaspee I wrote him a letter, 
telling him of the notorious friendship and generosity 
with which I had treated the officers I took at 
Ticonderoga, but he paid no attention to my letter." 

"You have the satisfaction of knowing," put in 
Dick, " that General Montgomery has captured 
Montreal and taken Prescott prisoner." 

" Huzza. ! " cried Allen, and there were utterances 
of jubilation from the men on the floor. " So the 
wheel of transitory events has turned that way ! I 
hope Prescott will remember the treatment we got 
on the Gaspee. The irons were bad enough, Mr. 



232 THE ROAD 70 PARIS. 

Wetheral, but the insults were intolerable. We 
received the insolence that cowards always show 
their betters when in a position to do so, for 
cowards they were on that vessel, as they proved 
one day by scattering as if a wild beast was amongst 
them, when in a fit of anger I twisted a nail from the 
bar of my handcuff with my teeth. They said I was 
a mad savage, a ferocious animal, in their mean 
souls they couldn't conceive the feelings of a liberty- 
loving man under restraint. After five or six weeks 
we were transferred to an armed vessel lying off 
Quebec, under Captain Me Cloud, who was a gentle 
man and treated us well. The next day we were put 
on board the vessel of Captain Littlejohn, a brave and 
civil officer ; he ordered my irons taken off and had 
me sit at his own table. His subordinates, too, were 
friendly to us. And then we were brought on the 
Adamant, and handcuffed again. We are under the 
charge of a damned calico merchant by the name of 
Brooke Watson, who trades between London and 
Montreal. He is the man who visited New York 
and Philadelphia, pretending to be friendly to the 
glorious cause of the colonies, and who returned to 
Montreal and wrote letters to Gage's people in 
Boston, disclosing what he had learned through his 
make-believe sympathy. This vessel is a floating 
nest of Tories, who have taken passage on it. When 
we came aboard, we were treated in the most bitter, 



"BY FLOOD AND FIELD." 233 

reviling spirit, by the officers, crew, guards, and 
passengers." 

Dick was by this time able to make out the 
speaker's features, as well as the tall, robust figure 
on which was solidly set the shapely head placed 
upright in a natural attitude of pride and defiance. 
The full eyes, nose, and mouth showed sociability 
and sympathy, as well as pugnacity and assertive- 
ness. There was in the man's whole expression 
such an unconscious look of irrepressibility, his 
self-vaunting was so spontaneous, he so evidently 
took his high-flown phrases seriously, that even his 
foibles made him the more engaging. 

" I made the devil's own time of it," he went on, 
with a slight smile of pleasure at the recollection, 
" when they first ordered me to this filthy pen, after 
my men had already been forced in. I protested 
quite civilly with Watson, but he cut my represen 
tations short by commanding me to follow my men. 
He said the place was good enough for a rebel, and 
that a man who deserved hanging had no right to 
talk of honor and humanity, and indulged in other 
such talk. A Tory lieutenant who was looking on 
said I ought to have been hanged for my opposition 
to the province of New York, in her claim of New 
Hampshire's lands ; and, as if it wasn't enough to 
call that rightful opposition a rebellion, he suddenly 
spat in my face. I ran at him, and knocked him 



234 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

partly down with both fists, handcuffed as I am now. 
He made for the cabin, where he got under the pro 
tection of some guards with fixed bayonets, whom 
Watson ordered to drive me back to the den, for I 
had sprung after the lieutenant. I challenged him 
to come out and fight, but the tyrant-loving cur 
stood shaking with fear. Watson shouted to the 
guards to get me into the pen, dead or alive, and 
the low brutes surrounded me with their bayonets. 
I thought I would try flattery on the rascals, so I 
said, ' I know you are honest fellows, and are not the 
ones to blame ; I am only in dispute with a calico 
merchant, who doesn't know how to behave towards 
a gentleman of the military establishment.' But they 
paid no heed to my words, and so I was at last 
driven into this hole at the point of the bayonet. 
How we live here, you will see for yourself, if you 
remain with us, as you probably will, for, by the 
feel of things, the vessel has cast off." 

It was soon plain that the vessel was indeed under 
way, whence came the inference that Dick's destina 
tion was to be that of the other prisoners, which 
they knew was England. Dick's sensations of mind 
on contemplating this new shift of the wind of cir 
cumstance, this utterly unexpected breaking away 
from what had seemed to be his immediate des 
tiny, may be imagined. As he sat on the floor, 
while the vessel rocked and strained, he thought 



"BY FLOOD AND FIELD," 235 

of the home in Pennsylvania, of the army besieging 
Boston, of Arnold's troops waiting to attack Quebec, 
of old Tom, of the girl in the great house in Palace 
Street, of all he was being carried from, and then of 
the unknown that lay before him. " Over the hills 
and over the main," sang a voice within him, and with 
a patient sigh he resigned himself to the guidance of 
fortune. 

The den was about twenty-two feet by twenty. 
The prisoners confined here, all handcuffed, were 
thirty -four in number. There were Allen, and 
thirty-one of the thirty-eight men who had sur 
rendered with him at Montreal, the Virginia rifle 
man taken in the suburb of St. John's, and Dick 
Wetheral. Until the day before the end of their 
voyage, that is to say, for more than a month, 
they were not allowed to leave their dark pen, which 
contained no furniture or utensil other than two tubs. 
The experience of prison life that Dick had got in 
Boston was as nothing to that which he now en 
dured, although in accommodating himself to the 
latter he profited some by the former. 

Besides the close confinement, the irons, and the 
perpetual darkness, there was the sickening heaving 
of the vessel, the continual distress of stomach and 
adjacent organs, the inevitable fever, and the conse 
quent raging thirst, which each man's daily gill of 
rum and small allowance of fresh water failed to 



236 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

quench. When the prisoners begged for more water 
on being served with their regular allowance of salt 
food, they were jeered and reviled by their keepers, 
and by the Tories who then looked in at them. 
They were irritated half to madness by vermin of 
the body. Some of the men raged, others merely 
fretted ; others lay most of the while in a kind of 
stupor, at times broken with despairing groans. 

Allen and Dick both kept their wits, and remained 
of unbroken spirit. Allen sometimes chafed, but 
always with a healthy anger, and sometimes he 
cursed, but more often he declaimed against tyr 
anny, defied the oppressor, and predicted the tri 
umph of liberty. Dick bore the torments of this 
voyage with a fixed dourness, and, as one annoy 
ance grew upon another, began to see something 
ludicrous in the very accumulation of miseries, so 
that his face often went from an irrepressible gri 
mace of inward pain to a peculiar amused smile some 
what akin to that elicited from him on occasions 
of peril. Moreover, he comforted himself with the 
thought that, for every dejected moment, fate owed 
him a moment of exultation, and that the voyage 
must end some time. 

One day the prisoners were unexpectedly ordered 
to go on deck. They stumbled awkwardly up into 
the light of the sun, and drank in gladly the fresh air 
of the ocean. Afar in a certain direction, whither all 



"#y FLOOD AND FIELD." 237 

eyes were turned, they beheld a faint blot of duller 
color against the different blues of sky and sea. It 
was the Land's End of England. The prisoners, 
whose faces had become hideously transformed by 
the growth of beards during their imprisonment, 
gazed curiously at the first outlines of the land they 
had never seen, yet once had loved as the home of 
their fathers. 

The next day the vessel 'made Falmouth harbor, 
sailing in between the lofty promontories, of which 
one on the west side is crowned by Pendennis Castle, 
one on the east by the castle of St. Mawes. The 
news spread from the port of Falmouth that Amer 
ican prisoners were to be landed, rebels of marvellous 
skill with the rifle, and that the chief of them was 
the taker of Ticonderoga. Consequently, while the 
prisoners were shaving and making themselves pre 
sentable, for which the means had at last been given 
them, great crowds flocked to the wharf, and to the 
housetops and high places along the way to Pen 
dennis Castle, in which the prisoners were to be 
confined. 

In due time the prisoners, not less curious, but 
more self-contained than the spectators, were put 
ashore, all in their hunters' garb, for Allen himself, 
a few days before his attack on Montreal, had laid 
aside his usual costume for a Canadian dress, a 
short double-breasted fawn-skin jacket, undervest and 



238 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

breeches of sagathy, worsted stockings, shoes, and a 
red worsted cap. Allen assumed his haughtiest, 
most scornful, and most belligerent look, as he stepped 
firmly on English ground, followed by Dick, who, 
while he thrilled at knowing himself on the soil he 
had learned from his parents to call home, had yet a 
new and unaccountable feeling of pride in that he 
was American. 

The crowd so blocked the way in Falmouth 
which place reminded him somewhat of New England 
sea-towns he had passed through, though it lacked 
their look of freshness that the officers had to 
draw swords and force a passage. So the prisoners 
were led, with guards before and behind, and between 
lines of people, many of whom followed on either 
side, for about a mile's distance from the town, 
towards the lofty round tower, within walled grounds, 
that crowned the promontory between sea and harbor. 
Pendennis Castle rose, a high and gray building of 
the time of Henry VIII., within close walls, around 
which a great space, containing a parade-ground and 
here and there some small houses, was in turn sur 
rounded by lower walls, from which tree-dotted slopes 
fell in different degrees of steepness to the water 
almost entirely environing the peninsula. At the 
entrance the prisoners were taken in charge by 
Lieutenant Hamilton, the commandant of the cas 
tle, and were led through grounds and gates, corri- 



"BY FLOOD AND FIELD." 239 

dors and stairways, to an airy room provided with 
bunks and straw. 

Though their irons were not taken off, the prison 
ers had here an easy captivity. They arrived almost 
on the eve of Christmas, and they were not forgotten 
in the beneficent feeling that pervaded England dur 
ing Yule-tide. Breakfast and dinner came for Allen 
every day, with now and then a bottle of wine, all 
from Lieutenant Hamilton's table and with Lieu 
tenant Hamilton's compliments. Dick and the other 
prisoners, themselves well fed, got many a crumb 
from Allen's board, which was supplied, by a gentle 
man in the neighborhood, with suppers also. Their 
first day or two in the castle having been devoted to 
a campaign of extermination against the vermin they 
had brought from ship, the prisoners soon recovered 
spirit and health, in their new surroundings. With 
great pleasure they learned that their former keeper- 
in-chief, the estimable Watson, had hastened off to 
London to receive his compensation. 

Allen was often sent for by the commandant, with 
permission to take the air on the parade-ground, 
where many of the Cornwall gentry came to visit 
him. This gentle treatment did no more towards 
weakening his patriotism than harsh measures had 
done. For his discourse with those who came to 
talk with him was most often upon the cause of the 
fighting colonies. He declaimed most high-sound- 



240 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

ingly on the subject, and Dick, who was sometimes 
allowed to accompany him to the parade-ground, 
would half amusedly liken him to some would-be Pitt 
before the House of Commons or some oratorical 
Roman hero in a tragedy. Many of his English 
hearers would dispute with him, but others would 
nod hearty agreement, for there was in England a 
numerous party that sympathized with the American 
revolt. " The conquest of the American colonies is 
to Great Britain an eternal impracticability ! " he 
would thunder, rejoicing in polysyllables. 

Some of the visitors came to make sport. Thus, 
one day : 

"What was your former occupation?" asked a 
sapient gentleman, quizzingly. 

" In my younger days," quoth Allen, ironically, 
" I studied divinity, but I'm a conjurer by profes 
sion." 

"You conjured wrong, then, when you were taken 
prisoner." 

"I know I mistook a figure that time," said Allen, 
"but I conjured you out of Ticonderoga." 

The tittering of some ladies, for many such were 
among the visitors, closed up the inquisitive gentle 
man's mouth. 

Another time, Allen astonished two benevolent 
clergymen, who had come expecting to see some 
sort of untutored savage, by discoursing on moral 



" BY FLOOD AND FIELD." 24! 

philosophy, and by arguing, in approved logical mode, 
against their doctrine of Christianity. 

There was in the company, one day, an airy youth 
who claimed to know that Americans could not bear 
the smell of powder. Allen, taking the assertion as 
a challenge, offered to convince him on the spot that 
an American could bear that smell. " I wouldn't put 
myself on a par with you," replied the youth. " Then 
treat the character of the Americans with respect," 
demanded Allen. " But you are an Irishman," 
retorted the young gentleman. "No, sir, I am a 
full-blooded Yankee," said Allen, and went on to use 
his matchless powers of banter against the other, 
until the latter made a confused retreat amidst the 
laughter of the onlookers. 

Another day, a gentleman expressing a desire to 
do something for him, Allen replied that he would be 
obliged for a bowl of punch. The gentleman sent 
his servant away, who returned presently with punch 
and offered it to Allen. The hero of Ticonderoga 
refused to take the bowl from the hand of a servant. 
The gentleman then handed it himself to Allen, who 
proposed that the two should drink together. The 
gentleman said he must refuse to drink with a state 
criminal. Allen thereupon, with a look of superior 
indifference, raised the bowl and drank the whole 
contents at one long draught, and then gave the 
bowl back to the gentleman. The crowd shouted 



242 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

with laughter, in which Allen, quickly affected by 
this extraordinary tipple, presently joined ; and when 
he accompanied Dick back to the cell he was in a 
state of great jubilation. 

There was much conjecture among the prisoners 
as to their ultimate fate. Allen told his comrades 
that a Mr. Temple, from America, had whispered to 
him that bets were laid in London that he should be 
hanged. This gentleman's information must have 
been meant as friendly, for it had been accompanied 
by a guinea secretly bestowed. But, on the other 
hand, it had been hinted on the parade-ground that 
certain gentlemen intended to attempt freeing the 
prisoners by the habeas corpus act, or having them 
brought to trial before a magistrate. 

" I have a project that should make the govern 
ment think twice before stringing any of us up," said 
Allen one day to Dick. He then obtained the com 
mandant's permission to write a letter, which he did, 
addressing it to the Illustrious Continental Congress, 
describing his present state, and requesting that no 
retaliation be made upon General Prescott and other 
English prisoners until it be known how England 
would treat himself and his companions. 

"But," said Dick, "that letter will surely be 
opened and sent to the English authorities, if any 
where." 

"That is exactly where I desire it shall go," 



"BY FLOOD AND FIELD." 243 

replied Allen ; " and it's ten to one we shall fare 
the better in consequence." 

The next day the commandant, to whom the let 
ter had been entrusted, jocularly asked Allen if he 
thought they were fools in England, and told him 
the letter had been sent to Lord North. That its 
effects were such as Allen had predicted, was soon 
shown, but not until after Dick, suddenly presented 
with an opportunity, had severed his fortunes from 
those of his fellow prisoners in Pendennis Castle. 

Some of Allen's visitors came fifty miles to see 
him. One afternoon, while he was on the parade- 
ground, discoursing with several gentlemen and ladies, 
and accompanied by Dick, a horse took fright just 
outside the outer gateway, at which its rider, who 
had journeyed far to behold the famous prisoner, was 
about to dismount. The scared animal, after a few 
wild turns and plunges, galloped madly through the 
open gateway and straight for the group surrounding 
Allen. The people fell back in confusion, women 
shrieking, men taken by surprise ; visitors, prisoners, 
and guards huddled into one disorderly mass. The 
horse threw its rider, and reared before the crowd, 
with fiery eyes and snorting nostrils. 

Suddenly a man was seen to rush out from the 
group, seize the horse's bridle with both hands 
together, bring the animal to its fore-knees, place 
both hands on the pommel of the saddle, leap astride 



244 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

the horse, and make it rear again on its hind legs. 
As if resolved to get the beast under control at any 
effort, this volunteer horse-tamer brought its head 
sharply around to face the gate, towards which it 
bolted with such sudden speed that the two guards 
there stood back in terror. Once out of the gate, the 
animal headed for Falmouth at a furious gallop. 

The panic-stricken crowd on the parade-ground 
now breathed again, and separated into its three 
elements, spectators, guards, and prisoner, for, 
lo and behold, there remained now but one of the 
two prisoners ! On the ground lay the fallen cap of 
the other, who had lost it in his struggle with the 
horse, and who, now being borne swiftly towards 
Falmouth, was none other than Dick Wetheral. 

There was some question, with Lieutenant Hamil 
ton and his officers, as to whether the prisoner in 
tended to escape or merely to conquer the frightened 
horse. Hence some time elapsed before finally the 
alarm-gun was fired and a searching party sent out. 
Meanwhile, Dick Wetheral, who could never after 
ward recall at exactly what moment his impulse to 
stop the horse had turned into the idea of making a 
dash for liberty, allowed the horse to run away with 
him at its best speed. While rapidly approaching 
Falmouth, he did a thing that he had often heard 
old Tom describe as having been done by certain 
mountebanks, and which, as his hands were com- 



"BY FLOOD AND FIELD." 24$ 

paratively small, he had practised with success in 
prison, he folded each hand lengthwise, and, with 
some painful scraping of skin at his thumb-joints, 
worked off his handcuffs, which he then tossed into 
a pool of water at the roadside. 

He knew it would not be safe for him to enter 
the town, and, therefore, as the horse presently 
calmed of its own accord, Dick dismounted, gave the 
animal a smart slap to make it proceed on its way, 
and hastened down towards some fishermen's squat 
houses that lay near the beach on the outskirts of 
Falmouth. Noticing several boats drawn up on the 
sands, Dick knocked at the first door in his way, 
and brought forth an old woman, who, on his asking 
how he might get some one to row him across the 
bay, turned out to be half blind, half deaf, and stu 
pidly indifferent. While he was making his desires 
clearer to her, he heard an ominous boom from the 
castle. 

He knew this to be the alarm-gun, and looked to 
see what would be its effect on the old woman, but 
her unaltered features proved the genuineness of her 
deafness. At last Dick elicited that all the able- 
bodied men of the hamlet were in the town, at some 
merrymaking, but that she could hire a boat to him, 
which he might row himself, and which, as he said 
he would not soon return that way, he might leave 
in the care of a certain fisherman at St. Mawes. 



246 THE ROAD TO PARTS. 

Dick paid her out of what money he had kept ever 
since leaving Arnold's camp, and she thereupon 
helped him drag a small boat out into the waves, 
and steadied it for him while he clambered aboard. 

His first attempts at rowing were wild efforts, for 
this bay of the ocean was as different a matter from 
the smooth Pennsylvania rivers and creeks, as oars 
were different from canoe paddles. But difficult 
arts are soon acquired when they have to be, and by 
those who will admit nothing to be impossible to 
themselves that is possible to any other. Dick at 
last contrived to make some kind of headway, thanks 
to the serenity of the weather and to the favoring 
tide. By the time, therefore, when the guards from 
the castle passed the fishing hamlet, on the track 
of the horse, Dick was merely an unrecognizable 
boatman well out in the bay. 

The trip to St. Mawes, a small matter to a 
practised waterman, was to Dick one of great per 
sistence and several hours, by reason of his inexperi 
ence, through which he covered twice or thrice the 
distance to be traversed. It was dusk when, at last, 
after many a dubious look at the castle of St. Mawes 
that crowned the overlooking hill, he felt the boat 
grate violently underneath, sounded with his oar, 
leaped out into the water, and dragged the boat up 
the beach, now aided and now impeded by the in- 
rolling and receding waves. 



"BY FLOOD AND FIELD? 247 

He was at the end of the single street of a misera 
ble hamlet lying under a hill and fronting the sea. 
No human creature was abroad to see him land. He 
therefore, in order to change his appearance as much 
as possible from that of an American hunter to that 
of an English rustic, did away with his belt and 
leggings, so that his hunting-shirt, being of linsey- 
woolsey, looked something like a countryman's frock, 
while his stockings, similar to those of English make, 
were now in view. He knocked at one of the huts, 
ascertained the abode of the man in whose charge he 
was to leave the boat, found that person in, gave out 
that he was returning to his home near Exeter from 
a journey in search of a place in service, was regaled 
with a frugal and fishy supper for a consideration, 
and then set out afoot towards Tregoney, saying he 
had a relation there with whom he would pass the 
night. It was from the man's own talk that Dick 
had learned the name and location of this village, 
which was eight miles northeastward. 

While Dick was plodding along over those eight 
miles, with no further plan than to get out of the 
vicinity of Pendennis Castle, it began to snow. 
Passing through two villages on the way, he arrived 
at Tregoney, a decent-looking place, about nine 
o'clock. He stayed there no longer than to buy an 
old hat from an aged poor man whose sons worked 
in the tin-mines at St. Austel, and from whom Dick, 



248 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

having said that his former hat had been blown into 
the Fal by a gust of wind, obtained information as 
to the road ahead. 

Learning that there was a good inn at Lostwithiel, 
sixteen miles farther northeast, he decided to pro 
ceed thither. The snow increasing, and Dick stop 
ping to rest in some sheltered spot in each of three 
intervening villages, these sixteen miles were a long 
business. To a survivor of the march through 
Maine, however, the cold and the snow seemed no 
great inconvenience. 

When he reached Lostwithiel, though, Dick was 
so fatigued, with his walk of twenty-four miles and 
his row across the bay, that he fell asleep almost as 
soon as his body was stretched on a bed in one of 
the inn's inferior rooms, to which he had been con 
ducted from the kitchen, where he had found an inn 
servant already up, despite the fact that the day soon 
to dawn was Sunday. This servant was a stout 
female, whose impressionability to masculine merits 
made easy Dick's admittance to the inn, which might 
otherwise have rejected such a guest arriving at such 
an hour. It was not yet daylight, but dawn was 
near enough to enable Dick, before closing his eyes, 
to receive a vague impression of the open spire of 
St. Bartholomew's Church through the falling snow. 
It made him think of Quebec, and he drowsily won 
dered what, at that moment, might be doing with old 



"BY FLOOD AND FIELD." 249 

Tom, with Captain Hendricks, Simpson, Steele, and 
the others of the army far across seas in Canada. 

What was doing with them at that moment ? It 
was then a little after six o'clock in the morning at 
Lostvvithiel, two o'clock the same morning at Que 
bec. The morning was that of December 31, 1775. 
This is what was occurring at Quebec : 

Snow was falling there also, but in a far more vio 
lent storm. Wind was blowing the snow in drifts, 
and with the snow there was a cutting sleet. The 
beginning of the night had been moonlit, but at 
twelve the sky was overcast, and then came the 
storm. This snowfall by night was a thing for 
which the Americans had been waiting. Montgom 
ery had at last come up from Montreal with three 
hundred men, and joined Arnold at Point aux 
Trembles, December 1st. The army had started the 
next day, amid whirling flakes, for Quebec ; had 
arrived before the city on the 5th, Montgomery hav 
ing found Arnold's men a fine corps, well disciplined. 
Later, a breastwork had been thrown up to face 
the gate of St. Louis ; and, by means of a battery 
mounted partly on ice and snow, shells had been 
thrown into the town, starting fires in several places. 

But the heavy guns from Quebec's walls had so dealt 

\ 

with this battery that it had been removed. Thence 
forth, execution from the American side had been 
done mainly by mortars and riflemen, placed in 



25O THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

the suburb of St. Roque, outside Palace Gate. It 
had finally been decided to carry the town by 
escalade, and this was to be attempted during the 
first snow-storm, such as that which finally came on 
this night preceding Sunday, December 3ist. The 
plan adopted was that the lower town should be 
taken first, Arnold leading an attack on its northern 
end, Montgomery leading one on its southern end ; 
demonstrations being made against the upper town 
at St. John's Gate and at the Bastion of Cape 
Diamond, to distract attention from the attacks 
below ; signal-rockets to be fired in order that all 
four movements should be made at the same time. 
At midnight the men repaired to quarters from 
the farms and drinking-houses whereat they had been 
scattered. At two, they began their march, strug 
gling against a biting wind, their faces stung by the 
snow horizontally driven, the locks of their guns 
held under the lappets of their coats to avoid being 
wetted by the snow. Old Tom and the other rifle 
men were in their usual place in Arnold's division, 
which was to enter the lower town at its narrow 
northern end, passing between the promontory's foot 
and the frozen St. Charles River. Through the suburb 
and streets of St. Roque, they breasted the snowy 
darkness ; first went Arnold, at the head of a for 
lorn hope of twenty-five men, one hundred yards 
before the main body ; then Captain Lamb and his 



"BY FLOOD AND FIELD." 

artillery company, drawing a field-piece on a sledge ; 
next, a company with ladders and other scaling im 
plements ; then, Morgan and his company, heading 
the riflemen ; next, the Lancaster company, led, in 
Captain Smith's absence, by Steele ; then the Cum 
berland County men, with their own captain, for 
Hendricks, though the command of the guard that 
morning belonged to him, had got leave to take part 
in the attack ; and last, the New England troops. 
The division would have first to pass a battery on a 
wharf, which the field-piece was to attack and the 
forlorn hope scale with ladders, while Morgan should 
lead the riflemen around the wharf on the ice. 

Old Tom plodded not far behind Hendricks, the 
men straggling onward in single file. As they 
approached the houses below Palace Gate, which 
led from the upper town on their right, there 
suddenly burst forth a thunder of cannon, which 
mingled soon with the alarming clang of all the 
bells in the city. "They've spied our intentions," 
muttered old Tom to the man ahead, and strode on. 

Presently muskets blazed from the ramparts above. 
Men began to drop here and there and to writhe in 
the snow, but their comrades hurried over or around 
them. Hendricks's soldiers could not see far ahead, 
for the darkness and the blinding snow ; nor could 
they always make out the path left by Arnold, 
Lamb, and the riflemen in advance. They could 



252 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

see nothing of the foe save the flashes of the mus 
kets from the walls crowning the ascent at their 
right. 

Presently they became aware of some kind of 
stoppage ahead ; it was made by the artillerymen, 
whose field-piece had stuck hopelessly in a snow 
drift. The company with the scaling-ladders made 
as if to stop also ; but Morgan was at their heels, 
forcing them forward, hastening on his own com 
pany, and swearing terribly in a voice that rivalled 
the tumult of bells and cannon. So the riflemen, 
preceded by the ladder-bearers, -passed on through 
the opening made for them by the artillery company. 

Th.ey were nearing the first barrier now ; the 
uproar of the unseen enemy's fire was more ter 
rific. And now Hendricks's men saw pass a group 
that was returning as with reluctance and difficulty, 
two men supporting between them a third, who was 
so badly wounded in the leg that he could not stand 
unaided. It was Colonel Arnold, upheld by Parson 
Spring and Mr. Ogden. " Forward, my brave men ! " 
cried Arnold, in a strong and heartening voice, and 
the riflemen cheered and passed on. 

They soon saw that Morgan had taken command, 
and, amid the inevitable crowding together near the 
barrier, they found themselves in close company 
with the forlorn hope, headed now by Arnold's 
secretary, Oswald, and with Lamb and his artillery- 



"BY FLOOD AND FIELD." 253 

men, who had left their field-piece in order to wield 
muskets and bayonets. 

Forward rushed Morgan and the advance com 
panies, right through a discharge of grape-shot from 
the two cannon commanding the defile. Forward, 
without slackening, upon the battery, some scaling 
the walls, some firing through the embrasures ; pour 
ing over and through, seizing the captain and thirty 
of his men as prisoners, driving the rest of the 
guard away, and taking the enemy's dry muskets 
to use instead of their own damp ones. 

Then Morgan formed his men as he could, and led 
them on to take the second barrier. The day was 
about to dawn now, and, although Morgan's men 
knew it not, the false attack planned against St. 
John's Gate had failed of being made ; the feint 
against the Bastion of Cape Diamond had served 
its purpose to conceal Montgomery's march along 
the shore of the St. Lawrence, but Montgomery, 
while leading his men from the stockade whence 
Dick Wetheral had once been fired upon, towards 
the blockhouse within, had fallen in death before 
a discharge of grape-shot, while his triumphant cry, 
" Push on, my brave boys, Quebec is ours ! " still 
rang in the ears of his New Yorkers. Montgomery's 
men had thereupon retreated, and thus the British 
force, warned of the very first movements by a too 
early discharge of the signal-rockets, was enabled to 



254 TIIE ROAD TO PARIS. 

concentrate against the division now between the 
first and second northern barriers of the lower town. 

Morgan's advance followed a curving course along 
the sides of houses, to where the narrow street was 
crossed, not far up from its mouth, by the second 
barrier, which was at least twelve feet high. Mean 
while Morgan had despatched Captain Dearborn, 
with a party, to prevent the enemy's coming from 
the upper town through Palace Gate and down the 
promontory's St. Charles side, which was neither as 
high nor as steep as the St. Lawrence side. 

Behind the barrier now to be taken, was a plat 
form whence cannon poured grape-shot, defended by 
two ranges of musketeers with fixed bayonets. The 
enemy fired also from the upper windows of houses 
beyond. The Americans speedily upbuilt an eleva 
tion to a height approaching that of the barrier, men 
falling all the while beneath the fire from the barrier, 
the houses beyond, and the walls far above at the 
right. Morgan's first lieutenant, Humphreys, climbed 
this mound to scale the barrier, but a row of bayonets 
forced him back. 

Seeing the impregnability of the barrier to his 
present force, and the rapidity with which that force 
was depleted by the terrible fire, Morgan thundered 
and cursed. Hendricks and Steele were calm, en 
couraging their men to patience, and directing them 
whither to return the enemy's fire. At last Lieu- 



"BY FLOOD AND FIELD." 2$$ 

tenant Humphreys fell in the street, dying on the 
spot. Then Morgan ordered his men to enter a 
house close to the barrier, and fire from the windows. 
Into the house and up to the second story rushed 
Hendricks, Steele, Tom MacAlister, and many others. 
Steele ran to the first window and aimed his gun to 
wards the barrier ; but, without firing, he suddenly 
stepped back with a sharp cry, and held up one of 
his hands to look at it, entrusting his gun wholly to 
the other. Where three fingers had been, there were 
now three crimson stumps. Hendricks and MacAl 
ister took another window. As Hendricks was about 
to shoot, a ball tore its way to his heart ; he low 
ered his rifle, took on a swift look of pain, staggered 
a few feet backward, fell with half his body on a 
bed, and died there almost instantly. While the hell 
continued in and about the house, as the. daylight 
increased, a party of British rushed out from Palace 
Gate, captured Dearborn and his men, fell upon the 
rear of Morgan's party, and presently, when the 
dauntless Virginian had had his rage out, received 
the surrender of him and his officers and men. " I 
wonder," thought old Tom MacAlister, as he marched 
in the line of prisoners to the great ruined Franciscan 
monastery, near the Reguliers, " how the lad Dick 
would 'a' fared if he'd been wi' us the braw night 
past ? Weel, weel, maybe it's better he was called 
away when he was, for, whether he be on the earth 



256 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

or under, it's little he'd 'a' relished rinding out 'twas 
for this we marched through Maine and hungered 
and froze in the snaws of Canada ! " 

'Twas for that, had been the planning and the 
money - spending, the suffering and the starving, 
the toils and the bloodshed, for that, and for the 
glory of heroic failure. 



CHAPTER XI. 

THREE WHIMSICAL GENTLEMEN AND A BEAUTIFUL 
LADY. 

UNDER the protection of the maid-servant, who 
was mature and fat, Dick Wetheral was allowed to 
slumber till the afternoon. He awoke entirely re 
freshed, and, after a curious look through his small 
window at the snow-covered little town with its pic 
turesque church spire, he went down to the kitchen, 
and in a corner thereof he satisfied a prodigious appe 
tite ; upon which he felt himself in excellent physi 
cal condition. His slight flesh-wound, received at 
Quebec, had healed on his sea-voyage, thanks to 
the persistent health of his blood, and despite the 
badness of other circumstances. 

He walked but twelve miles that day, arriving after 
nightfall at Liskeard, and lodging till morning at an 
inn near the handsome Gothic church of St. Martin. 
When he came to pay his bill he found it took all his 
money but a few pence, and thus he set forth, on 
the first day of the year 1776, bound eastward, with 
empty pockets, friendless in a strange and hostile 

257 



258 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

land, with no fixed intention save the vague one of 
eventually returning to fight for his country, with 
no present plan save to keep moving on. 

Not seeking food once during a journey of seven 
teen miles, he finally crossed the Tamer, from Corn 
wall into Devonshire, and arrived at Tavistock with 
less curiosity to view the vestiges of the tenth cen 
tury abbey there, than to -learn where his dinner was 
to come from. He had decided to beg, if necessary ; 
he considered that his own people, as was the cus 
tom of his country, entertained freely every hungry 
or roofless man that came to their home in the wil 
derness, therefore some hospitality was due him from 
the world at large ; and he reasoned that, being now 
among a hostile people, whose government was respon 
sible for his present situation, he was morally entitled, 
without reproach, to whatever he could, in the name 
of charity,, obtain from that people. Profiting by 
some of Tom MacAlister's related experiences, he 
had bethought himself, on the road, of certain pos 
sible methods of overcoming charity's coyness. 

The first door at which he knocked, in Tavistock, 
was promptly shut in his face, by a man who blurted 
out something about rogues and vagabonds, and ere 
Dick's civil greeting was finished. At the next house 
a frowning old woman was equally inhospitable. But 
at the third, the cottage of a serge-weaver, the young 
girl who opened the door allowed her soft eyes to rest 



THREE WHIMSICAL GENTLEMEN. 259 

on Dick before making a move to close it, and Dick 
improved the moment to assure her that he was no 
common rogue and vagabond, but an honest teller of 
fortunes by cards, who saw already in her face the 
signs of a great surprise in her own immediate 
future. The girl opened the door wider, and Dick 
stepped in with such a courteous bow to the two 
other occupants of the room that they rose instinc 
tively to receive him, blinded to his garb by his 
gentlemanly bearing. It was meal-time, and the 
family at table consisted of father, mother, and the 
girl who had opened the door. 

Dick lost no time, but asked for a pack of cards, 
with such a smile, and so much as if the request 
were the most natural one possible, that the mother 
told the girl where the cards were, and the girl 
immediately brought them. Dick began by telling 
the fortune of the head of the house, who was 
so diverted with the prediction of a gift from a dark 
man, that Dick's invention was allowed full exercise 
regarding the future destiny of each member of the 
family. The mother then speaking of a dream she 
had recently had, Dick promptly offered to interpret 
it for her, and its meaning was so favorable that the 
interpreter was soon in the way to gorge himself 
with beef and ale. He then did some card tricks 
that Tom had taught him, and, perceiving that a 
pack of, cards would thereafter be a useful implement 



26O THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

to him, eventually won the cards themselves, on a 
bet as to the location of a certain one of them. 
Having found that his card tricks amused, he re 
solved to rely on them thereafter, and not to stoop 
again to fortune-telling, an old woman's business 
adopted by him for the once as most likely means 
of exciting the girl's curiosity. 

He went from the weaver's house to the inn hard by 
the church of St. Eustache, and, obtaining a friendly 
reception by the conciliating manner and flattering 
air with which he accosted the servants, passed the 
afternoon in manipulating the cards, to the mystifica 
tion of kitchen wenches, ostlers, and tipplers of low 
degree ; winning a few sixpences from the last named 
in a fair game of skill. He thus earned a supper in 
a kitchen, and a bed in the stable-loft. 

The next day he walked twenty-one miles, cross 
ing Dartmoor Forest and the vast common, doing 
card tricks for a meal in a farmer's cottage at 
each one of two villages, and lodging for the night 
at Moreton Hampstead, where his procedure at the 
inn was in general similar to that at Tavistock. 

In the morning he went on to Exeter, which 
with its antique houses, its splendid cathedral of St. 
Peter flanked by the old bishop's palace, its ruined 
castle of West Saxon kings, its bustling High Street, 
its bridge across the Exe, and its busy quay im 
pressed Dick the more for its being the first large 



THREE WHIMSICAL GENTLEMEN. 26 1 

town of England to greet his eyes. He remained 
here many days, going from inn-yard to inn-yard, 
and, in the poorer quarters, from house to house ; 
always with an address so polite and amiable that 
few resisted or distrusted him. His look and manner 
were so different from those of the common way 
farer or mountebank that he found he need stand in 
no fear of being dealt with as a vagrant. He added 
to his resources some of Tom's old conjuring feats, 
which he made new by means of the glib, humorous 
speeches he was soon able to rattle off. A cause of 
his prolonged stay at Exeter was the great snowfall 
and frost, which began January 7th, with a high east 
ern wind, froze the rivers, and put to shame all 
recollections of cold weather that dated since the 
memorable hard winter of 1739-40. Dick spent 
most of this time in entertaining snow-bound travel 
lers of low degree, at the inns, receiving in payment 
now a meal, now a share of a bed, now a few small 
coins. There were nights, though, when he lodged 
outside, taking short naps in some sheltering angle 
of the cathedral, and rousing himself at intervals to 
stir his blood by walking. 

On the 2d of February the wind changed and 
blew from the south. Waiting a few days more, so 
as to be less inconvenienced by the thaw, Dick 
started northward, passing through a beautiful coun 
try partly in sight of the Exe, dined at Collumpton, 



262 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

and proceeded in the afternoon to Wellington in 
Somersetshire, where he lay for the night in an open 
shed appertaining to the inn. The next morning, 
paying for breakfast with the last of the coins 
he had earned at Exeter, he went on to the sweet 
vale of Taunt on Dean, and arrived penniless at the 

town of Taunton, where a singular thing befell 

f 

him. 

He had stopped to look into an inn-yard, to see 
whether the time was propitious for his obtaining 
the attention of servants and inferior guests, and 
thus for his paving the way to one of his un 
licensed performances, when a post-chaise drove up 
and let out a richly dressed young gentleman, with 
a portmanteau and a gold-headed cane, but not 
attended by any private servant. 

As he was about to enter the inn, this young 
gentleman, who was of a sedate and self-contained 
demeanor, stopped for a moment, regarded Dick 
with a sudden but civil interest, and half perceptibly 
smiled ; he then passed in, while a menial shouldered 
his portmanteau and followed. 

Dick knew at once the cause of the look of in 
terest and of the smile. He was still pondering on 
it when, a few minutes later, the gentleman came 
out of the inn, greeted him with most kindly con 
descension, and said, in a quiet tone, while making 
sure by swift side-glances that no one overheard : 



THREE WHIMSICAL GENTLEMEN. 263 

" My good man, I see you, too, have noticed how 
much we look like each other." 

"In the face, yes," replied Dick; "but not as 
much in the clothes." 

" Quite true," said the gentleman, with an appre 
ciative smile. "I was just about to speak of that. 
As I looked at you and noticed the resemblance be 
tween us, I couldn't but think how different every 
thing would be to me if I were the man in the 
smock-frock and you were the man in the velvet 
coat. And then an odd idea came into my head. 
Said I to myself, ' Why shouldn't I try the experi 
ment, and see how it may be to travel a short way 
through the world in a smock-frock ? ' I'm given to 
whims, you see, and, moreover, it will be a droll 
thing for me to appear, clad like you, at the house 
where I'm expected to-night. Ha ! How my lord 
vail stare to see me come in ! In fine, my good 
man, I propose that we shall exchange clothes, and 
go on our different ways ! " 

" You mean that, for the clothes I have on, you 
would give me those you wear now ? " cried Dick, 
astonished and amused. 

" Precisely, with the cane and snuff-box thrown 
into the bargain." 

" But don't you know you can buy in five minutes 
a suit of clothes like mine, for a hundredth part of 
the worth of all you offer me ? " 



264 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

"Yes, I know that, of course. But, you see, it 
would attract attention, my buying such clothes 

" Oh, for that matter, I can buy them for you." 

" No, for then they would either be new, in which 
case my ah disguise would be easier seen 
through ; or they would be second-hand, and then 
God knows who might have worn them in the past ! 
Besides, I can afford to pay for my whims, and it pleases 
me to think that you, too, who resemble me so much, 
would have the benefit of my clothes, as I should have 
of yours. Come ! Or, rather, wait till I pay in ad 
vance for my room, which I'll occupy but half an 
hour ; then I'll take you to it ; we can change imme 
diately, and go forth to see how differently the world 
will look at us." 

Convinced, at last, that it was no insane person by 
whom he should be profiting, Dick saw no reason for 
interposing further objections ; indeed, those already 
put had been offered merely to satisfy his natural 
scruples against being on the better side of so uneven 
a bargain, for the idea of swaggering awhile in costly 
raiment had instantly attracted him. In less than 
an hour thereafter, he issued from the inn, fully clad 
as a gentleman, while his whimsical acquaintance, 
slinking out as unobserved as Dick had slunk in, 
tipped him a friendly farewell and made off in the 
opposite direction, shouldering the portmanteau as if 
he were a hired porter. 



THREE WHIMSICAL GENTLEMEN. 26$ 

As Dick strutted along the busy street, glancing 
at the shop-windows, and in turn glanced at by more 
than one pair of demure eyes, he suddenly bethought 
himself that a gentleman in velvet and lace, with silk 
stockings and gold buckles, but without a penny in 
pocket or in prospect, was a somewhat anomalous 
personage. Moreover, the county towns and coun 
try villages were a field far less worth shining in as 
a gentleman than were certain fields he now began 
to think he might soon visit. 

He therefore visited certain dealers in the town, 
and by dinner-time he was minus the gold-headed 
cane and a gold-mounted snuff-box, but was the 
richer by a plainer snuff-box ; some changes of linen, 
underclothes, neck-cloths, and handkerchiefs ; a bag 
in which to carry all his movables ; and a suit of 
clothes. He chose the last with a view to the fit 
only, regardless of the fact that it was a game 
keeper's costume. At another inn than the one 
where he had met the stranger, Dick doffed his fine 
feathers, put on the gamekeeper's suit, and dined, 
paying for his dinner with some money he had over 
from the proceeds of the cane and snuff-box. 

In the afternoon, carrying his bag of clothes slung 
by a stick over his shoulder, he left Taunton behind, 
presently abandoned the road that went northward 
to Bridgewater, and proceeded northeastward, trav 
ersing charming vales, and arriving at night at a 



266 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

village about half-way between Taunton and Glaston- 
bury. His pack of cards earned his supper and bed, 
both in the house of a simple-minded blacksmith. 

The next day he passed through Glastonbury, 
pausing to indulge his imagination before the ruined 
abbey in which Kings Arthur and Edgar were buried, 
as well as before the rotting cross in the town's cen 
tre, and before the Tor of St. Michael on the hill 
northeast. He fed nothing but his imagination at 
this place, and hastened on to Wells, where he stayed 
his stomach further while admiring the magnificent 
west front of the Gothic Cathedral, the high square 
tower and ornate exterior of St. Cuthbert's Church, 
and the other fine old buildings. 

At the inn, he found, among other travellers, a 
party of lesser gentry on whose hands time hung 
heavily, their business being finished, but themselves 
being unwilling to set forth on a Friday. Dick soon 
ingratiated himself with these gentlemen, whose 
thick and empty heads were already astray with 
punch, wine, and ale; and he was made not only a 
sharer of their good cheer, but the sole occupant of 
the bed of one whom he tried to assist thither but 
who persisted in sleeping on the floor instead. 

Leaving early the next morning, ere his benefac 
tors were awake to eject him as some presuming 
plebeian who had availed himself of their drunken 
ness, Dick proceeded northeastward towards Bath, his 



THREE WHIMSICAL GENTLEMEN. 267 

eyes rejoicing in the beauty of the Mendip hills and 
the surrounding country. 

When he had reached a spot where a short stretch 
of road before him had a delightfully secluded ap 
pearance, by reason of the trees that overarched 
it, and the varied slopes that rose gently on either 
hand, those on the left extending in a series of 
shapely hills to a far western horizon, he began to 
think of breakfast. A little way ahead, a vine-grown 
wall, broken by high gate-posts, marked the roadside 
boundary of a small, sloping park, belonging to a 
country-seat whose towers and chimneys rose among 
the trees some distance within. As Dick lay down 
his bag to rest, there came from a small door in the 
wall a gamekeeper, who immediately raised the fowl 
ing-piece he carried, and fired at a hawk that circled 
over a copse at Dick's right. The shot missed, and 
the gamekeeper reloaded. But when he was ready 
for a second shot, he shouldered his gun, evidently 
thinking the bird out of range, although it remained 
over the copse. 

" I'll bring that bird down for you, if you let me," 
called out Dick, on the impulse of the moment, just 
as if he had been in his own country. 

In reply, the gamekeeper stared in amazement. 
Dick repeated his offer. Then the gamekeeper 
found words, and wrathfully ordered Dick from 
the premises, calling him a vagabond, a poacher, 



268 THE ROAD TO PARTS. 

and worse. Dick was about to close the fellow's 
mouth with a blow, when a loud voice, one that 
shifted between a bellow and a whine, came from 
the direction of the great gate : 

" What's amiss, Perkins ? Hold the damned ras 
cal ! I'll make a jailbird of him, that I will ! What 
is it, Perkins ? Highway robbery ? I'll have him up, 
the next assizes ! " 

By this time, the speaker, having got out of a 
coach just as it was being driven through the gate, 
had come up to where Dick and the gamekeeper 
stood. He was a large, pot-bellied man, with coarse 
features, red face, and bloodshot eyes ; a man of 
about forty, showing in his movements a disability 
due to a dissolute life, and dressed with a rich 
ness that did not avail to soften the impression 
of grossness he produced. 

" The rascal had the impudence of offering to 
shoot that hawk, sir," said the gamekeeper, looking 
wroth at the outrage. 

"What hawk?" queried the threatening gentle 
man, looking, and presently sighting the only one 
in view. " That hawk ? Odd's life ! If the rogue 
can shoot that hawk at this distance, I'm his humble 
servant, that I am ! And let him only speak, and 
the place of under-keeper shall be his, damn me 
twice over if it sha'n't ! D'ye hear that, rascal ? " 

Philosophically ignoring the last word, Dick re- 



THREE WHIMSICAL GENTLEMEN. 269 

plied, " If Mr. Perkins will hand me the gun, I'll 
show you how we shoot in" (he was going to say 
"America," but checked himself) "the county I 
came from." 

" Give him the gun, Perkins, give him the gun ! " 
ordered the gentleman, eagerly, responding to any 
thing that appealed to his love of shooting, and 
already preparing to jeer in case of Dick's failure. 

Dick took the gun, aimed -carefully, fired ; the 
bird fell into the copse. Whereupon the gentleman, 
forgetting former threats, impulsively applauded, pro 
nounced Dick a marvel, and, taking it from his garb 
that he was a gamekeeper, began a brief catechising 
that resulted in Dick's being forthwith installed as 
Mr. Perkins's assistant, in a lodge at the farther end 
of Mr. Bullcott's woods, for Bullcott was the name 
of the country squire whose favor Dick's marksman 
ship had so quickly won. Dick's face, and the 
straight account of himself that he had invented 
on the spot, served in lieu of a written "charac 
ter " with the impulsive and unthinking Squire 
Bulkott ; as subsequently his adaptiveness, quick 
ness of perception, and conciliating manner enabled 
him to acquire Perkins's tolerance, and to learn the 
duties of his post so soon that no one discovered he 
had never filled a similar one before. 

In this situation Dick spent the rest of February, 
all of March, and great part of April ; having little 



2/0 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

company other than that of Perkins and the dogs ; 
rarely seeing his master, who made frequent jour 
neys from home ; and not once beholding the Squire's 
wife, who, said Perkins, was usually ailing and mostly 
kept her room. He might have had the smiles of 
any of the maid-servants of Bullcott Hall, but he 
would never accept amatory favors from low sources 
as a supposed equal, though he might willingly 
enough, in his own proper character of gentleman, 
condescend on occasion to kiss a handsome wench. 

One sweet, blossomy day in April, while following 
the course of a little rivulet, Dick emerged from the 
woods to a field at whose farther end was a barn, 
before which stood a large wagon whence a party of 
strolling players were moving their accessories into 
the building, for the purpose of giving a series of 
performances there. By the brookside, at a place 
hidden from her fellow Thespians by some bushes, 
knelt one of the women of the company, a rather 
pretty girl, washing clothes. Standing near this 
girl, with his back towards Dick, was a man who 
seemed, from his attitude and gestures, to be press 
ing on her some sort of invitation, which she appar 
ently chose to ignore. This man presently stooped 
by her side, and made to put his arms around her, 
whereupon she gave him a vigorous slap in the face 
with the wet undergarment she then held. 

The man persisting in his attempt to embrace her, 



THREE WHIMSICAL GENTLEMEN. 2? I 

and the girl resisting without fear but with repug 
nance, Dick ran forward, cuffed the man on the side 
of the head, and announced the intention of throwing 
him into the brook if he did not immediately let go 
the lady. The man let go, but only in order to 
spring to his feet and turn, with clenched fists, upon 
Dick, disclosing to the latter the furious face of 
Squire Bullcott. 

The Squire, whose wrath instantly doubled upon 
his seeing that his interfering assailant was his own 
under gamekeeper, could only roar, sputter, and 
whine, incoherently, and look as if about to explode. 
He was deterred from instantly laying hands on 
Dick by the attitude of defence into which the latter 
had promptly thrown himself. When Mr. Bullcott 
had used up his breath in calling Dick vile names, 
and threatening him with everything from a cudgel 
to a gibbet, Dick explained that he could not stand 
by and see any man force his caresses on a lady 
against her will. 

" Lady ! " bellowed the Squire. " Why, she's a 

miserable of a vagabond play-actress ! Why, 

you fool, I'll warrant she can't begin to count the 
men who have had her ! " 

" I don't stand up for the woman's virtue," said 
Dick. " I know nothing about that." He perceived 
that a man who would ever testify with due effect to 
the virtue of a good woman, must not assert, by oath 



2/2 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

or blows, a belief in that of a bad or doubtful woman. 
" But every woman has the right to say who sha'n't 
have her favors," he went on, "and that girl was 
resolved you shouldn't have -hers ! " 

" Well, by God, we'll see ! I'll have the whole 
rabble locked up, I will ! They shan't give any of 
their nasty plays where I have jurisdiction ! I'll 
drive them off, and you, too ! No, I won't, I'll have 
you up at the assizes. I'll see you hanged for mur 
derous assault ; that I will ! " 

With which, the girl having already fled to her 
comrades, and voices being heard to approach, the 
worthy magistrate plunged into cover of the woods 
in one direction, white Dick sought similar conceal 
ment in another. 

Knowing that time had come to resume his travels, 
Dick hastened to his lodge, and there, the better to 
avoid arrest on the Squire's order, he put on the 
fine suit given him by the strange gentleman at 
Taunton. With all his other clothes in his bag, he 
then started for the road. As he was passing through 
the woods, he first heard and then saw Mr. Perkins 
leading towards the abandoned lodge a pair of ugly 
fellows armed with bludgeons. Unseen by this 
party, Dick made a detour that led him eventually to 
the road, but to a part thereof that necessitated his 
passing the great gate of the Hall in order to con 
tinue his journey northward. 



THREE WHIMSICAL GENTLEMEN. 273 

As he was musing on the peculiar appearance he 
must make in the road, that of a gaily dressed gen 
tleman travelling afoot and carrying a bag, he saw 
Squire Bullcot't come forth on horseback, attended 
by two stalwart, raw-looking servants. The Squire 
stared at him, in bewilderment, a moment, then 
cried out to his servants : 

" Tis the very same ! The same damned rogue ! 
I know the rascal in spite of his clothes ! Stop him, 
Curry, and hold him fast ! Down off your horses, 
both of you, or he'll get safe away ! " 

"I dare you to stop me now ! " cried Dick, going 
straight up to Bullcott and looking him in the face. 
" I'm a gentleman, and one of your betters, though 
I did amuse myself by playing gamekeeper to an 
ignorant brute ! " 

The Squire glared for a -moment in speechless 
fury, and then, gathering breath and saliva, spat 
with great force in Dick's face. 

The two servants were now dismounted. Mr. 
Bullcott, enraged to the point of preferring immediate 
revenge rather than the slow operation of the law, 
ordered them to use their whips on Dick. They fell 
upon him together, at the moment when he was 
blinded by the handkerchief with which he had 
instantly begun to cleanse his visage of Bullcott's 
disgusting marks. 

Maddened by the blows that rained upon his face, 



274 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

neck, arms, and wrists, Dick struck out 1 wildly at his 
brawny assailants. At a certain violent rush on his 
part, they fell back. The Squire seized that moment 
as an opportune one for riding his horse at Dick, and 
the latter, leaping aside to avoid the heavy hoofs, 
tripped on a stone and fell flat in the road, knocking 
the breath out of his body. 

Bullcott now, leaning from his horse, wielded 
his own whip on Dick's head and back, accom 
panying the castigation with vengeful oaths and 
vile epithets. Then, ordering his men to bestow 
each a final kick on the prostrate body, the worthy 
gentleman rode off about his business, which, it 
eventually appeared, was to cause the ejection of 
the strolling players from the barn before which 
their merry-andrew had already begun to collect a 
crowd around his wagon. 

Kicked into insensibility, Dick was at last aban 
doned by the two servants, and he lay in the road 
until, fifteen minutes later, there came up from the 
direction of Wells a post-chaise, from which a hearty- 
looking young gentleman, having ordered the postil 
ion to stop, got out for the sole purpose of examining 
the prostrate body in the way. He stooped beside 
Dick, called his valet to bring some brandy, and 
gently raised Dick's head. 

"Who is it ? " murmured Dick, summoned out of 
a wild and painful dream, and resting his blue eyes 



THREE WHIMSICAL GENTLEMEN. 2/5 

on the rubicund, cheerful, somewhat impudent face 
of the young gentleman. 

" Who is it ? " repeated the latter, blithely. 
" That's a good one ! Here's a gentleman who has 
fallen among thieves and been left half dead, and the 
first thing he wants of the Good Samaritan is to 
know who the Good Samaritan is ! Swallow this 
brandy, sir, and the Good Samaritan will introduce 
himself." 

" You are certainly the Good Samaritan," moaned 
Dick, after a reviving gulp from the flask held by 
the valet ; " but I haven't fallen among thieves. I 
fell in only with the most damned boorish scoundrel 
that ever disgraced the name of gentleman, and I 
swear I won't rest till I've paid him back what he 
and his rascal menials did me here, blow for blow, 
and kick for kick." 

" Quite right ! " said the other, gaily. " But, in the 
meantime, what is to be done for you ? Can I take 
you to your house ? Do you live hereabouts ? " 

" No, my home is quite far away," replied 
Dick, relapsing into a dreamy condition. 

The other gently shook him back to full conscious 
ness. " Then where may I take you ? Whither were 
you bound ? Towards Bath ? " 

" Yes, towards Bath," said Dick, on a moment's 
impulse. 

"Well, by George, that's fortunate! You shall be 



2/6 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

my travelling companion the rest of the way. You 
don't seem to have your own coach at hand, or any 
of your servants." 

" You are right. I have no coach at hand or 
any servants. I have only the bag in the ditch 
yonder. You are very kind ! I don't like to 
intrude." 

" Nonsense, my dear sir ! 'Tis I who have in 
truded on your slumbers here. You'll be company 
for me on the journey. 'Fore gad, I was dead of 
ennui, for some one to talk to, when we came upon 
you ! Get the gentleman's bag, Wilkins. I must 
say, sir, your own servant must be a rascal, to have 
dropped your things and ridden off as he did, when 
you were attacked." 

Dick saw no reason to correct the impression pro 
duced, by his clothes and other circumstances, on the 
cordial young gentleman, and he silently let himself 
be helped into the chaise, which, his bag having been 
stowed away and his rescuers having got in, at once 
started off towards Bath. 

Dick gave no more account of himself, beyond 
announcing his name and the fact that he had 
recently come from travels abroad, than to say that 
he had been attacked by the servants of a gentleman 
whose motive was personal revenge, and left as the 
Good Samaritan had found him. The Good Samari 
tan turned out to be Lord George Winston, who was 



THREE WHIMSICAL GENTLEMEN. 2JJ 

given to letting his private coaches and horses lie 
idle, and to travelling in his present modest fashion, 
in order that he might encounter the more amusing 
people and incidents. He was now hastening, in 
quest of society, back from his Devonshire estate, 
whither he had recently hastened in quest of solitude. 
He was an exceedingly good-natured, self-satisfied, 
talkative youth, one of those happily constituted per 
sons who are not even their own enemies. Yet he was 
a man of exceeding animation and wit, as he showed 
by countless little jests with which he enlivened the 
talk he rattled off to Dick on the journey. 

Dick allowed most of the conversation to his 
lordship, which circumstance made so agreeable an 
impression on the latter, that, on learning Dick had 
no engagements, he gave an imperative invitation to 
be his guest in Bath for a few days, and afterward to 
bear him company to London. Dick, philosophically 
accepting, thus saw his immediate future paved with 
roses in advance, ere the increasing bustle of con 
verging roads, the sound of the Avon flowing beneath 
its bridge, and the sight of many roofs and towers 
told him he was entering the most populous and 
fashionable pleasure resort in England. 

It was late in the afternoon, when they drove into 
Bath. The chaise rattled through the fine streets of 
splendid stone houses, its own noise mingling with 
that of grand coaches and other conveyances. On 



2/8 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

every side were finely dressed people, strutting with 
an air of consequence, while Dick got a glimpse of 
a fair face, more or less genuine in color, in many a 
carriage and chair. The chaise let out its passengers 
at the Three Tuns, where Lord George engaged 
rooms for the night, and where Dick carefully re 
paired all damage to his person and attire, donned 
fresh linen, had his hair powdered by a man whom 
Lord George had caused to be summoned, dined with 
his gay companion, and sauntered forth afoot with 
him at evening, glowing with the newly stimulated 
love of pleasure. 

At the door of the Pelican Inn, Lord George 
introduced Dick to a pompous but good-natured 
little gentleman named Boswell, who greeted my 
lord obsequiously but tarried only so long as to 
mention that he was on his way to meet Doctor 
Johnson at the house of Mr. and Mrs. Thrale. 

" Does he mean the great Doctor Johnson, the 
author?" asked Dick, looking back after him with 
curiosity. 

" Yes," said Lord George ; " he is a harmless, 
conceited Scotchman that comes to town a few 
weeks every year and follows at the heels of John 
son, who treats him as if he were the spaniel he is. 
'Tis amusing to consort now and then with those 
writing fellows, if you can endure their vanity. As 
for Johnson, he says a good thing sometimes, and 



THREE WHIMSICAL GENTLEMEN. 2/9 

might be good company but for his sweating and 
grunting, his dirty linen and his beastly way of eat 
ing, and his desire of doing all the talking himself." 

They went to the Assembly Rooms, where his 
lordship introduced Dick to numerous people of 
both sexes and then sat down to cards ; while Dick 
looked on, or walked about among the promenaders, 
the gay talkers, and the chatting tea-drinkers, and 
thought he was in a kind of paradise. 

The next day Lord George moved with his guest 
to a floor in a fine house on the South Parade, where 
there was comparative quiet from the noise of wheels. 
There established, Dick, as he listened to the bells 
of the Abbey church, which sound carried to him 
a mental vision of the venerable Cathedral itself, with 
its fine western front and its countless windows, 
resolved that he would ever after wear the clothes 
of a gentleman, as his birth and mind entitled him 
to do ; that his future way should lie amidst fine 
surroundings ; that he should thereafter contrive to 
sip only of the honey of this world. 

The two young gentlemen went early to the 
pump-room ; took the hot water bath in a great 
tank overlooked by the pump-room windows, in 
company with other perspiring folk, who did not 
look at their best, particularly the ladies in their 
brown linen jackets and petticoats and their chip 
hats with handkerchiefs affixed. Then, having 



28b THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

dressed and partaken of the water served by the 
pumper in the bar, Lord George and Dick or 
rather Mr. Wetheral, for he had now determined 
to complete the transformation that his change of 
clothes had begun strolled on the North Parade ; 
after which his lordship played a game of billiards 
with an acquaintance he met, while Dick stole away 
in quest of a certain kind of shop. This excursion 
was fruitful, and when Mr. Wetheral rejoined his 
friend at the Coffee House his shoes had silver 
buckles instead of gold ones, and a small quantity 
of coin rattled in his previously silent pocket. For 
Dick, having watched the cards awhile on the pre 
ceding night, had made up his mind to try a fling at 
fortune, himself. 

Accordingly, when they went to the Rooms that 
night, it was Mr. Wetheral that played, and Lord 
George that sought diversion otherwise, joining the 
dancers, for this was one of the two weekly ball- 
nights. Wetheral had beginner's luck, of course, 
and when he retired to bed at twelve his pockets 
jingled with an effect almost as pleasant to his ears 
as that of the Abbey bells, and he saw himself 
prospectively the possessor of some splendid house 
in the Circus or in Prince's Row. 

He imagined, of course, a lovely sharer of the 
contemplated splendor, but this fancy did not take 
a permanent shape in his mind's eye ; sometimes it 



THREE WHIMSICAL GENTLEMEN. 28 1 

wore the face of Catherine de St. Valier ; then this 
image gave way to a kind of collective impression of 
the many pretty faces he had already seen in Bath. 
For so great a change had come in his surroundings 
and desires, that Catherine and her snowy Quebec 
had faded into a far past and seemed at an im 
measurable distance. Reproach him not too severely ! 
He was nineteen, in England, in spring, as if freshly 
born into a new world that appeared all pleasure and 
beauty ; moreover, the past five months had been so 
crowded with events and changes that they trailed 
out behind him like years instead of months. 

His luck at cards continuing, and with it his de 
termination to move thereafter in polite life, Mr. 
Wetheral set about acquiring certain accomplish 
ments necessary to his purpose. There was a fop 
among Lord George's acquaintance, given to telling 
laughable stories, partly in French. Of this gentle 
man's Coffee House audience, Dick was the only one 
who could not laugh uproariously at these Gallic 
passages. He thereupon resolved to learn French, 
as well as to acquire the more fashionable styles of 
dancing, and to improve what rudiments of fencing 
had been imparted to him by old Tom MacAlister. 
Thus he invested a good part of his nightly winnings 
in clandestine lessons, taken while Lord George was 
making visits, or off with some pleasure-seeking 
party to Spring Gardens, 'or elsewhere engaged. 



282 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

Wetheral supplemented his French and fencing 
lessons with private practice in his rooms, or in some 
solitary part of the grove by the Avon, or of King's 
Mead Fields, or elsewhere. His natural readiness 
and his fierce application soon enabled him to read 
and write easy French passably well ; but when he 
came to speak in that language to the foppish little 
master of ceremonies at the Rooms, he brought con 
fusion on himself. He made a better show at danc 
ing, though ; and a few trials of the foils with Lord 
George, on a rainy day, displayed a promise of early 
ability to handle a sword in the approved fashion. 

One evening in the second week of May, Lord 
George announced his wish of starting for London 
on the morrow, as the fashionable season at Bath 
would soon be over. Dick had no sorrow at this, for 
he had resolved to continue in London his present 
way of life, by means of the cards and by whatever 
other resources he might find at hand. He was 
quite ready for fresh fields, as long as they were of 
the flowery kind. Desiring, though, a last survey 
of the field he was about to leave, Dick sallied forth 
alone that night for the Rooms, Lord George having 
to remain at his lodgings to write some letters he 
had postponed to the last moment. 

Just as Mr. Wetheral was entering the ballroom, 
during a cessation of dancing, and was felicitating 
himself on the flattering salutations he got from 



THREE WHIMSICAL GENTLEMEN. 283 

acquaintances obtained through Lord George, and 
several of these greetings came with melting smiles 
from fair faces, he heard a voice at his side cry out : 

"Why, by God, 'tis the rascal gamekeeper mas 
querading as a gentleman ! " 

Dick recognized the voice, now bellow and now 
whimper, ere even he turned, like a man shot, and 
saw the face. At sight of the gross, insolent visage 
of Squire Bullcott, the memory of the horse-whipping 
drove away every other consideration, and Dick, 
thinking only of revenge, not of his own possible 
discomfiture, replied, hotly : 

" So 'tis you, Bully Bullcott ! I intended to return 
and pay off my score, but kind Providence has saved 
me the trouble by sending you to Bath. Wait until 
I meet you in the street, sir ! " 

"What, you dog! " cried the Squire, whose corpu 
lent body was dressed as if it were the elegant figure 
of a beau of twenty-five. " Why, hear the cur talk, 
will you that ! The low, dirty, mongrel cur, that 
came starving along the road, with tongue hanging 
out and ne'er a kennel to sleep in ; and that I took 
in and made a gamekeeper of ! How in the name of 
God he ever came by those clothes he has on, I know 
not. But you sha'n't play any of your tricks here, 
you impostor ! I denounce this rascal, gentlemen ! 
He's not what he pretends to be ! " 

"Gentlemen," said Dick, to the crowd that had 



284 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

quickly assembled, " there are many of you here who 
know me " 

"If there be," said Bullcott, cutting Dick's speech 
short, " how long have you known him ? Hey ? And 
is there any gentleman here that doesn't know me ? " 
From the manner in which the Squire glared around, 
and that of the gentlemen who amiably nodded in 
confirmation, it was plain that Squire Bullcott was 
a very well-known person at Bath ; and from other 
tokens it was equally plain that Dick's acquaintances 
were mentally recalling that the time since they had 
first met him was indeed short. "The fellow is a 
gamekeeper, I say ! A common servant, that I paid 
wages to, a month ago, and that my footmen drove 
off my place, as they shall drive him out of these 
Rooms now ! " Whereat he strode through the 
crowd, which opened for him with the deference 
due to wealth H and at the door he called out to his 
servants, who were waiting with his coach. 

Before Mr. Wetheral, who looked in perplexity 
from one acquaintance to another, and saw each man 
fall slightly back or look aside, could arrive at any 
course of action, he found himself face to face with 
the two low-browed fellows who had obeyed the 
Squire's behest on a former memorable occasion. 
Ere he was fully sensible of their intention, he was 
grasped at neck and arm, and the next instant 
he was being hustled swiftly to the street. Resist- 



THREE WHIMSICAL GENTLEMEN. 285 

ing blindly, and as the nether part of his person 
came considerably in the rear in this rapid exit, he 
made a ludicrous appearance, as he knew from the 
shout of laughter that followed him, laughter in 
which, to his unutterable chagrin, the voices of the 
ladies mingled, for they had pushed forward among 
the gentlemen who had first hastened to the scene. 

Once outside, Dick's two burly captors flung him 
forward into the street, where he landed on all fours 
in mire and refuse. 

A crowd of servants and rabble quickly gathered 
around, shouting with glee. Dick's mood, when he 
rose, bruised and soiled, was to return and do battle 
with the whole assembly in the Rooms. But he 
knew the futility of such heroic measures, and that 
the present was no time in which to seek retaliation. 
He contented himself, therefore, with what effective 
lunges were necessary in order to break through the 
street crowd. Having achieved a passage in one 
fierce dash, he ran on, at a pace that soon ended 
pursuit, until he reached his lodgings. There he 
made himself presentable before joining Lord 
George, to whom he said nothing of the night's 
occurrence. 

Their early departure, the next morning, alone 
prevented his lordship from hearing the news that 
was now all over Bath ; and Dick felt a decided 
relief when he saw the city receding in the morning 



286 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

sunshine while the post-chaise they had taken was 
bowling merrily towards Wiltshire. An uneventful 
day, diversified by many stops for refreshment, 
brought them late in the afternoon to Marlboro, 
where Dick had time, before nightfall, to ascend 
by the winding path the famous mount, and to 
meditate in the grotto where Thomson had com 
posed "The Seasons," as well as to stroll through 
the charming grounds stretching at the rear of the 
inn to the Kennet. 

As the Bath stage-coach for London drove up, 
Dick looked furtively from the inn window to see 
if it should let out any of those who had witnessed 
his humiliation the previous night. Lord George, 
glancing from the same window, suddenly exclaimed, 
" Egad, there's a fine woman ! " 

Following his lordship's gaze, Dick beheld a slen 
der and graceful lady emerging from a private coach. 
Her face, round, soft, childlike, with clear and gentle 
blue eyes, instantly captivated Dick. He watched 
her while she gave hasty directions to her coachman, 
and while she stepped quickly and with downcast 
look, as if wishing to avoid observation, to the inn. 
She was accompanied by another lady, also quite 
handsome, but of a somewhat severe and defiant 
countenance. 

Having entered the inn, the two ladies were seen 
no more while Dick and Lord George remained at 



THREE WHIMSICAL GENTLEMEN. 287 

Marlboro, although these candid admirers of beauty 
delayed their departure thence till the next day was 
far advanced. With sighs of disappointment, they 
then resumed their journey, and passed through the 
forest and on to Hungerford, where they dined and 
tarried awhile in the vain hope that yet the lady of 
the private coach might overtake them. 

Continuing in disappointment, they proceeded into 
Berkshire and along the pleasant Kennet to Speen- 
hamland, which, as all the world knows, is but the 
northern part of Newbury, the Kennet flowing be 
tween under a stone bridge. They had no sooner 
made themselves comfortable in the last two avail 
able rooms at the Pelican Inn, than Wetheral hap 
pened to look out into the corridor and see, accidentally 
glancing from the opposite chamber at the same 
moment, the beautiful lady of the private coach. 



CHAPTER XII. 

THE DEVIL TO PAY AT THE PELICAN INN. 

THE lady, on seeing herself observed, immediately 
disappeared, and closed her door. Dick imparted 
his discovery to Lord George, who thereupon sent 
his man Wilkins to inquire of the servants who the 
lady was. Wilkins returned with the information, 
obtained from an inn maid who had quizzed the 
lady's own man-servant, that the lady was Miss 
Englefield, Sir Hilary Englefield's sister, returning 
to her brother's seat near Reading, to escape the 
attentions of a very wealthy gentleman who had 
pursued her at Bath. 

" Why, I know Sir Hilary," cried Lord George. 
"Wilkins, you will take this message to Miss Engle 
field at once. Say to her that I have learned she is 
here, and that, supposing she must have heard her 
brother speak of me, though I have never had the 
honor and pleasure of meeting her, I send my most 
respectful compliments and will do myself the happi 
ness of waiting upon her in the public parlor. Make 
haste, Wilkins ! Come, Wetheral, damn it, your 

288 



THE DEVIL TO PAY AT THE PELICAN INN. 289 

hair is all right ! We shall probably have the joy of 
supping with these ladies." 

Dick hastened down to the parlor with his lordship 
and waited in a very pleasant trepidation. Wilkins 
soon came with the answer that Miss Englefield 
would give herself the honor, etc. " She seemed at 
first quite took by surprise, my lord," added Wilkins, 
" and repeated the name Englefield after me, as if to 
make me think there was a mistake and she wasn't 
that lady. But she whispered awhile with the other 
lady, and then gave me the answer." 

" If she is really running away from some obnox 
ious suitor, she would quite naturally wish to hide 
her name," commented Lord George to Dick ; and 
then a rustle of skirts heralded the entrance of the 
lady and her companion themselves. 

While introductions were being made, the four 
people became so grouped that Wetheral found him 
self near Miss Englefield, an advantage he was quite 
ready to keep when it had come through circum 
stance, although he would not with premeditation 
have competed for it with Lord George. His lord 
ship, noting the circumstance with a smile partly of 
reproach and partly of resignation, accepted with 
good grace the place of partner to the other lady, 
Miss Thorpe, whom Miss Englefield addressed as 
Celestine. Thus coupled, the new acquaintances 
talked of the crowded state of the inns, the excel- 



290 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

lence of the weather and roads, the season at Bath 
(Dick learned with ineffable relief that Miss Engle- 
field's departure had occurred before his ejection 
from the Rooms), and such matters. 

It was agreed presently, on Lord George's pro 
posal, that the four should sup together in a corner 
of their own in the dining-room ; and Dick there 
contrived to retain his post as cavalier to Miss 
Englefield, with whom he became more entranced at 
every commonplace utterance from her dainty lips, 
every meaningless glance from her soft eyes, every 
change of expression of her girlish face, every in 
significant sigh, every occasionless laugh. 

Her manner was generally that of a woman under 
some kind of anxiety or suspense, from which she 
found relief in a half timid, half reckless abandon 
ment to gaiety ; she was like a schoolgirl on some 
feminine lark, entirely novel to her, to which some 
severity had driven her for relief, yet of which she 
was constantly in terror. 

In the parlor, after supper, Wetheral's supposed 
travels being mentioned, he led up to the highly 
original remark, spoken with a most meaning look, 
"But of all women, I'll swear the finest I have seen 
are in England, nay, I must say, is in England ! " 
The charming blush with which she received this 
extremely subtle compliment encouraged Dick to 
further efforts in the same strain, for the conversa- 



THE DE VIL TO PAY AT THE PELICAN INN. 29 1 

tion of the two had now fallen to a tone inaudible to 
Lord George and Miss Thorpe. These, on their 
side, sat at some distance, deep in a masked contest 
arising from the haughty Celestine's declared invul 
nerability to any man's attack, and from Lord 
George's complacent conviction that he could make 
a swift conquest of any woman without even seriously 
exerting himself. 

This game, between the irresistible and the im 
movable, enabled Wetheral and Miss Englefield to 
proceed unwatched through a flirtation's first stages, 
so delicious to the participants, so insipid to third 
persons. Silly as their talk was, it derived unutter 
able charm from the low tones in which it was 
spoken, the ardent looks and suppressed agitation of 
Dick, the furtive glances and demure blushes of 
Miss Englefield. At last the silence of the inn, and 
the shortened state of the candles, broke up the 
reluctant quartette, and the ladies said good night, 
leaving Dick on the outer threshold of his paradise, 
and Lord George at the first manoeuvre in his 
campaign against the composure of Celestine. 

" By the lord," cried Wetheral in ecstasy, when he 
and Lord George were alone together, "did you ever 
see a more heavenly creature ? She's divine, she's 
perfect, and her name is Amabel, as lovely as her 
self ! She told me it, and she told me, too, almost in 
as many words, that her affections were not engaged 



THE KOA1) TO PARIS. 

previously. Amabel ! Could any name fit any 
woman better ? " 

"Come, come," said Lord George, "it's bedtime. 
I must sleep well to-night, and look my best to 
morrow, for I've a conquest to make." 

"'Fore gad, I sha'n't sleep at all!" cried Dick. 
" I've been made a conquest of ! " 

But he followed his friend up-stairs, where he found 
the latter slightly meditative and absent, a circum 
stance that would have held his attention had not his 
mind been full of other thoughts. Dick looked out 
of the window, at the inn garden. It was a perfect 
night, with a glorious moonlight. Dick could never 
go to bed in his present mood. He longed to walk, 
to revel in the moonlight, which was all his own, now 
that the rest of the world was asleep. If he could 
but pace beneath her window ! That window also, 
being in line with his own, looked out on the garden. 
Between the two windows was that of the corridor, 
and beneath this there was a rear door leading to the 
garden, which door was flanked by a vine-clad trellis. 

"I'm going for a stroll in the garden," said Dick, 
suddenly, to Lord George, who was already in bed. 
" I sha'n't want a candle to go to bed by." 

He thereupon stepped from his window to the trellis, 
and descended thereby to the ground, heedless of the 
impeding vines. Amabel's window was already dark, 
as his own became a moment later. The garden 



THE DEVIL TO PAY AT THE PELICAN INN. 293 

sloped gently, between a wall and a hedge, to the 
Kennet, which reflected the moon between shadows 
of over-arching boughs. With its small trees, its 
bushes and flowers, its solitary bench, and its clear 
spaces of short grass, all made beautiful and myste 
rious by the moonlight, its spring odors, and the 
murmur of the stream, the place seemed to Dick like 
some Italian garden, and he imagined himself Romeo 
gazing up at Juliet's balcony. 

In the midst of this fancy, he was rudely brought 
back to England by the sound of wheels and horse, 
and of voices speaking guardedly in very un-Italian 
accents, in the inn coach-yard beyond the wall that 
bounded one side of the garden. The sounds came 
to a stop, and the gate of the wall opened cautiously, 
whereupon Dick stepped into the shadow of the trel 
lis flanking the rear doorway. Through the gate 
way he could see a rickety coach, of which the door 
was open and from about which there now stepped 
stealthily into the garden four ill-clad, desperate-look 
ing fellows, one wearing a cloak about his lank body 
and stifling a cough as he walked, another carrying 
a large handkerchief in his hand, two others awk 
wardly bearing a ladder. 

" 'Tis all clear," said the cloaked individual. 
"Quick work, captain, now! That's the room." 
And he pointed to the window of Amabel. 

Dick gave a violent start. What could be the 



294 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

purpose, concerning her chamber, of these birds of 
ill omen, who, doubtless through the collusion of some 
inn servant, had driven so secretly into the coach-yard 
at this hour ? He decided to wait, that he might, 
before interfering, discover their plans. 

The two ladder-bearers, at a whisper from the man 
with the handkerchief, placed the ladder to the win 
dow. The captain a title which Dick guessed in 
this case to indicate a highwayman rather than a 
gentleman of war or sea mounted with agility, 
and disappeared through the window, followed by 
one of the men. The cloaked fellow stood holding 
the ladder, and the other went to the gate to keep 
watch. 

Dick, thinking it high time to take a hand, looked 
about for a weapon, and, seeing nothing else, finally 
pulled a stout cross-piece from the trellis. By this 
time the expeditious captain had reappeared at the 
top of the ladder, bearing the swooning form of 
Amabel, whose possible screams he had provided 
against with the handkerchief. His assistant fol 
lowed him down the ladder, to give aid should the 
nimble captain's burden prove too heavy. 

Dick ran forward with a threatening shout, and 
brought his extemporized cudgel down on the skull 
of the man in the cloak ; at the same time there rose, 
in the chamber above, loud cries of " Help ! " from 
Celestine, who had just awakened to what was going 




" BEARING THE SWOONING FORM OF AMABEL.' 



THE DEVIL TO PAY AT THE PELICAN INN. 

on, The sudden rush and noise took the enemy by 
surprise. The man attacked by Dick made for the 
gate, leaving his cloak in the hands of his assailant, 
who had mechanically clutched it. The captain's 
principal assistant leaped from the ladder, and fol 
lowed with all speed to the gate, while the man on 
watch scrambled to the seat on the coach and 
whipped the horses to a gallop. The captain, see 
ing himself deserted, dropped Amabel as soon as he 
reached the bottom of the ladder, drew a pistol, and 
made ready for a fight over her body. But Dick 
clubbed the pistol from his hand, whereupon the 
captain, with merely an ejaculation of annoyance, 
turned and fled after his retreating forces. 

Dick picked up the fainting Amabel, and carried 
her to the garden bench, whereon he placed her in 
a sitting attitude, and put the captured cloak about 
her, lest in her fragile night-dress she might be 
chilled. Meanwhile Celestine's cries had not abated, 
and suddenly Dick, while trying to fan Miss Engle- 
field back to recovery with his hat, beheld Lord 
George emerge from the gentlemen's window, in 
night-gown and coat, drop to the ground, rush up 
the ladder, and plunge into the chamber whence the 
shouts for aid continued to issue. Lord George, in 
his haste to the rescue, had not noticed Dick and 
Amabel in the garden. 

At last the tender creature on the bench gently 



296 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

stirred, feebly opened her eyes, and faintly asked 
where she was. Dick immediately enlightened her. 
She appeared astonished at what had befallen, and 
murmured, reflectively, " I shouldn't have thought he 
would take that way of doing it," then checked her 
self as if she had said too much. Dick supposed she 
alluded to the rich suitor, and that the attempted 
abduction was the work of that person. He could 
not enough thank heaven for having enabled him to 
be her preserver, and he sat by her side, on the 
bench, while she remained wrapped in the cloak, 
apparently too prostrated by the recent occurrence to 
return immediately to her chamber. 

And now was the time for a romantic love scene, 
suitable to the youth and beauty of the two partici 
pants, to the charm of the surroundings, to the May 
night, the moonlight, the odor of flowers, the ripple 
of the stream, and the preceding circumstances of 
the interview ; and doubtless the conversation was 
poetic enough to the two who engaged in it, thanks 
to all these matters and to the glances, low tones of 
agitation, suppressed fervor, tremblings, etc. ; but the 
talk in itself was no more original or impassioned 
than this : 

" I'm glad you aren't hurt," said she. 

" It would be a happiness to carry forever a wound 
received in such a cause, 'pon honor, it would ! " 
said he. 



THE DEVIL TO PAY AT THE PELICAN INN. 297 

" Will they come back, do you think ? I sha'n't be 
able to sleep, the rest of the night, for fear of 
them ! " 

" You have nothing to fear. I shall keep guard 
under your window all night." 

" Oh, no, sir ! You will take cold." 

" I cannot. I shall be on fire. My heart will 
glow with your image, which has occupied it ever 
since I saw you before the inn at Marlboro yester 
day." 

" Why, did you notice me then ? I saw you look 
ing out of the window, and I said to Celestine, 
' What a frank and generous face ! If my if some 
person were but like that ! ' ' 

" You said that, really, and meant it, and mean 
it still ? " 

" Why, to be sure, how could I mean it less, after 
all that has happened to-night?" 

He now plunged deep into ardent love-making, at 
which she seemed to be both frightened and, in spite 
of herself, pleased. Not making any direct response, 
she began to sound him as to his character and 
opinions, his views on matters pertaining to love 
and propriety and honorable conduct, and finally as 
to whether he would deem a love between a married 
and a single person, under any possible circum 
stances, justifiable. He declared that, for his part, 
he would never make love to a married woman, 



298 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

that he would rob no man, nor injure any in a 
matter so sacred, excepting possibly one man, to 
whom he owed the keenest of revenges, Mr. Bullcott, 
of Bullcott Hall, Somersetshire. At this declara 
tion, an unaccountable strange look astonishment 
mingled with secret elation overspread her face. 
" Why do you look so ? " inquired Dick. 

Before she could answer, there came from the 
ladies' chamber, whence the cries had for some time 
ceased to issue, the sound of several slaps and cuffs 
in close succession. An instant later the figure of 
Lord George, in coat and night-gown, came swiftly 
through the window and dropped to the ground. 

"Damn all affected prudery! " muttered his lord 
ship, holding his hand to his cheek, and then clam 
bered up the trellis to his own window. 

At the same time, Celestine appeared at the other 
window, and the landlord, having first gone to her 
door and been informed by her that the garden was 
full of house-breakers and kidnappers, came from the 
inn door, followed by two servants, while a detach 
ment of the town watch, summoned by another ser 
vant, entered by the wall gate from the coach-yard. 

Thus interrupted, Dick had to make explanations, 
and to hasten Amabel's" return to her chamber by 
way of the inn door. He then returned to the 
garden to carry out his purpose of guarding her win 
dow the rest of the night, and there found one of 



THE DE VIL TO PAY AT THE PELICAN INN. 299 

the watchmen charged with the same duty, two 
others having captured the ladder and very carefully 
carried it off to preserve as evidence. 

Despite what blissful thoughts Dick had to enter 
tain himself with, he now found it harder to remain 
awake than it had been when he was on sentry duty 
in freezing Canada. Relying at last on the watchman 
who sat in the inn doorway, Dick at last succumbed 
to sleep, on the bench, where he did not awake till 
dawn. The watchman also slumbered through the 
night, and, had the abductors so elected, they might, 
with due skill and caution, have carried off not only 
the lovely Amabel, but Dick and the watchman as 
well. 

The watchman was the first to awake ; hence Dick, 
assuming that all was well, returned to his chamber, 
refreshed himself with a bath, and put his clothes in 
order. By the time this was accomplished, Wilkins 
having come to attend the gentlemen, Lord George 
was up, and in his usual good humor as to everything 
but Celestine. Her resistance to his attractions he 
pronounced an odious affectation, which he should 
certainly take out of the woman, if only for her own 
sake, for he admitted she had some good points. 

Lord George and Dick had scarcely finished dress 
ing, when there came a violent knock on the door of 
their parlor, heralding the boisterous entrance of a 
stout, ruddy-faced young gentleman with a decided 



3OO THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

fox-hunting look, who thrust out his hand to Lord 
George, and blurted out : 

" Why, damme, my lord, don't you know me ? By 
gad, you ought to, for many's the finish we've been 
in at together, us two ! " 

" Why, certainly, Sir Hilary ! Welcome ! Sir 
Hilary Englefield, Mr. Wetheral." 

Dick bowed, and surveyed critically the brother of 
Miss Englefield. 

" There's the devil to pay somewhere, or else I'm 
on a wild goose chase," went on Sir Hilary, beating 
his riding-boot with his whip. " A rascal ensign, as 
he calls himself, wakes up my house in the middle of 
the night, and gives me a letter that he says, being 
on the way to London, he agreed to carry from a 
ragged wench he met at the Pelican here. The 
letter turns out to be from a girl that once served in 
our house but fell into bad ways and ran off with 
a damned drunken lawyer. It tells of a plot of some 
scoundrel, whom she doesn't name, to have my sister 
carried off from this inn last night by the gang of 
rogues the wench is travelling with. Well, I up and 
ride from t'other side of Reading to Newbury, 
twenty miles, like the very devil, and when I get 
here, the inn people say my sister left the inn yester 
day. They tell me another lady was nearly kid 
napped from the room Sis had occupied, but you and 
another gentleman prevented. So I said, ' I'll run 



THE DEVIL TO PAY AT THE PELICAN INN. 30 1 

up and pay my respects to his lordship,' and, now 
I've done that, I must be off and look in the other 
inns for Sister. I didn't know she was coming back 
from Bath so soon." 

"But," said Lord George, detaining Sir Hilary, 
" your sister is here. It was she that Wetheral pro 
tected. There must have been some mistake be 
tween you and the inn people. What I say is true, 
. I assure you. Learning Miss Englefield was here, I 
made myself known to her, and she and her friend 
passed the evening with Wetheral and me." 

"Oh, then, the fool of a landlord was fuddled, I 
dare say. Egad, since Sis is here, we'll all crack a 
bottle together. We'll have breakfast together. 
My belly aches with emptiness." 

" Excellent ! " said Lord George. They were now 
in that one of their two rooms which served as 
parlor ; it adjoined the bedchamber, which was the 
room whose window overlooked the garden. Besides 
the door between the two, each room had a door 
opening to the corridor. "We can have the table 
set here in this room, now that you are with us," 
continued Lord George, "and be as merry as we 
please." 

"So we shall," cried Sir Hilary; "and, mean 
while, I'll have my horse put away. I always see 
with my own eyes how my beasts are cared for." 
The baronet then, evidently satisfied at hearing from 



3O2 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

others of his sister's safety, ran down-stairs ; while 
Lord George, having sent Wilkins to order the 
breakfast, went out to walk for an appetite, Dick 
remaining to add some finishing touches to his 
toilet. 

Presently hearing light footfalls and the swish of 
skirts in the corridor, and recalling that the ladies 
had not yet been notified of Sir Hilary's arrival and 
of the plan for the breakfast party, Dick hastened 
out from his bedchamber, greeted them both, and 
said, "I have pleasant news for you, Miss Englefield ; 
your brother, Sir Hilary, has arrived, and ah, that 
is he at the foot of the stairs ! He will be up in a 
moment." 

This announcement had the most astonishing 
effect on Amabel. She cast a panic-stricken look 
around, and then sought refuge through the first 
open doorway, which she closed after her, and could 
be heard turning the key inside. The door hap 
pened to be that of Wetheral and Lord George's 
bedchamber. 

Sir Hilary, who had not seen this flight, now 
arrived in the corridor, and looked first at Celestine, 
then inquiringly at Wetheral. Surprised at Sir 
Hilary's not recognizing his sister's friend, Dick was 
for a moment silent ; then he proceeded, in some 
embarrassment, to make the two acquainted. 

" Sir Hilary must often have heard his sister 



THE DEVIL TO PAY AT THE PELICAN INN. 303 

speak of her friend, Celestine Thorpe," said that 
lady, who also seemed not entirely at ease. 

" Thorpe ? Celestine ? " repeated Sir Hilary, mak 
ing the, to him, unusual effort of searching his 
memory. " No, I can't say unless you were the 
girl that went to school with Sis, that she got me to 
write letters to. I forget that girl's name." 

" Why, 'twas Celestine Thorpe," said the lady. 

" So 'twas, now I think on't. Well, well, how 
Sis used to plague me, to make me answer your 
letters, to be sure ! It seems the girls at your 
school had read some novel or such book, Palemia, 
or Pamelia, or some name or other, that got you 
to pestering all your own relations and one another's 
with letters. I never used to read yours through, 
but Sister would make me answer 'em, ne'ertheless." 

At this point Lord George returned, and, on his 
invitation, the four went into the parlor of the two 
gentlemen, Dick hastily closing the door between 
parlor and bedchamber, and Miss Thorpe telling the 
others, with a look half pleading and half threatening 
at Dick, that Miss Englefield would join them soon. 
Servants now came and laid a table for breakfast, 
under Wilkins's direction. Wine being brought, Sir 
Hilary fell upon it immediately, pleading his long 
ride in excuse. Meanwhile Dick, mystified at the 
conduct of Amabel, supposed she would now use 
the opportunity to go from the bedchamber .to the 



304 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

corridor ; and wondered how long she would defer 
meeting her brother. 

Those in the parlor, while the table was being 
made ready, were grouped about the window, which 
looked out from the side of the inn ; Miss Thorpe 
seated, Lord George at her one elbow, Sir Hilary at 
the other. The fox-hunter, repeating frequently his 
glass of wine, from a bottle on a near-by side-table, 
became rapidly more gay and familiar, especially 
towards Celestine, whose former characteristics he 
now proceeded to recall. At this, Lord George 
began to show irritation, while the lady's own com 
posure was far from increased. 

" Lord," said the baronet, looking mirthful at the 
recollection, "what soft stuff it was, in the letters 
you used to plague me with ! I said to Sis one day, 
' I've heard as how girls at boarding-schools pine for 
gentlemen's society and go crazy to be made love 
to,' I said, ' but I never fancied one of 'em to have 
such a coming-on disposition as Celestine has.' Lord, 
Lord, 'twas a tender soul ! " 

This was going beyond the endurance alike of 
Celestine, whose present character was so different 
from that ascribed to the baronet's former corre 
spondent, and of Lord George, who felt doubly 
chafed to think that tenderness denied him had been 
heaped upon another. Miss Thorpe turned crimson 
under his look. Having to vent his anger on some 



THE DEVIL TO PAY AT THE PELICAN INN. 305 

one, his lordship naturally chose the reminiscent 
fox-hunter. 

" Is it a Berkshire custom, sir," queried Lord 
George, heatedly, "to treat the confidence of ladies 
in this manner ? " 

Sir Hilary, after a moment of bewilderment, dis 
avowed the least intention to offend, but his own 
tone showed a decided resentment of Lord George's. 
This fact did not make his lordship's reply any 
sweeter, and the upshot of their brief but swift verbal 
passage was that Sir Hilary departed in high dudgeon, 
saying he would find his sister and start for home at 
once. Dick slipped quietly into the bedchamber, 
and, to his surprise, found Amabel still there. 

" Why didn't you go out that way," he whis 
pered, pointing to the corridor door, " while we were 
in the 'parlor ?" 

" I was afraid of being seen," she answered ; " the 
servants have been passing to and fro outside the 
door ; so I locked it," and she handed him the key, 
which he took thoughtlessly, his own confusion being 
like that which had made her take the key from the 
door after locking it. 

" Would it not be best to go out now, while the 
way is clear," said he, "and meet your brother, who 
has gone down-stairs to inquire for you ? " 

" No, no ! " she exclaimed ; " I cannot I dare 
not ! Oh, sir, that gentleman is not my brother ! " 



306 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

This, then, explained her former flight from Sir 
Hilary's sight ; explained also why Sir Hilary's de 
scription of the letter-writer was so at variance with 
the character of Miss Thorpe, who had been forced 
into the role of his sister's friend by a desire to sup 
port Amabel. Little wonder that Celestine was en 
raged, or that now, left alone in the parlor with Lord 
George, she sought refuge from his sarcastic silence 
in an unceremonious retreat to her own chamber ! 
Lord George, with no appetite for the breakfast, 
which Wilkins at this moment announced to be 
ready, took up his hat, and flung out for another 
walk. As he passed the tap-room door, he heard 
Sir Hilary vociferously declaiming to the landlord 
within. 

It thus fell out that Dick, looking cautiously in 
from the other chamber, saw the parlor deserted, 
Wilkins having rushed after his master. Dick in 
stantly beckoned Amabel into the parlor, where it 
was not likely Sir Hilary would return. He offered 
her a chair ; but she preferred to stand, resting one 
hand on the table, while she explained : 

" When we arrived at the inn, we were shown to 
the room another lady had vacated a few minutes 
earlier. As Celestine took pains to learn this morn 
ing, on account of things that have happened since we 
came here, that lady was Miss Englefield. When we 
received Lord George's message, and found he thought 



THE DEVIL TO PAY AT THE PELICAN INN. 307 

one of us was Miss Englefield, and that he had never 
seen her, I thought it would be amusing to keep up 
the mistake. Miss Thorpe opposed it, but I longed 
so to imagine for a time I was somebody else, I 
wouldn't listen to her. Of course, after the deception 
was begun, she wouldn't betray me. Well, I couldn't 
endure to be exposed by others, so I ran from Miss 
Englefi eld's brother. You will think me terribly 
wicked, won't you, sir ? " 

" Why, 'twas a most innocent, harmless jest," pro 
tested Mr. Wetheral, gallantly. " If there were any 
blame, it would belong to Lord George and me, for 
our impertinence in having Wilkins inquire who the 
beautiful lady was. His informant, it seems, didn't 
know Miss Englefield had left and another taken her 
place. We have now but to send for Miss Thorpe 
- if she is Miss Thorpe 

" Oh, yes, there was no deception as to Celestine's 
name." 

" And as to your own first name ? " Dick was 
slightly apprehensive. 

"That was given truly. It is Amabel." Dick 
was rejoiced. 

" Amabel ! " he repeated. "Then that is the only 
name by which at this moment I know you. 'Tis 
the loveliest name, and the most fitting one, I swear ! 
If you would but make it needless, as far as con 
cerns my calling you by name, that I should ever 



308 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

know any other ! If you would but give me the 
right to call you by that name alone ! " 

" Give you the right ? " said she in a low voice, 
and with downcast eyes. " As how ? " 

"As by your mere permission." 

" After what you know ? " Her voice was barely 
audible, her manner agitated. 

" What do you mean ? " asked Dick. 

"That I am not the person I pretended to be." 

" What difference does that make ? Are you any 
less charming? 'Fore George, what's in a name, 
unless it be Amabel ? " 

" Tis not a mere matter of names. You remember 
what you said last night 

" Yes whatever it was, it all meant that you 
were adorable, and I mean that now a thousand 
times over!" He took her hand, which she did 
not withdraw from him. 

" But you said something," she went on, in a voice 
yet lower and more unsteady, " of married persons 
and single, of not injuring a man in a matter so 
sacred, you remember ? " 

"Why, yes, I " 

" But you said there might be one exception " 

" Yes, I remember. Squire Bullcott, a Somerset 
gentleman. I owe him a very bitter revenge." 

" Well, then, if revenge and love both 
pointed to the same thing, what then ? " 



THE DEVrL TO PAY AT THE PELICAN INN. 309 

He looked at her a moment ; while she stood 
crimson, motionless, scarcely breathing, her eyes 
averted. Then he let go her hand. 

"My God, madam, does it mean that you are 
Mr. Bullcott's wife ? " 

" Yes," and now she spoke with rapidity and more 
force, " and that I have endured such treatment from 
him as I could bear no longer. Insolence, blows, 
neglect, imprisonment even, for he is as jealous as he 
is faithless, and has tried to hide me from all society, 
having me guarded by brutal servants of his own 
choosing, making me a captive in my own apart 
ments, and keeping me under lock and key while he 
pursued his amours elsewhere. What could I do ? 
I was an only child, without near relations : my 
parents died soon after arranging my marriage, 
which was against my own wishes. At last I 
learned, through some careless talk of my husband's, 
that Celestine was at Bath. She was my only friend. 
I contrived to get a letter to her, and she planned 
my escape. She waited at night in a private coach, 
near Bullcott Hall, while I got out of the house in the 
clothes of a chambermaid who was asleep. I ran to 
a place she had appointed, and there I found her 
footman on the park wall, with a ladder ; he 
helped me across, and to her coach. We took a 
roundabout way to the London road, so as to avoid 
Bath ; and when you met us we were on our way to 



3IO THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

Celestine's house in Oxfordshire, intending I should 
keep concealed there, for I am determined to die 
rather than go back to my husband ! " 

She now stood silent, as if she had placed the 
situation and herself in Wetheral's hands, to dis 
pose of as he might choose. Manifestly she had 
met very few men, seen nothing of the world ; 
she was still a child, ready to entrust her whole 
destiny to the first flatterer whose tender speeches 
had won her heart. 

Dick was not slow in making up his mind. 

"You spoke of love and revenge, madam," said 
he, gently. " They are strong passions, and I have 
been strongly urged by them the last few moments. 
But we will resist them, not for his sake, but for 
yours and mine. Before you start for Oxford 
shire, I shall have started for London. I wish you 
a pleasant and safe journey, and a long and happy 
life. Good-by ! " 

Before she could answer, there came from the cor 
ridor the noise of heavy feet rushing up the stairs, 
and the words loudly bellowed : 

" I'll find the room, never fear, that will I ! " 

" My husband ! " whispered Amabel, the picture 
of sudden fright. " If he finds me here, he will 
kill me!" 

" He'll not do that, I promise you ! " said Dick. 
" But, ne'ertheless, he mustn't see you ! " 



THE DE VIL TO PAY AT THE PELICAN INN. 3 I I 

For it was indeed this very parlor that the 
footfalls were approaching. Dick led the terrified 
wife back into the bedchamber, and returned in 
stantly to the parlor, in time to see Squire Bullcott 
burst in from the corridor. Dick had not yet closed 
the bedchamber door, and he now left it slightly 
ajar, remembering his experience in the St. Valier 
house in Quebec, and thinking by this negligence to 
disarm suspicion. The Squire was followed by the 
two faithful henchmen who had used Dick violently 
twice in the past. 

At sight of Wetheral, the Squire stood aghast. 
Dick was near the bedchamber door. On the floor 
beside him was an open portmanteau, very long, in 
which lay, among clothes, a dress sword of Lord 
George's. Dick stooped and took up this pretty 
weapon, as if merely to examine its jewelled hilt. 

"What, you cur!" cried Bullcott, as soon as he 
had got breath. " So 'tis you she ran away with ! 
So you thought to revenge yourself on me by 
seducing my wife ! " 

" Mr. Bullcott is too hasty to vilify that angelic but 
mistreated lady," said Dick, quietly, but with scorn 
as fine as the edge of the sword he was feeling. 

" Hear the mongrel ! He'd come over me with 
talk like a fine gentleman's in a play ! The base- 
born impostor ! He's got the woman hid some 
where about ! " 



312 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

"You can see for yourself that you lie!" said 
Dick, with a swift look around the parlor. 

" She's in that other room," cried Bullcott, truly. 
" She ain't in her own chamber, and she is with 
you. I paid a chambermaid a guinea to tell me 
so, and what you pay a guinea for can't be false. 
Look ye, Curry ! " The Squire whispered a few 
words to one of his followers, and that one at 
once left the room. " Now, Pike, go ahead and 
knock that rascal down, and then I'll go in and 
catch her. I'll show zounds and blood ! Sir 
Hilary Englefield ! " 

It was indeed the voice of the fox-hunting baro 
net, and as it approached the parlor door, making 
a great hullabaloo, it seemed to throw the formid 
able Bullcott into a panic. 

" Did the knaves that bungled last night's busi 
ness sell me out to him, I wonder ? " queried Squire 
Bullcott of his remaining adherent. Dick had a 
sudden illumination. 'Twas Squire Bullcott that had 
persecuted Miss Englefield at Bath, planned her 
abduction while his own wife was availing herself 
of his absence to run away from him, and nearly 
succeeded in kidnapping his own wife by mistake ! 
His present terror of Sir Hilary, then, arose from 
the possibility that Sir Hilary had learned of the 
Squire's design against that baronet's sister. 

But that terror proved ill-grounded. When Sir 



THE DE VIL TO PAY AT THE PELICAN INN. 3 I 3 

Hilary bounced into the parlor, he greeted the now 
quaking Bullcott with a single friendly word and bow, 
showing he knew not yet who had instigated the kid 
napping ; and then turned his wrath on Wetheral. 
The landlord, who had tried to prevent his entrance, 
had followed him in, and now made futile efforts to 
avoid a scandalous scene. 

"What the devil do you mean," cried Sir Hilary 
to Dick, " by sending me off on a wild goose chase 
after my sister, when you have her in that room ? 
Don't deny it, you scoundrel ! Put down that sword, 
I say ! What, you'd try to run me through, would 
you ? You'd save my sister from being carried off 
by some damned hound " (Squire Bullcott, now ut 
terly astounded, winced at this) "and then reward 
yourself by trying to ruin the girl yourself ? " 

"So it is your sister in that room?" said Dick, 
standing with his back to the bedchamber door, and 
holding his sword in a way that accounted for the 
wordy hesitation of his would-be assailants. " The 
Squire insists it is his wife. Sure, it can't be 
both ! " 

" Damn the Squire ! " cried Sir Hilary. " 'Tis my 
sister. She's nowhere else, and I paid a chamber 
maid half a guinea, who told me she was here ! " 

" Don't be so fast about damning the Squire ! " put 
in that worthy, taking heart and bristling up. " I 
paid a whole guinea to find out my wife was there. 



3H THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

So it must be she ! Besides, didn't the coachman 
that drove her send word back to me, from this inn, 
that she was running away ? Didn't the messenger 
meet me at Hungerford, where I was ah on busi 
ness ? I tell you what, Sir Hilary, you and my man 
take that fellow's sword away, and I'll go in and see 
my wife ! " 

" Devil take your wife ! " said Sir Hilary. " Tis 
my sister. I see her gown at this moment through 
the door-crack. I know that gown. There, she's 
moved backed out of sight. Sis, come out ! " 

"Ton my word, gentlemen," said Dick, pretending 
to make light of the accusations of both, " 'tis a very 
curious honor you are contesting for ! And one of 
you sees a lady's gown where none exists ! I don't 
know what to make of you ! " 

But Bullcott seemed struck by Sir Hilary's asserted 
recognition of the dress. " Oh, well," said he, " may 
be I'm wrong. Sir Hilary doubtless knows what inn 
his sister lodged at last night. Egad, if it turns out 
to be her, mayhap some folk won't be so prudish 
after this ! " The Squire grinned to think the lady 
who had repulsed him, and whom he had failed to 
carry off, might be compromised after all. 

" What's that ? What d'ye say ? " cried Sir Hilary. 
" So my sister has been prudish to you, you old goat ! 
Well she might ! I know your ways ; everybody 
does ! Well, if it comes to that, I don't say it is my 



THE DE VI L TO PAY AT THE PELICAN INN. 3 1 5 

sister in that room ! I don't say the landlord wasn't 
right, and that my sister didn't leave this inn yester 
day. But I do say this, and to you, sir." Sir Hilary 
spoke now to Dick. " You see how my sister's good 
name is at stake. If the lady in that room isn't she, 
then my sister is an honest girl, and doesn't deserve the 
least doubt against her reputation. Whoever the lady 
is, 'tis evident as much can't be said for her. There 
fore, to exonerate an innocent lady, 'tis your duty the 
guilty one shall be made to show herself, before all 
in this room. That's only fair, sir ! Better than two 
ladies suffer reproach, let the one that merits it appear 
and clear the other ! Then we shall know whether 
'tis my right or Bullcott's to fight you. For there is 
one lady in that room, I'll swear ! " Sir Hilary had 
become quite sober and dignified. 

That Sir Hilary's sister should suffer for a moment 
in her reputation was, of course, a thought intolerable 
to Dick. Yet he must save Amabel at any cost. 
The actual truth, if he told it, would be taken as a 
lame excuse for her presence in the bedchamber. 
By the pig-headed Squire, the mere fact that his wife 
had fled to Dick's room to avoid exposure would be 
regarded as evidence of criminality. Yet how could 
such a plea as Sir Hilary's be refused ? 

"Come, sir! " said the baronet. 

At that moment a new face appeared in the door 
way, that of a young lady of graceful figure, piquant 



3l6 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

visage, and very fine gray eyes, These eyes rested 
on Sir Hilary alone, thus missing Squire Bullcott, 
who, at first sight of the lady, flopped down on all 
fours behind the breakfast -table, a movement un 
noticed while the general attention was on the 
newcomer. 

" Why, Brother, so you are really here ? Wilson 
saw you ride past the inn at Thatcham this morning, 
and we supposed you were coming to the Pelican to 
meet me ; so I drove back after you." 

" Give me a buss, Sis ! " cried Sir Hilary, who had 
already grasped both her hands and shown every 
sign of joy. " 'Fore gad, you came in good time ! 
So 'tisn't you in the next room ! A thousand par 
dons, Mr. Wetheral ! But what were you doing at 
Thatcham, Sis ? " 

" Why," replied Miss Englefield, " 'tis a long story. 
At this inn, yesterday afternoon, a maid brought me 
a letter scrawled by Jenny Mullen, who used to serve 
at the Hall. It seems she is now attached to a gang 
of rogues that were hired to make trouble for me at 
this inn last night. So she warned me in secret to 
leave quietly. She begged me to say nothing to the 
landlord or the watch, lest her companions might be 
caught. So I went on and lay at Thatcham, and 
that is how Wilson happened to see you galloping 
hither this morning. Poor Jenny promised to keep 
the rascals drinking in the tap-room, so they should 



THE DEVIL TO PAY AT THE PELICAN INN. 317 

not learn of my departure, and she must have kept 
her promise." 

"Thank the Lord, she must have!" said Sir 
Hilary. " But how the devil did they know you 
were going to lodge here last night?" 

" Why, my girl, Sukey, confessed this morning 
that in Bath she made the acquaintance of a so- 
called captain, to whom she told the plan we had 
arranged for our journey. It seems from Jenny's 
letter that the rogues were to carry me off to a 
country-seat near Whitchurch in Hampshire ; their 
employer odious beast was to lie last night at 
Hungerford, and follow to-day to Whitchurch." 

" Zounds ! You shall tell me all about it, Sis, on 
the way home, and we'll see what's to be done. 
Come away from this inn ! It seems there's been 
the devil to pay here, in more matters than one. 
Good day, sir ! " Sir Hilary thereupon led his sister 
quickly out, with barely a thought of the apparent 
absence of Squire Bullcott, who indeed might have 
slipped off while the baronet was engrossed with his 
sister. 

The Squire now rose into view, very red and very 
much perturbed. He glanced first at his man and 
the landlord, who both had been keeping in the 
background during Miss Englefield's presence, then 
at Dick, who still guarded the bedchamber door. 

" Then, since it ain't his sister, by God, it must be 



3l8 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

my wife ! " whined Bullcott, who, like many another 
person capable of doing any wrong, was quick to 
whimper on supposing himself injured. " I'll expose 
her, I'll kill her, that will I ! Landlord, send for 
constables ! Oh, the faithless woman, and the vile 
seducer ! To think a gentleman can't go off to 
attend to a little business, but his wife must take 
a dirty, low advantage of his absence, to run off with 
a base-born rascal ! Send for constables, landlord, 
to force a way into that room ! " 

"The landlord well knows," put in Dick, thinking 
of another ruse of Catherine de St. Valier's in 
Quebec, " that there is no lady in this room. Why, 
if a lady had been there, don't you suppose she'd 
have gone out long ago by the other door " (Dick re 
membered here that the other door was locked and 
the key in his own hand), " or by the window, from 
which even a woman could easily descend by the 
trellis to the garden ? " 

But the Squire continued to cry for constables, and 
Dick continued to detain the landlord by one remark 
and another. Keeping his ear on the alert, he pres 
ently heard the window in the bedchamber softly 
open, and he inferred that Amabel had taken his 
loud-spoken hint as he himself had once vainly 
accepted that of Catherine de St. Valier. By keep 
ing his sword-point constantly in evidence, he de 
terred the Squire and the latter's man from a rush. 



THE DEVIL TO PAY AT THE PELICAN INN. 319 

The landlord, considering this guest was the friend 
of a lord, would take no step whatever, and Bullcott 
chose to keep his own man with him for protection, 
so there was none to summon the minions of the 
law. 

At last Dick, fearing that Miss Thorpe might 
at any moment enter, and her presence certify to 
that of Amabel, said he had played with the Squire 
long enough, and would now let the latter scan the 
bedchamber from the threshold. Dick, confident 
that Amabel would have acted promptly at so impor 
tant a crisis, supposed she had some time ago reached 
the garden, whence she might have gone to her own 
chamber. He therefore flung wide the door, and 
disclosed Amabel in the centre of the chamber, 
and the squire's man, Curry, perched on the win 
dow-ledge, to which he had climbed by the trellis 
from the garden, whither Bullcott had sent him to 
watch the chamber window. 

The Squire, almost black with rage, started towards 
the bedroom. Dick interposed in time to stay the 
burly figure's rush. The Squire stepped back and 
gathered strength for another effort, growling inar 
ticulately. 

" Well, sir," said Dick, with assumed resignation, 
" I see the jig is up. The lady has refused to save 
me by flight. She remains, I see, as evidence against 
me. So, it seems, your wife was running away from 



320 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

you, Squire Bullcott ? Well, I can't blame her, 
though I didn't know that when I took her into 
my room by force." 

" By force ? " gasped the Squire. 

" How can I deny it, when the lady herself is here 
to accuse me ? " said Dick. " You'll admit the 
temptation was strong, my door open, the lady 
passing in the corridor, no one in sight, a devil of 
a noise in the tap-room to drown her screams, not 
to mention that I threatened to kill her if she cried 
out." 

" But why the deuce didn't she cry out when she 
heard me in this room?" queried Bullcott, partly 
addressing the silent Amabel. 

" For the rather poor reason," answered Dick, 
"that in such a case, as I promised her when I 
heard you coming, I should have killed, not her, 
but you ! And now, Squire, you see your wife's 
reputation remains untarnished ; she is safe out of 
my hands, and if she can but make good her escape 
from yours, she ought to be happy." 

" Escape from me ? That won't she ! She'd run 
away, would she ? Well, now she'll run back, and 
stay back! D'ye hear, woman? Oh, some one 
shall pay for all this, that shall she! I'll show " 

But the Squire showed only a sudden pallor and 
shakiness, for again was heard in the corridor the 
wrathful voice of Sir Hilary Englefield, this time 



THE DE VI L TO PAY AT THE PELICAN INN. 321 

coupled with the excited tones of his sister, who was 
screaming out dissuasions. 

" So 'twas you, Bullcott, hired the rogues to carry 
off my sister ! " roared the baronet, as he entered, 
whip in one hand, in the other a pistol. " I thank 
God she told me the name before I or you was out 
of the town ! So you'd go to Whitchurch after her, 
would you ? Well, you'll go, not after her, but alone ; 
and not to Whitchurch, but to hell ; you filthy old 
chaser of women ! And you shall go with a sore 
skin, moreover ! " 

Whereat the furious fox-hunter began to belabor 
the squire with the whip, all the witnesses giving 
him plenty of room. Bullcott bellowed, whimpered, 
and cowered, leading the agile baronet a chase around 
furniture and over it, deterred from a bolt by the 
presence of Miss Englefield's stout man-servant in 
the corridor doorway. Driven at last to bay, his 
face and hands covered with welts, the Squire made 
a desperate bound and grasped the whip, wrenched 
it from the baronet's hand, and raised it to strike. 
As the blow was falling, Sir Hilary fired the pistol. 
Bullcott fell, an inert mass. 

Sir Hilary conferred hastily with Dick, then led 
away his sister, saw her and her servants started 
homeward, and took horse by the Winchester road 
for the seaport of Portsmouth. Dick silently led 
the dazed Amabel to her own chamber, whence she 



322 THE KOAD TO PARIS. 

and Miss Thorpe departed quietly on their way to 
Oxfordshire while Bullcott's servants were busy with 
preparations for the care of the Squire's body. Dick 
then immediately packed up his and Lord George's 
portmanteaus, and took post-chaise for London as 
soon as Lord George and Wilkins returned to the 
inn, a large gratuity from Dick to the landlord en 
abling these four hasty departures to be made before 
the town authorities were notified of the killing. 
The post-chaise left Speenhamland in the track of 
Miss Englefield's coach and Miss Thorpe's, but did 
not overtake either, all three parties making the 
utmost speed. Their three ways diverged at Read 
ing, where Dick and Lord George made a brief stop 
in the afternoon, to break their long fast. 

" Egad," quoth Lord George, to whom Dick had 
recounted all the morning's incidents, " 'twas a merry 
breakfast party we had at the Pelican in honor of 
Sir Hilary's arrival ! " 

Dick heaved a sigh, eloquent of more than one 
regret, and was silent. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

"UP AND DOWN IN LONDON TOWN." 

THE young gentlemen proceeded the same after 
noon to Maidenhead, and passed the night as guests 
of Pennyston Powney, Esquire, a friend of Lord 
George's, at his fine seat south of that place. The 
next day they proceeded slowly, in order to enjoy 
the beautiful prospects along the Thames ; Dick 
marking his progress Londonvvard by each mile 
stone, beginning at Maidenhead Bridge with the 
twenty-fifth. 

In Buckinghamshire the road became more and 
more alive with coaches. At Slough, Dick would 
have liked to turn southward to Windsor Castle and 
Eton College, of which edifices he had enjoyed the 
splendid view from Salt Hill ; or northward to Stoke 
Pogis churchyard, where Gray composed his Elegy 
and was buried ; but his lordship desired to arrive in 
London that evening. So Dick was content with 
what glimpses he got of the high white Castle, along 
a good part of the road. Into Middlesex rolled the 
chaise, crossing Hounslow Heath and passing there 
many sheep but no highwaymen ; on by noble parks 

323 



324 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

and residences, to Brentford, Dick feasting his eyes^ 
on what he could see of distant Richmond with its' 
hill and terrace, and of Kew with its royal gardens 
and its favorite palace of George III., then reigning. 
The numerous carriages, the stage-coaches with 
passengers inside and on top, and the other signs 
of nearness to a great city, increased as they bowled 
through Turnham Green and Hammersmith, whence 
there were houses on both sides all the way to 
Kensington. A great smoky mass ahead had now 
resolved itself distinctly into towers, domes, and 
spires, and, for watching each feature as it sepa 
rately disclosed itself, Dick well nigh missed the 
verdant charms of Kensington Gardens and Hyde 
Park, on the left. At last they were rattling along 
Piccadilly, passing Green Park on the right, and 
getting a partial view of St. James's and the other 
ordinary-looking palaces in that direction. And pres 
ently, as Lord George wished his arrival in London 
to be for a day unknown, and as his house in 
Berkeley Square was occupied by his uncle's family, 
they turned through the Haymarket to Charing 
Cross, and thence into the Strand, where they were 
finally set down at the White Hart Inn, near the 
new church of St. Mary-le-Strand and the site of 
the bygone May-pole. 

After supper, while his lordship kept indoors, 
Dick went out sightseeing ; strode blithely up the 



"UP AND DOWN IN LONDON TOWN." 

lamp-lit Strand, with its countless shops lettered all 
over with tradesmen's signs ; through Temple Bar, 
and along Fleet Street, with its taverns, coffee 
houses, courts, and tributary streets ; up Ludgate 
Hill to St. Paul's, which he walked around ; return 
ing over his route, and then making a shorter excur 
sion, to see the theatres of Drury Lane and Covent 
Garden ; all this with no adventure that need here 
be related. 

The next day, his lordship took fine lodgings in 
Bond Street, near Hanover Square, and insisted that 
Dick remain his guest until the latter should hear 
from Cumberland, Dick allowing his lordship to 
remain under the belief that the Cumberland from 
which he came was of England, and that he had 
been a great loser of valuables and money by the 
supposed defection of his servant at the time he was 
left for dead in the road. 

Dick's second evening in London was passed at 
Covent Garden Theatre, where he saw, and was daz 
zled by, "The Duenna," that brilliant comic opera 
of serenading lovers in Seville, by the clever young 
Mr. Sheridan, which, first brought out in the pre 
vious November, was still the most popular piece in 
the company's list. The next day, Sunday, going for 
that purpose to the church of St. Clement Danes, 
Dick saw the great and bulky Doctor Johnson 
himself, and was duly impressed. 



326 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

On Monday he took what he had left of his Bath 
winnings to a tailor's shop, and spent the greater part 
of them for a new black suit for full dress ; and that 
evening he went with Lord George to a ridotto, in 
the vicinity of St. James's, Lord George having 
previously got tickets. 

Not choosing to venture in a minuet, Dick imitated 
many of the impudent young beaux of the splendid 
company, walking through the gaily decorated room, 
and staring unreservedly at whatever lady's face, be 
neath its cushioned tower of powdered hair, attracted 
him. By the time the country-dances had begun, he 
had made up his mind which one of all the faces 
most rivalled the blazing candle-lights themselves. 
Its possessor was young, tall, well filled out, and of a 
dashing and frivolous countenance. Having learned 
by observation that the custom in London differed 
not from that in Bath, Dick went confidently up and 
begged to have the honor of dancing with her. 

She flashed on him a quick, all-comprehensive look 
of scrutiny, then bowed with a gracious smile, and 
gave him her hand. During the dance, Dick made 
use of every possible occasion to comment jocularly 
upon passing incidents and persons, and the lady 
invariably answered with a smile or a merry remark, 
so that Dick was soon vastly pleased with his partner 
and himself. 

After the dance, having led her to a seat, and 



"UP AND DOWN IN LONDON TOWN." $2? 

as she would have no refreshments brought, he 
stood chatting with her. Lord George came up 
and greeted both, and continued talking to them fa 
miliarly, assuming, from the fact of her having granted 
Dick a dance in a public assembly, that they already 
knew each other. In the course of the talk, Lord 
George frequently addressed Dick by his name, and 
the lady by hers, so that, before long, Mr. Wetheral 
and Miss Mallby were so addressing one another. 
It developed, through Lord George's inquiries after 
her family, that her father was Sir Charles Mallby, 
of Kent, whose town house was in Grosvenor Square. 

While the three were talking, Dick noticed an ele 
gantly dressed young gentleman standing near, who 
regarded them with a peculiarly sullen expression. 

" Why does that gentleman look at us so sourly ? " 
asked Dick, innocently, of Lord George. 

"La!" said Miss Mallby, smiling, and coloring. 
"Tis Lord Alderby." 

Lord George smiled, and proposed that Dick 
should come with him to meet somebody or other ; 
whereupon the two gentlemen, one of them very 
reluctantly, left Miss Mallby, who was then imme 
diately joined by the surly-looking Lord Alderby. 

"They've had a lovers' quarrel," explained Lord 
George to Dick, " which accounts for her comporting 
herself so amiably to us. Her gaiety with other 
gentlemen this evening has turned Alderby quite 



328 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

green with jealousy. Now that we have left the 
way open for him, he'll humiliate himself as abjectly 
as he must, for a reconciliation. Egad, what a thing 
it is to be the slave of an heiress ! " 

"Why," said Dick, his spirits suddenly damped, 
" I flattered myself her amiability to me was on 
my own account." 

" Oh," said his lordship, with an amused look that 
escaped Dick, " so that's how the wind blows ! Well, 
who knows but you are right ? She may have tired 
of Alderby's sulks. Tis a rich prize, by Jove, the 
Lord knows how many thousand a year ! We shall 
certainly call at Grosvenor Square to-morrow." 

What young man can honestly blame Dick for 
clinging to the belief that the radiant Miss Mallby's 
graciousness to him had another cause than the wish 
to pique Lord Alderby ; or for supposing himself 
equal to the r61e of a' lord's rival for the love of a 
great heiress ? The romantic notion that love levels 
all, was no new one in Dick's time, and had often 
been exemplified. To win fortune by marriage was 
then held to be an entirely honorable act, calling for 
no reproach. Dick had no intention of deceiving the 
lady. But he would wait until her love was certainly 
his, before disclosing who and what he was. Once 
his, her love would not be altered by the unimportant 
circumstances that he was an American and penniless. 
Splendid was the future of which Dick dreamed 



" UP AND DOWN IN LONDON TOWN." 329 

that night, a future of fair estates and great city 
residences, of coaches and footmen, of fine clothes, 
card playing, music, and dancing. 

He went with Lord George in the latter's coach, 
the next afternoon, to the Grosvenor Square house ; 
was graciously received by Miss Mallby's mother, 
on his lordship's account ; met a great number of 
young beaux and a few modish ladies, drank tea, won 
some money at one of the card tables, and departed 
with his friend, having had very little of the heiress's 
society to himself. 

As they were entering their own coach, they saw 
Lord Alderby get down from his ; he bowed to Lord 
George, but bestowed on Dick a swift look of pre 
tended contempt, though it showed real hostility. 

" Miss Mallby must have praised you to Alderby 
last night," said Lord George, lightly. 

That evening Wetheral and Lord George stayed 
late at a fashionable tavern in Pall Mall, their party 
having increased to a numerous and merry one. 
Finally it was joined by no other than Lord Alderby 
himself, with whom came a thin, middle-aged Irish 
gentleman addressed as captain and wearing a 
cockade in his hat. Neither of these newcomers had 
much to say for awhile. Presently the talk fell upon 
the American war, and an argument arose as to 
whether General Howe's evacuation of Boston was to 
be accounted a British defeat. The name of cowards 



330 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

being applied to the Americans, Dick broke out with 
the assertion that, to his personal knowledge, Ameri 
cans had given as convincing proofs of courage as 
he had ever seen or heard of as coming from 
Englishmen. 

" Courage is like many other things," put in Lord 
Alderby, not looking at Dick, yet speaking with a 
quiet sneer ; " people are apt to set up as judges of 
if, who never practise it themselves." 

A surprised silence fell over the company. 

" If you mean that remark for me, sir," said Dick, 
as soon as he could command his voice, " I am ready 
to let you judge of my practice, whenever and wher 
ever you choose ! " 

" Without knowing very well who you are, sir," 
replied Lord Alderby, who was thickly built and 
below middle height, but all the more arrogant in 
his tone for that, " I believe there is a difference 
in rank between us, which forbids my giving your 
courage an opportunity." 

" Perhaps there is a difference of courage itself, 
as well ! " snapped out Dick. 

" I take that, gintlemen," put in the Irish captain, 
who, it was plain, had been brought in by Lord 
Alderby for precisely what he now proceeded to do, 
"as a reflection on the opinion of ivery man that 
knows what my Lord Alderby's courage is. And, 
as I'm one of thim min, and seeing there's no differ- 



"UP AND DOWN IN LONDON TOWN." 331 

ence of rank bechune this gintleman and me, I offer 
him here ivery opportunity he may require for the 
dish play of courage." 

" And I take your offer," cried Dick instantly. 
" I've no scruples about difference in rank, and I'm 
willing to fight anybody, high or low, even a hired 
lickspittle that takes up gentlemen's quarrels for pay! 
Lord Alderby can tell you where I lodge ; he knows 
where he can find that out ! " 

Lord Alderby indeed found that out, not from 
Miss Mallby, but through his valet, who knew Lord 
George Winston's. And next day, to Bond Street, 
came Captain Delahenty's challenge in regular form. 
Lord George, who never concerned himself about 
his rank, or let it affect his doings, readily consented 
to serve Dick in the business ; and so, on the follow 
ing morning, at dawn, Dick found himself in Hyde 
Park, about to undertake his first duel. 

He had chosen to fight with swords, the blade 
being the weapon in whose use he most desired 
practice. In his shirt-sleeves, with that acquired 
serenity which comes of the mind's forcing itself not 
to contemplate the peril at hand, he stood under a 
tree at one end of a clear space, while his antagonist, 
seconded by an old faded beau, emerged from a 
hackney coach and got himself ready. The men 
fought in the centre of the clear space. Dick began 
defensively, but he had not parried more than three 



332 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

of the captain's thrusts, till he perceived that the 
enemy was shaky with liquor. Dick therefore 
waited only until the other's panting indicated fail 
ing wind. Then he suddenly pressed matters, with 
such accuracy and persistence that the whole thing 
was over in a minute, Dick putting on his waist 
coat and frock, with Lord George's assistance, and 
Captain Delahenty on the ground with a wounded 
shoulder that the surgeon was pronouncing likely to 
heal in a month or six weeks. Dick drove back to 
Bond Street in great elation, eager for more duels. 

Lord Alderby's state of mind towards Dick was 
not sweetened by this occurrence, as was shown 
by his lordship's ill-sustained pretence of ignoring 
Dick's presence when next the two were in the 
same company. This happened to be in a club 
house in St. James's Street, Dick's name having 
been written down there by Lord George, to whom 
he had satisfactorily accounted for his ignorance of 
London and of London society. Chance brought 
Lord Alderby and Dick to the same card table, and 
not as partners. His lordship soon had his revenge, 
and a far greater one than he thought it to be, for 
Dick, playing on after first losses, in the confidence 
that fortune would serve him as usually, lost his 
every guinea. He would have staked the few loose 
shillings he still had left, but that the largeness of 
the bets would have made such a proposition ridicu- 



"UP AND DOWN IN LONDON TOWN." 333 

lous. He went home to Bond Street in a kind of 
consternation, faced by the reality that he was a 
pauper in London, and that luck had turned against 
him. Now that he had tasted the life of pleasure, 
poverty seemed not again endurable. Yet he braced 
himself to consider what was to be done. 

Now that he had no money worth mentioning, the 
hospitality he received from Lord George was to 
Dick nothing else than charity. To continue accept 
ing it would make his situation soon insupportable. 
He quickly took his resolution. He must fall back 
to a lower sphere, where a shilling was worth some 
thing, and recoup himself ; that done, he would 
emerge again into the world to which Lord George 
had introduced him. 

So, the next morning, pretending he had found 
at a lawyer's office in Chancery Lane a letter from 
his people, Dick told Lord George he must leave 
London immediately. Then, having sent for a hack 
ney coach and taken a very friendly farewell of his 
lordship, he was driven to the starting-place of the 
Manchester stage. Being set down there, he has 
tened afoot, with his baggage, in search of cheap 
lodgings. These he presently found at a widow's 
house in George Street, which ran from the Strand 
towards the Thames. He engaged a room at sixteen 
shillings a week. 

The widow had a grown-up son employed by a 



334 THE ROAD TO PARTS. 

mercer in the Strand, and from him Dick leaned 
where to dispose of clothes most profitably, the son 
giving the name of a salesman in Monmouth Street, 
and adding, " Be sure, tell him 'twas I recommended 
you to him." Dick parted first with the new black 
suit he had so recently bought, and so found himself 
comparatively well in fund for his present station. 

Not finding his landlady's son a companion to his 
taste, and not making any acquaintances in the vari 
ous coffee-houses, taverns, and eating-houses that he 
now frequented in and about Fleet Street and the 
Strand, he became afflicted with loneliness. A mere 
unnoticed mite among thousands, and utterly ignored 
by the hastening multitude, he sent his thoughts from 
the vast and crowded city, back to the bleak Maine 
wilderness, and he had a kind of homesick longing 
for the hearty comradeship of the time of freezing 
and starving there. 

One evening, determined to enliven himself and 
have another fling at pleasure at any cost, he went to 
Westminster Bridge afoot, and thence by boat up the 
Thames, to Vauxhall. He had no sooner paid his 
shilling, on entering the garden, than his spirits 
began to rise. The sound of the orchestra and of 
singers, heard while he passed by the little groves 
and the statues, brought back his zest for gay life, 
and this was redoubled as he came into the brilliantly 
lighted space around the orchestra, where the small 



"UP AND DOWN IN LONDON TOWN." 335 

boxes on either side were filled with people who sat 
eating or drinking at the tables, and where the walks 
were thronged with pleasure-seekers of every rank. 
He sat down on an empty bench in one of the boxes, 
thinking to drink a bottle of wine and listen to the 
music. 

Before the waiter had brought the wine, a gaily 
dressed young woman, handsome enough in her 
powder and paint, came with almost a rush to the 
vacant place at his side, and said, with a bold smile, 
" My dear sir, I can't endure to see so pretty a 
gentleman drink alone ! I'm going to keep you 
company." 

Dick, having inspected the amiable creature in a 
glance, was nothing loath. So the waiter, having 
brought the wine, was sent for an additional glass, 
and then again for eatables. Dick's companion 
proved so agreeable that he soon ordered more 
wine and presently forgot the music in contemplat 
ing her charms, her air of piquant impudence, her 
affectations, and the shallow smartness of her talk. 
He was so entertained by her that, when the night 
was late, on arriving with her at Westminster 
Bridge, he took a hackney coach and accompanied 
her to her lodgings, which, to his astonishment, were 
in the quite respectable-looking house of a hosier in 
High Holborn. 

At his frank expression of surprise, she seemed 



336 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

huffed ; wondered why she should not be supposed 
to live like any other lady, and said it was nobody's 
business if she chose now and then to go out for an 
evening of pleasure in a free and easy manner. 
Her ruffled feelings were soon smoothed down, 
however, and when Dick left her it was with an 
appointment to take her to the next Hampstead 
Assembly. 

This Vauxhall incident cost Dick so much of the 
money got from the sale of his new suit that he was 
soon fain to visit the Monmouth Street dealer again, 
this time carrying the gamekeeper's suit and wearing 
that bestowed on him by the whimsical gentleman 
met at Taunton. For both these suits, the shop 
keeper gave him a sum of money and a very plain 
blue frock, a worn white waistcoat, and a pair of 
mended black . breeches. Thus Dick left the 
shop in vastly different attire from that in which 
he had entered it, and when he returned to his lodg 
ing the change made his landlady's son gape with 
wonder. 

Before Dick had made up his mind as to how he 
should rebuild his fortunes, he received one afternoon 
a visitor in a hackney coach, who was none other 
than the companionable young lady of Vauxhall, to 
whom he had made known his place of residence. 
Her errand now was to learn why he had failed to 
keep his engagement for the Hampstead Assembly. 



" UP AND DOWN IN LONDON TOWN." 337 

She did not stay long to reproach him, for no sooner 
had she taken note of his cheapened appearance, 
and made sure that it came from necessity, than 
she swept out of his room and back to the coach, 
on the pretence of being offended at the broken 
appointment. 

On leaving the house, she was seen by the land 
lady's son, who came to Dick presently, with a grin, 
and remarked that Sukey Green had become a great 
lady since she had ceased to walk the Strand of 
nights. On inquiring, Dick learned that his visitor 
was well known by sight to the landlady's son as 
having been, not many weeks before, one of the 
countless frail damsels infesting the sidewalks of 
the town after nightfall. Some turn of fortune had 
taken her from her rags and a hole in Butcher Row 
to the fine clothes and comfortable lodgings she now 
possessed, instead of to the Bridewell or the river or 
a pauper's grave, as another turn might have done. 
Perhaps she had but returned to the condition from 
which she had fallen. 

Dick soon had fallen fortunes of his own to think 
of. He knew not how to attempt to make his money 
multiply ; or rather he devised in his mind so many 
methods that he could not confine his thoughts to 
any one of them. Thus rendered inert by his very 
versatility, he saw his money go for mere necessities, 
and at last he had to seek still cheaper lodgings. 



338 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

which he found in Green Arbor Court, a place 
redeemed in his eyes by the fact that Oliver 
Goldsmith had once lived there. 

It was not a locality designed to increase his 
cheerfulness. He had a narrow, bare room, high up 
in a dirty, squalid house ; from his window he could 
see old clothes flying from countless windows and 
lines ; and the sounds most common to his ears were 
the voices of washerwomen laughing or quarrelling 
and of children shouting or squalling. Not far in 
one direction was Newgate Prison, and not far 
in another was that of the Fleet. 

In going to Fleet Street, he had to descend Break 
neck Stairs, which numbered thirty-two and were 
in two steep flights and led him to the edge of Fleet 
Ditch, traverse a narrow street, and go through 
Fleet Market. This was a route that Dick often 
took, for he preferred still to dine in and about 
Fleet Street, though no longer at the Grecian Coffee 
house or Dick's or the Mitre Tavern, to all which 
places he had resorted while lodging in George 
Street, but at the cheaper places, Clifton's Eating- 
house, in Butcher Row, for one. Sometimes his 
meal consisted solely of a pot of beer at the Goat 
Ale House in Shire Lane. He fell at last to the 
down-stairs eating-houses, where his table-mates were 
hackney coachmen, servants poorly paid or unem 
ployed, and poverty-stricken devils and unsuccessful 



" UP AND DOWN IN LONDON TOWN." 339 

rascals of every sort. It was here that his fortune 
took an upward course again. 

Appealed to, one day, in a low tavern, to settle a 
card dispute between two bloated, sore-faced fellows 
who had come to the point of accusing each other of 
being, one a footpad and the other a grave robber, 
Dick acted the umpire to the satisfaction of both, 
and then went on to do a few astonishing things with 
their cards. Others in the tavern gathered round 
him, until presently, seeing the crowd and the inter 
est both increasing, Dick observed that his time 
was valuable and that he could not afford to show 
any more skill for nothing. But the body-stealer 
refused to receive the dirty cards handed back to 
him by Dick, and the footpad speedily took up a 
collection, with such a " money-or-your-life " air that 
a hatful of greasy coins was soon raised to induce 
Dick to go on with his tricks. As many of these 
tricks were of old Tom's invention, they differed 
from those with which the London scamps were 
familiar. 

The footpad and the resurrectionist now persuaded 
Dick to go to another tavern, where they opened the 
way for his apparently extemporaneous performances, 
and where they raised good sums for him. He won 
dered at first at the zeal with which they worked to 
enrich him, but he presently saw that they, pretend 
ing to be chance observers, were quietly making bets 



34O THE ROAD TO PAKIS. 

with other spectators on the results of certain of his 
card manipulations. He thereupon left off, and 
escaped from this undesired partnership. But he 
now engaged an honest, impoverished hack writer, 
whom he met in an eating-cellar, to sit at tavern 
tables with him and appear an interested observer of 
his card tricks, enlist the crowd's attention, and sug 
gest the inevitable passing around of the hat. This 
combination continued for a week, during which time 
the low taverns were visited in succession, from White- 
friars to St. Catherine's, from Cripplegate to South- 
wark. Dick's earnings consisted only of what the 
spectators willingly gave for their amusement, but at 
the week's end that amount sufficed for the purchase 
of a good suit of clothes at a tailor's in the Strand, 
and for another purpose besides, which Dick, once 
more clad like a gentleman, speedily set out upon. 

He went boldly back to Pall Mall, ran across sev 
eral acquaintances to whom Lord George Winston had 
made him known, and got one of them to introduce 
him to a certain respectable-looking house in Covent 
Garden ; and in that house, whose interior showed 
an activity not promised by its outside, he won at 
faro an amount that filled every other player at the 
table with resentful envy. When he left, he felt 
himself again a made man ; his pockets were heavy 
with money. 

The night was well advanced when he issued from 



"UP AND DOWN IN LONDON TOWN." 34! 

the gambling-house, enjoying the relief and the fresh 
air after the excitement and heat of the rooms. He 
walked to the Strand and turned towards Temple Bar, 
intending to sup at the Turk's Head Coffee-house. 
When he reached the Strand end of Catherine 
Street, he was accosted, with more than ordinary im 
portunity, by one of the most miserable-looking of 
the frail creatures that walked the street there. As 
he was in the act of avoiding her, she called out his 
name in sudden recognition, and he then knew her 
as the gay young woman of High Holborn whom he 
had met at Vauxhall. 

Struck with pity to see in so sad a plight a person 
recently so prosperous, he could not but walk along 
with her to hear her story. She had lost the means 
of support that had enabled her to live in a good 
neighborhood and flaunt her finery at Vauxhall, 
Ranelagh, and the Hampstead Assembly. She 
lodged no longer in High Holborn, nor even in 
Butcher's Row ; in fact, she knew not where she 
was to pass that night. She showed, through all 
her cast-down demeanor, a decided reawakening 
of regard for Dick, and even hinted, after they had 
talked for some time, that her loss of favor had arisen 
from her acceptance of his escort from Vauxhall. So 
Dick gave her a few shillings for her immediate ne 
cessities, and told her to call at his lodging in Green 
Arbor Court on the morrow, when they would dis- 



342 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

cuss what might be done for her. It was at her own 
suggestion that his residence was selected as the 
place of meeting. 

But, on the morrow, she did not call at the ap 
pointed time. So Dick went out to attend to busi 
ness of pressing importance, which was no other than 
to buy a new black suit and other necessaries. In 
the afternoon he went to Pall Mall and renewed 
acquaintances, saying he had returned to London the 
day before yesterday. Pumping a young gentleman 
whom he knew to be on close terms with the Mallby 
family, he learned that the dazzling heiress was still 
in town and that a place had been taken for her for 
that night's performance at the little theatre in the 
Haymarket. Dick hastened to secure a seat as 
near as possible to the box in which Miss Mallby 
was to be. 

In the evening, which was that of Wednesday, 
July 10, attired in his best, Dick occupied a seat in 
the pit, in the midst of a crowded audience, and had 
the satisfaction of seeing not only the heiress, but 
also their Majesties, George III. and Queen Charlotte, 
who both laughed immoderately at Mr. Foote as 
" Lady Pent weazle," - especially when he appeared 
under a vast head-dress filled with feathers, in exag 
geration of the reigning mode. 

It was some time before Dick's admiring gaze held 
the attention of Miss Mallby, which it caught while 



"UP AA T D DOWN IN LONDON TO&N." 343 

she scanned the crowded house from her box ; and 
some time after that before she recalled who he was. 
But when she did recognize him, it was with a smile 
so radiant that Lord Alderby, then standing at her 
side, turned quite red and pale successively, and 
glared at Dick with a most deadly expression. In 
response to a slight movement of her fan, Dick 
forced his way to her, between acts, and had a brief 
chat about the audience, the weather, his supposed 
absence from town, Lord George Winston, and 
such matters, which in themselves certainly contained 
nothing to warrant the mischievous smiles on her 
part, and the languishing glances on his, that 
accompanied the talk. 

Any one but Dick and Lord Alderby could have 
seen that the lady's sole motive was a desire to keep 
his lordship jealous. But Dick took all signs as they 
appeared on the surface, and when he left the play 
house it was with a flattering delusion that her hopes 
of seeing him soon again were from the heart. He 
did not observe that Lord Alderby, before handing 
Miss Mallby into her coach, pointed him out to a 
footman and hurriedly whispered some instructions. 

Dick went on air to his room in Green Arbor 
Court, for he intended to retain his lodging there 
until he should find a residence perfectly to his taste. 
He laughed to think of a gentleman of his figure 
coming home to Green Arbor Court, and wondered 



344 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

whether such contrast was typical of any one's else 
career, as it was of his. 

The next day, to his astonishment, for he sup 
posed the Vauxhall girl to be the only outside person 
knowing where he lived, he received in his wretched 
room a visit from a man dressed like a servant but 
evidently horrified at the rickety surroundings. This 
person, being assured by Dick that the latter was 
Mr. Richard Wetheral, handed him a letter, and fled 
forthwith. The letter, on clean plain paper, and in 
an ill-formed but fine feminine hand, read thus : 

" HOUNERD SIR : 

" I mak bolde to tell you for hearings sak taike outher lodg 
ings and do not go neer them wch you now live att tis a 
qestchun of lifeorDeth and sure do not go neer them at nite, 
this nite above all do not waite a minute but take outher 
wons att wonse from Won that noes and wch deesirs you 
noe harm yr respeckfull an dutyfull servt." 

Dick was. completely puzzled. What danger could 
he be in, through remaining at his present abode ? 
Who could be his unknown warner ? Not the Vaux 
hall girl, for she had written her name for him on a 
card, and this was not her handwriting. The quality 
and cleanliness of the paper indicated a person living 
in good case, perhaps a maid-servant in some fine 
house. Then he recalled the face of the man who 
had brought the letter, and whom, at the moment, he 



" UP AND DOWN IN LONDON TOWN." 345 

had thought he had seen somewhere before. Recol 
lecting singly each incident of his life in London, he 
at last located the man's face. It was that of afoot- 
man at the Mallbys' house in Grosvenor Square. 
But what maid-servant in that house could have 
noticed Dick ? Indeed, what person in that house 
had done so but Miss Mall by herself ? So the heir 
ess, to avoid discovery in the matter, might have 
caused her maid to send the warning. Now what 
possible danger to Dick could Miss Mallby be 
aware of, save one that Lord Alderby might have 
threatened or planned ? But would Lord Alderby 
have informed her of such plans ? Perhaps so, in 
a moment of anger, as men -will anticipate the 
pleasure of revenge, by announcing that revenge in 
advance ; perhaps not. If not, one or two of his 
lordship's servants would probably have been in 
his confidence, and thus the cat might have been let 
out of the bag to one of Miss Mallby's maids. So 
Dick concluded that, if he was in any danger, it must 
be from Lord Alderby, his only powerful enemy. 
But he resolved to disdain the warning, nevertheless, 
and he went forth to look in a leisurely way for 
suitable lodgings, as he had intended to do, though 
he would not move into them for two or three 
days. 

But he wasted the day in riding about London, 
viewing things he had not seen before. In the 



34 6 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

evening the whim seized him to go to Ranelagh. It 
was not until late at night, when he turned from 
Fleet Street, through the market, that he thought 
of the morning's warning. He felt a momentary 
tremor, so dark and deserted was the narrow street 
leading to Breakneck Stairs. But he braced himself 
within, and strode along with apparent blitheness ; 
yet he could not help thinking that Breakneck Stairs 
would be an excellent place for an attack by his 
enemies. Peering forward in the darkness, he 
turned from the border of Fleet Ditch, and mounted 
the first steps. At the side of the stairs, there 
ascended a row of houses, all now in deep shadow. 

He had reached the landing between the two 
flights, without incident, when suddenly from the 
shadow at the side a dark lantern was flashed upon 
his face, and out rushed three or four burly figures. 
" Heave the spalpeen down the shtairs ! " cried a 
voice from the shadow, a voice that Dick instantly 
recognized as Captain Delahenty's, and from which 
he knew the attack was indeed at Lord Alderby's 
instigation. 

The men were armed with bludgeons, and three 
rushed upon Dick at once. But he had no mind to 
make his bed in Fleet Ditch ; hence he met the mid 
dle rascal with a violent kick in the belly, and, 
getting instantly between the other two, shot out 
both arms simultaneously, clutching at their throats. 



" UP AND DOWN IN LONDON TOWN." 347 

But now the captain and one other man rushed out 
from the shadow, and Dick thought all was up. 

Suddenly there came a cry from the top of the 
stairs, " Hold off, that man belongs to us ! " There 
followed a flashing of other lanterns, and a scuffle of 
footsteps down from the top. In another moment, 
Dick's first assailants were resisting this new force, 
who had fallen upon them with bludgeons. A sharp, 
quick fight, in which Dick himself took no part 
whatever, left the newcomers in possession of the 
landing and of .him, while Captain Delahenty and his 
gang were carrying their broken heads rapidly down 
the stairs and off towards Fleet Market. 

" I thank you for the rescue," said Dick to the 
stalwart leader of the victorious party, as that leader 
held up a lantern before Dick's face. 

" You may call it a rescue, if you like," growled 
the leader, "but some would rather die in a street 
brawl than swing at Tyburn. Edward Lawson, 
otherwise known as Captain Ted," and the man, who 
had pronounced these names in an official manner, 
waited as if for Dick to answer to them. 

" If you mean that you take me for a person of 
that name," said Dick, " I have to tell you that you 
are disappointed." 

" Oho ! " was the answer. " That game ain't 
worthy of you, captain ! But if you wish to play it 
out, you can play it out in Bow Street, and at the 



348 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

Old Bailey after that. I arrest you, Edward Lawson, 
commonly called Captain Ted, on a charge of high 
way robbery. Here's the warrant, which God knows 
I've carried around long enough ! You know the 
usual formality, captain." 

And at this the bewildered Dick unresistingly 
saw himself seized by his arms, while another of the 
constables for constables these were adorned 
him with a pair of handcuffs. He was then marched 
back to Fleet Street for it appeared he was no 
common prisoner, for the nearest roundhouse and 
thence, by way of the Strand and other familiar 
thoroughfares, to a building in Bow Street, cele 
brated for the fact that Fielding wrote " Tom Jones" 
therein. 

But another Fielding presided there now. Dick 
received free lodging till morning, and then he was 
escorted to the court-room close at hand, to take his 
turn as one among a crowd of anxious wretches of 
both sexes, who stood in a railed enclosure at one 
side of a vacant space, before the table at which sat 
the grave magistrate in all the vestments and sol 
emnity of his office. To Dick's amazement, he 
beheld in an opposite railed space certain faces with 
which he was acquainted, those of his George 
Street landlady's son, the Monmouth Street shop 
man to whom he had sold the clothes, and the Vaux- 
hall girl. Dick wondered what the whole business 



"UP AND DOWN IN LONDON TOWN." 349 

meant, and what it would lead to. At last his turn 
came. 

The magistrate glanced at him indifferently, and 
addressed him coldly, in a few words whose meaning 
Dick did not take pains to gather. Then a clerk 
at the table read monotonously a long document, 
wherein it appeared that a number of people had 
sworn to certain occurrences, which, as far as Dick 
could see, did not concern him in the least ; namely, 
that Moreton Charteris, gentleman, of Bloomsbury 
Square, had been robbed of money, valuables, and 
wardrobe, early in the previous February, by a high 
wayman who had stopped his coach near Turnham 
Green ; that a woman who had quarrelled at Reading 
with one Edward Lawson, known as Captain Ted, 
knew the said Lawson to have been the robber of 
Mr. Charteris, and, on her threatening to inform 
against him, to have fled towards Bath in one of the 
stolen suits of clothes ; and that Mr. Charteris's ser 
vant had, in June, recognized one of the stolen suits 
in a Monmouth Street shop. 

And now the shopkeeper in the witness box 
identified that suit as the one so recognized, and 
Dick as the man who had sold it ; and from further 
testimony Dick could infer that the servant's discov 
ery had sent Bow Street runners to the shopman, 
who had referred them for information regarding 
Dick's whereabouts to the landlady's son, who in 



350 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

turn had sent them to the Vauxhall girl ; and that 
through her treachery they had learned his place of 
lodging. In fact, that grateful creature had stood 
in wait with the constables at the head of Breakneck 
Stairs, and announced, when his first assailants' lan 
tern had lit up his features, that he was the man the 
constables wanted. She had, though, kept out of 
his sight, from a greater sense of shame than many 
of her class would have shown. As for the attack 
by the Delahenty party, it had been as great a sur 
prise to the waiting constables as to Dick. 

And now Dick was hastily identified by two bold- 
looking women, as the aforesaid Edward Lawson, 
otherwise Captain Ted. He remembered that the 
whimsical gentleman met at Taunton had resembled 
him, and he perceived now, considering the danger 
of being betrayed by the woman quarrelled with, and 
of being far sought by the Bow Street men, why 
that gentleman had taken the caprice of exchanging 
good clothes for bad. In putting this and that to 
gether, as he stood in the dock, Dick lost track of 
the court's proceedings, and it came like a sudden 
blow when he saw Sir John Fielding gaze hard upon 
him, and heard Sir John Fielding commit him, as 
Edward Lawson, to the jail of Newgate, there to 
be kept in custody until he should be brought forth 
to stand his trial ! 

To Newgate, to await trial for highway robbery, 



"UP AND DOWN IN LONDON TOWN." 351 

the penalty of which was death by hanging ; readily 
identified as the guilty man by those who would 
stick to their oath ; unable to prove by any person 
in England that he was not that man, for all his 
acquaintances had been made since the exchange of 
clothes, a pleasant series of thoughts to keep the 
adventurous Master Dick company in the hackney 
coach that rattled him swiftly away from the Bow 
Street court to the great, vile, many-chambered stone 
cage where such gallows-birds as Master Jack Shep- 
pard and Monsieur Claude Duval had lodged before 
him ! And if those thoughts were not enough, there 
was that of the cart-ride out Holborn to Tyburn tree, 
a picturesque ending for a journey over so many 
hills and so far away ! 



CHAPTER XIV. 

" FAIR STOOD THE WIND FOR FRANCE." 

WAS it worth being saved from murder at the 
hands of Lord Alderby's hirelings on Breakneck 
Stairs, to swing a few months later at Tyburn ? 
Dick asked himself this question in the first few 
hours during which he either sat listless in the 
dim-lit cell shared by him with a half-dozen foul- 
mouthed and outwardly reckless rascals, or paced 
the courtyard upon which his and other cells 
opened. 

It was not so much the confinement that crushed 
him, though that was a terribly galling thing ; he had 
endured closer confinement in Boston, and on the 
Adamant. But never had he been surrounded by 
so vile a herd of beings. He accustomed himself, 
though, in time, to their crime-stamped faces, their 
disgusting talk, and the sodden drunkenness they 
were enabled to maintain by means of the liquor 
smuggled to them by visitors, for the courtyard 
and the cells thronged every day with visitors of 
either sex, and of quality similar to that of the 

352 



"FAIR STOOD THE WIND FOR FRANCE." 353 

prisoners themselves. Dick was presently able to 
discriminate among his jail-mates, and so he found 
one or two of more gentle stuff. 

One of these was a young Frenchman awaiting 
trial for an assault of which he declared that he had 
been the victim and that the complainant had been 
the aggressor. In order to converse with this one 
refined companion without being understood by their 
coarse associates, Dick resumed, with him, the study 
of French, and, as he now had plenty of time, he 
made rapid progress. There were several French 
books brought by this tutor's visitors, from which 
to learn the written language, and there was the 
tutor's own speech from which to acquire the pro 
nunciation. 

It will be seen, thus, that Dick had plucked up 
heart, as it was his nature to do. He steadfastly 
refrained from looking into the future, and he made 
no provision in regard thereto. A grinning attorney 
had benevolently buttonholed him on his first day 
of imprisonment, and had proposed to take his case 
in hand, but, on learning how little money Dick 
would have for the luxury of a defence, this person 
had gone away, minus grin and benevolence. 

Dick had more money than he had offered the 
shark of the law, but he needed it in order to pay 
for quarters and food of a grade above that which 
had to be endured by those miserable prisoners who 



354 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

could pay nothing and who had to live on a penny 
loaf a day. The court in which Dick abode was 
neither the best nor the worst in Newgate ; but the 
best, where those dwelt who paid most, was loath 
some enough as to the company. 

To follow the example set by Wetheral himself in 
his memoirs, and to make swift work of his Newgate 
life, for only in the " Beggar's Opera " is Newgate 
life a merry thing to contemplate, let it be said at 
once that a true bill was duly found against him by 
the grand jury, and that his trial was set for the 
September sessions at the Old Bailey Sessions House, 
next door to Newgate Prison. As Dick surveyed 
the long list of witnesses who would be called for the 
Crown, and bethought him that he was without 
witness or counsel, the vision of Tyburn gallows was 
for a moment or two exceedingly vivid before his 
mind's eye. 

It was now about the middle of August, and that 
same day there came to Dick another piece of news 
brought in by visitors, that on the fourth day of 
July the American rebels, in the State House in 
Philadelphia, had declared the colonies to be free 
and independent States. A thrill of joy and pride 
brought the tears to Dick's eyes, and the apparition 
of Tyburn, the very sense of the Newgate walls and 
herd around him, gave way to visions of things far 
over seas, of people rejoicing in the cities he had 



" FAIR STOOD THE WIND FOR FRANCE." 355 

passed through towards Cambridge, of his father 
rubbing hands and crying "Well done!" over the 
news, at home in the Pennsylvania valley ; of the 
cheers of Washington's men, and the sage comments 
of old Tom MacAlister. When he awoke to New 
gate and the Tyburn phantom, he brought his teeth 
hard together and fretted at fate. 

Early in September, sitting idly on a bench at an 
end of the court, his ears pricked up at the words, 
" American prisoner," uttered in course of talk by a 
woman who was making a visit to an imprisoned 
waterman accused of robbing a passenger. 

" They say as 'ow, afore 'e was picked up, off the 
Lizard, by the ship as brought 'im 'ere," she went on, 
" the rebel 'ad got out o' jug, by jumpink on a 'orse 
in Pendennis Castle, and ridink away in' broad day 
light, afore a multitood o' people." 

A prisoner escaped from Pendennis Castle on 
horseback ! Dick instantly joined in the conversa 
tion. " You say a ship picke.d the man up, off the 
Lizard," he put in. " How did they know he was the 
man who had escaped on the horse ? " 

"By 'is clothes, in course," said the woman, "and 
by the descriptions as was sent everywhere." 

" But you say the ship has brought him to 
London ? " 

"Yes. 'E was picked up in a small boat, far hout 
to sea, a-trying for to make the French coast. The 



THE ROAD TO IRAKIS. 

ship's captain, having put out of Plymouth on a long 
voyage, for this 'appened last February, "ad no 
mind to turn back, and so he took the fellow all the 
way to the Barbados, and then brought him 'ome to 
London. So now he lies at St. Catherine's, on ship 
board, while the Government is making up its mind 
what to do with 'im." 

And thus had fate treated Edward Lawson, other 
wise Captain Ted, Dick's whimsical gentleman of 
Taunton ! To think that a fugitive, in exchanging 
himself out of an incriminating suit of clothes to 
avoid detection, should exchange himself into the 
clothes of another fugitive, and be caught as the latter ! 
Dick laughed to himself, even as he went to beg a 
turnkey to inform the governor that he, Dick, had an 
important disclosure to make. 

The turnkey carried the message, for a considera 
tion, and Dick was summoned to the governor's 
room, where it was finally got into the head of that 
functionary that Dick claimed to be the American 
prisoner for whom the other man had been taken. 
Dick was sent back to his court, with no satisfaction ; 
but the next day he was led again into the governor's 
room, and confronted with the whimsical gentleman 
himself, who looked decidedly the worse for wear. 
It appeared that the highwayman was glad to be 
known, even in his true colors, rather than as a rebel 
prisoner who might be charged with treason. 



"FAIR STOOD THE WIND FOR FRANCE." 357 

The two were taken by hackney coach to Bow 
Street, and there the whimsical gentleman, much to 
his relief, was identified as Captain Ted, by the 
very ladies who had identified Dick as the same 
person, Justice Fielding subsequently observing that 
the resemblance between the two men was so great 
as to leave no ground for a charge of perjury against 
the identifiers. Captain Ted was then ' promptly 
committed to Newgate, on the evidence of the 
woman who had first laid information against him. 
With a friendly smile and courteous bow to Dick, he 
was led away. 

And now Dick, relieved of the oft-recurring Tyburn 
vision, was to learn what disposition was to be made 
of himself. Standing out from the prisoners' pen, 
and in the vacant space before the magistrate's 
table, he was addressed at some length by Sir John 
Fielding. It appeared that his story, as related to 
the governor of Newgate the previous day, having 
tallied with certain statements made by the other 
prisoner, had been considered by no less a personage 
than the Secretary of State. If he was one of the 
American prisoners who had been confined at Pen- 
dennis Castle, the justice said, his treatment ordina 
rily would have been the same as theirs, that is to 
say, he would have been taken aboard the Solebay 
frigate on the 8th of January, and sent back to 
America as a prisoner of war, subject to exchange 



THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

(this was Dick's first intimation of what had befallen 
Allen and the others). But he had broken from 
custody while he still regarded it as likely that he 
would be proceeded against for high treason, and he 
was therefore to be considered as having admitted 
his guilt of high treason. However, it was the desire 
of the King to exhibit great clemency to his rebel 
lious American subjects, even in the most aggravated 
cases ; hence the justice- dared presume that the 
Crown would not move against the prisoner on 
the charge of treason (Dick afterward guessed that 
the real reason for this self-denial on the Crown's 
part lay in the difficulty and expense of getting wit 
nesses to the alleged treason). The prisoner had, 
however, been shown to have sold a stolen suit of 
clothes ; he ought to have known, by the circum 
stances in which he had acquired the clothes, even 
if those circumstances were as he alleged, that the 
clothes had been stolen ; his not so knowing was a 
fault, yet was the fault of no one other than him, 
hence must be his fault. The justice was, there 
fore, compelled, on information sworn by the Mon- 
mouth Street dealer and by Mr. Charteris's servant, 
to commit the prisoner for trial on this new 
charge. 

So back to Newgate went Dick, wondering whether 
matters were improved, after all. At the September 
sessions he was haled, upon indictment, before the 



"FAIR STOOD THE WIND FOR FRANCE:'' 359 

bewigged judges and the stolid jury in the Old 
Bailey ; pleaded not guilty, was tried with great expe 
dition, convicted without delay, and sentenced (at 
the end of a solemn speech in which he thought at 
first the judge was driving at nothing less than death 
by hanging with the next Tyburn batch) to hard 
labor for three years on the river Thames. It ap 
peared that the prisoner's general honesty, to which 
his George Street landlady's son voluntarily testified, 
influenced the judge against a capital sentence. 
Well, what is three years' hard labor to a man who 
has seriously contemplated a gibbet for several weeks 
past ? 

The vessel on which Dick found himself, in con 
sequence of this manifestation of British justice, 
which in those benighted days was almost as danger 
ous for an honest man to come in contact with as 
New York City justice is to-day, resembled an 
ordinary lighter, though of broader gunwale on the 
larboard side. A floor about three feet wide ran 
along the starboard side, for the men to work on, 
and their duty was to raise ballast, of which the ves 
sel's capacity was twenty-seven tons, by means of 
windlass and davits. The convicts slept aft, where 
the vessel was decked in, and the overseer had a 
cabin in the forecastle. 

The men were chained together in pairs, and Dick, 
to his surprise, recognized his own comrade as none 



360 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

other than the body-snatcher through whom he had 
accidentally come to try his card tricks in London 
taverns. This amiable person had been caught while 
conveying a pauper's body, wrapped in a sack, by 
hackney coach, from Shoreditch to St. George's 
hospital, for the use of surgeons. He belonged to a 
gang that worked for the Resurrectionist, an inhab 
itant of the Borough, who was a famous trader to 
the surgeons. 

Dick had to work all day, and to eat nothing but 
ox-cheek, legs and shins of beef, and equally coarse 
food ; to drink only water or small beer, and to wear 
a mean uniform, which, as autumn wore into winter, 
ill protected him from the cold. Yet the hard work 
kept his blood going by day, gave him appetite for 
the food, and made sleep a pleasure. The fatigues 
of the day left the convicts no inclination to talk at 
night. One day was like another, and the monotony 
of uninteresting toil was endurable only for the pros 
pect of freedom at the end of the three years. Dick 
had no mind to attempt an escape, for on receiving 
sentence he had been told that his term might be 
abridged for good behavior, that it would certainly 
be doubled on a first attempt to escape, and that on a 
such second attempt he would be liable to suffer death. 
So when, in the fifth month of his durance, he was 
awakened one night by the. grave-robber, and a 
general plot to break away was cautiously broached 



"FAIR STOOD THE WIND FOR FRANCE." 361 

to him, he resolutely refused to take part or to 
hear more, and went to sleep again. He observed, 
the next few days, that he was narrowly watched 
by the other convicts, who doubtless feared he 
might inform the overseer ; but he had no such 
intention. 

One night in February, it was between Sunday 
and Monday, when the vessel was moored off 
Woolwich, Dick was violently awakened by a kind 
of tugging at his leg. Throwing out his hand in 
the darkness to investigate, he heard a threatening 
whisper, " If you move or call out, I'll blow your 
head off with this pistol ! Bill the Blacksmith is 
taking off our irons. You can join us if you like, or 
you can stay here, but you'll keep quiet ! " 

The voice was that of the body-stealer, to whom 
Dick was chained. In releasing the former, the 
Blacksmith, working in the darkness, had necessarily 
disturbed the chain attached to Dick. Bill the 
Blacksmith was a person unknown to Dick. As 
afterward appeared, he was one of a rescue party 
that had come on this dark night to free those pris 
oners who were in the plot. Some of the party had 
got aboard, crawled unseen within a few feet of the 
guards, reached the sleeping-place of the convicts, 
supplied some of these with weapons, and were now 
at work removing their irons. 

Dick lay perfectly still. Presently the grave- 



362 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

robber stood up, unshackled. The chain was still 
fastened to Dick's leg. 

"Well," whispered the grave-robber, "will you 
stay as you are, or will you join us ? " 

To be shortly free of the chafing fetters, able to 
use his whole body in a dash for liberty ; to seize 
now what would not be offered to him* for two 
long and miserable years ! The temptation was too 
strong. " I'll join," whispered Dick. 

"This one, too, Bill," said the grave-robber, and 
the Blacksmith went to work on Dick's fetters. 

Other skilful hands were employed at the same 
time on the shackles of other convicts. The opera 
tions went on in the utmost silence. Now and then, 
at some sound from without, they would stop for a 
while. It was only after he had been awake some 
time, that Dick could distinguish the dark forms of 
the artisans working over the prostrate forms of the 
prisoners. Never had he seen such a combination 
of skill, patience, persistence, and noiselessness. Pick 
locks, burglars, jail-breakers, all, exercising their 
abilities this time to free their comrades, were the 
men at work ; yet Dick could not but admire 
the manner in which they went about their busi 
ness. Doubtless there was a large reward to be 
earned, perhaps from some employer of certain of 
these convicts, some such great man as the Resur 
rectionist, of the Borough, or as Gipsy George, 



"FA/A 1 STOOD THE WIND FOR FRANCE." 363 

leader of smugglers ; for any one of these res 
cuers would as soon turn King's evidence against a 
comrade as liberate him. 

At last all irons were off. Instantly, with the 
grave-robber at the head, there was a general rush 
to the platform on which the men worked. The 
surprised guards were either shot at, struck, intimi 
dated, or swept into the hold, by the advancing 
convicts. The latter scrambled over the vessel's 
side, some dropping into a boat that suddenly 
unmasked two lanterns. Another boat, also belong 
ing to the rescue party, now showed a light a little 
farther off. For this boat Dick swam, with many 
others who had plunged at once into the water, and 
presently he was hauled aboard like a hooked shark. 

Some of the convicts, as if fearing there would not 
be room for them on the boats, struck out for the 
shore. Dick never knew what became of them, or 
of those who crowded into the first boat. The craft 
in which he found himself was speedily filled, where 
upon the men at the oars, aided by convicts who had 
found other oars waiting, pulled rapidly down the 
river, the boat's lantern again being darkened. By 
this time those in charge of the convict vessel had 
recovered their senses and begun firing shots of 
alarm. Dick made up his mind to get away from 
his villainous company at the first opportunity. 

Presently the men at the oars were relieved by 



364 THE ROAD TO PAKIS. 

another force, which included Dick. Thus, aided by 
the river's current, and thanks to their system of 
alternating at the oars, as well as to the strength 
derived from fear of recapture, the desperate crew 
made incredible speed. As dawn began to show 
itself, Dick saw, on the southern bank of the 
Thames, a considerable town against a hillside, 
environed by meadows and fields, pleasure grounds 
and country-seats. A high hill near by was crowned 
by a windmill. Vessels of every size lay in the 
harbor. Dick learned from the talk in the boat that 
this was Gravesend. 

The men rowed straight for a certain sloop, which, 
it appeared from their conversation, was engaged in 
the business of conveying stolen horses to Dunkirk 
and other Continental ports. Dick inwardly deter 
mined to follow the fortunes of this rascal boat's 
crew no longer. Once alongside the sloop, the 
convicts proceeded to board it, each man for him 
self. The stern of the boat drifted several feet away 
from the sloop. Dick, pretending he would leap 
in his turn, across the intervening space, pur 
posely missed hold of the sloop, and sank into the 
water. Diving some distance, he came up at a spot 
far from where the attention of his erstwhile com 
rades was directed. He then struck out for the 
outskirts of Gravesend, and landed a little east of 
the town, in the gray of the morning. 



" FAIR STOOD THE WIND FOR FRANCE." 365 

Skirting the town, and passing only bare vegeta 
ble gardens and fishermen's houses, he reached the 
Dover road, and walked on four miles to Gad's Hill, 
where Sir John Falstaff had played valorous pranks. 
Three miles more of walking brought him to Roches 
ter, with its twelfth century Cathedral, and its ruined 
Norman Castle aloft by the Medway. A sailor's 
wife, living in a small house in a squalid part of the 
town, gave him a breakfast of porridge, while he 
dried his clothes at her fire. 

Knowing he might be detected by his uniform, and 
finding the woman good-hearted, Dick offered to ex 
change the suit he had on for some worn-out raiment 
of her husband's, saying that the cloth of his gar 
ments might be made over into clothes for her little 
son. This exchange being made in the woman's 
parlor while she was at work in the kitchen, Dick 
proceeded on his way. At Sittingbourne, ten miles 
farther southeast, he stopped at a villager's house, 
on pretence of asking the road, and received a glass 
of milk and an egg, which he ate raw. Thus re 
freshed, he trudged on seven miles, to Ospringe, where 
he passed the night under a sheep-skin, in a cart-house. 

The next morning (Tuesday), breakfasting on a 
pot of ale given him by an oysterman of Faversham, 
Dick went on to Canterbury, where, procuring a pack 
of cards from an hostler of an inn in High Street, he 
fell back on his card tricks for a living, though now 



366 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

with great aversion. He risked wearing out his wel 
come at the Canterbury inns and tap-rooms, for that 
he so much liked the town ; and it was reluctantly 
that, on Saturday morning, he left the old Cathedral 
behind, and set his face southeastward. Passing the 
Gothic towers of Lee Priory, he plodded on, mile after 
mile, hour after hour, over downs and through vil 
lages, till he .stood at last on the hills at whose feet, 
before him, lay the town and the harbor of Dover, 
and from whose top, near the old castle supposed to 
have been founded by Julius Caesar, could be seen, 
beyond the ruffled waves of the Channel, the distant 
coast of France. 

Tired and hungry, Dick descended from the cliff 
and proceeded along narrow Snaregate Street to a 
straggling suburb of low-built houses inhabited by 
sailors and fishermen. It was late in the afternoon, 
when he entered a small tippling-house, where were 
a number of seafarers boisterously talking, and called 
at the bar for a glass of rum. While drinking, he 
asked the barman how one might go to France more 
cheaply than by the regular packet. He was imme 
diately referred to one of the fellows drinking at a 
small table in the room. Thus introduced to this 
person, who was a stalwart, sea-browned man of fifty, 
Dick ingratiated himself into his liking, drank with 
him, and presently began his usual procedure with 
the cards. 



"FAIR STOOD THE WIND FOR FRANCE." 367 

As invariably happened, certain of his spectators 
offered Dick small sums to show them how one or 
other of his most puzzling tricks were done. As 
always, Dick refused. But his first acquaintance, 
under a curiosity to which Dick had adroitly minis 
tered, persisted hard in begging to know the secret of 
a certain sleight. Dick finally replied : 

" I shall tell you on the other side of the Chan 
nel." 

" T'other side of the Channel ? " repeated the sea 
farer. " When shall I see you there, man ? " 

" When you shall have taken me there in your 
fishing-smack." 

" So 'tis settled I'm to take you ? But the pay ? " 

" Good Lord ! If I show you my card trick, isn't 
that pay ? I call a miserable passage across the 
Channel a mighty cheap price for one of my secrets. 
But if you will haggle, you shall have all my money 
into the bargain, one shilling, and one sixpence. 
Well, well, so you don't want to learn the trick ? 
Good evening, then ! " 

"Oh, hold ! I didn't say no. I don't haggle. I'll 
take you, lad, to-morrow night, when I go a-fish- 
ing." 

If Dick thought it strange to go fishing by night, 
particularly Sunday night, he kept his thoughts to 
himself. He had heard tales of the fisherfolk and 
Other worthy people of the coast towns, and was pre- 



368 THE ROAD TO PARTS. 

pared to be blind to certain signs. As for the readi 
ness with which the seafarers in the ale-house let 
him come among them, his own appearance of 
poverty had quickly served to establish a fellowship. 
His winning, yet confident, manner prevented his 
being despised for the poverty he showed. More 
over, his desire to cross the Channel indicated, in a 
person of his attire, such motives for absence from 
England as these men were of a class to sympathize 
with. They knew at first glance that he had no pur 
pose inimical to them, so keen was their scent for a 
government spy in any disguise. In fine, Dick had 
the gift of adapting his demeanor to the society of a 
Lord or of a cutthroat, and easily made himself 
received without distrust by these wary folk who 
fished by night. 

On Saturday night, that of his arrival at this hum 
ble suburb of Dover, he slept in a corner of the 
fisherman's loft. All the next day, he lay quiet in 
doors, sharing the Sunday life of the fisherman's 
family, which included a wife and two huge, awkward 
sons, respectively sixteen and eighteen years old. 
At night, preceded by these sons, the fisherman led 
Dick some distance from the town, to a cove, where 
lay the smack. An unknown man was already 
aboard, adjusting sail. The four immediately joined 
him, Dick bestowing himself in the stern while the 
fisherman and his sons assisted the unknown at the 



"FAIR STOOD THE WIND FOR FRANCE." 369 

ropes. Few, short, and low were the words spoken, 
and very soon the little craft glided out from shore, 
upon the easy swell of the Channel. The night was 
lit by stars only, the wind was fair, and the heave of 
the sea was not violent. 

Dick noticed that his skipper kept a very keen 
lookout, seeming to search the sea ahead for some 
particular object. He wondered how soon these 
nocturnal fishermen would begin to cast lines, and 
what sort of fish they would be catching at this 
season. But presently he drew in all his thoughts 
to his own affairs, for he had become unmistakably 
seasick. Busy for a long while in seeking relief, his 
head over the side of the boat, he gave no heed to 
the doings or words of the crew. 

He was, in time, vaguely aware of a hail from 
another vessel ; of the fact that this vessel loomed 
into close view ; that his own boat lay to alongside of 
it ; that the two crews conversed in mixed French 
and English ; that sundry bales, kegs, ankers, and 
two or three barrels, were lowered from the other 
vessel into the boat, and then that he was shaken at 
the shoulder by his conductor, who said, " Come 
aboard the lugger, lad, and make haste ! " 

Surprised but unquestioning, Dick staggered after 
the fisherman and clambered from the boat's gun 
wale, with the crew's help, to the other vessel. 
Just as the fisherman was about to follow, one of his 



370 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

sons gave a low cry. The fisherman uttered a curse, 
and leaped to his rudder, while the son who had 
called out seized a rope and began vigorously making 
sail. At the same moment a man on the lugger 
instantly released the line by which the Dover 
smack had been kept alongside, and there was a 
general noise of ropes, blocks, and canvas, in quick 
movement. Before Dick knew what was the matter 
the two vessels had parted company, and the lights 
of a third appeared, from which came a sharp, 
mandatory hail. This, being unanswered, was fol 
lowed by a flash and a boom and a splashing up of 
water, the last in the wake of the boat from Dover. 
That craft showing its heels in fine fashion, and 
Dick's vessel also making speed, the former was 
soon out of sight. The revenue cutter, for such was 
the intruder whose advent had caused the two 
smuggling vessels to part so suddenly, chose to 
pursue the English boat, so that the French lugger 
to which Dick had been transferred went its way 
unhindered. 

Dick turned with an inquiring look to the man 
who seemed in command of the lugger. The latter, 
evidently supposing that Dick's solicitude was in 
regard to the Dover smack, said in French, " Have 
no fear, my brother. Your comrades will carry their 
fish safe home. Their King's vessels waste time 
and powder chasing them, Mon Dieti, the bottom 



"FAIR STOOD THE WIND FOR FRANCE." 

of the ocean must be paved with the cannon-shot 
the revenue vessels have sent after the night fisher 
men in vain ! " 

Dick, from his long association with the French 
teacher in Newgate, could grasp the meaning of this 
speech after a few moments. He knew from the 
words and manner that the Frenchman understood 
him to be on a good understanding with the Dover 
fishermen, and would treat him as one who deserved 
well of the vast fraternity of Channel smugglers. It 
was comforting to know that his way had thus been 
made smooth by the Dover man when the latter had 
bespoken Dick's passage, for the French smuggler 
was as villainous-looking a rascal as Dick had seen 
in Newgate, and, had Dick come to him without 
proper introduction, would doubtless have been as 
ready with a hostile knife or belaying-pin as he now 
was with deference and amiability. Dick found, 
without directly asking, that the lugger was bound 
for Boulogne. ' 

It was that darkest hour which precedes the dawn, 
when the vessel anchored some distance off that 
port. The skipper and one of the crew rowed ashore 
with Dick in a small boat, getting out in the surf, 
and dragging the boat after them while they waded 
to dry beach. They were now on the sands near the 
town. The captain took polite leave of Dick, point 
ing out the most convenient way to go, and adding, 



37 2 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

with a grin, that, as this road was not obstructed by 
custom-house officers, Dick would undergo no delay 
over his baggage. Nothing was said about passage 
money. The Dover skipper had evidently provided 
for Dick's transportation, which was doubtless a 
matter of reciprocal favor between the English and 
the French smugglers. Dick was sorry the Dover 
man had been disappointed, by the interference of 
the revenue cutter, of the intended trip to the French 
coast and of the proposed payment for Dick's passage. 
"I'll show him the card trick if ever we meet again," 
thought Dick, as he walked towards the town and 
realized that he was on French ground; "but, if we 
never meet, it isn't my fault he was left behind." 

Dick entered Boulogne with two sailors whom he 
happened to overtake, and to whom he contrived to 
make known in French his desire of learning the 
nearest way to a public house. They led him to 
the upper town and to the cabaret for which they 
were bound. His pockets and stomach were alike 
empty, and his teeth were chattering from the cold. 
He was goaded by his condition to immediate effort. 

As soon as he entered the kitchen, where the 
sailors promptly sat down to bread and butter and 
brandy, Dick proposed he should share free their 
loaf, their firkin, and their keg, on condition that 
any card they might name should be found on the 
top of the pack he now held face downward before 



"FAIR STOOD THE WIND FOR FRANCE." 373 

him. If the top card should be any other, he should 
pay for their breakfast. Of course they jumped at 
the proposition, and of course the top card was the 
one they had named. 

An hour later, filled with bread and butter, 
warmed inside by the brandy and outside by the 
kitchen fire, Dick went forth with some thought of 
soliciting employment from one of the several British 
merchants who, as he had learned at breakfast, dwelt 
in Boulogne. 

In the streets, he felt as if he had been suddenly 
transported to a new world. The one night's trip 
across the Channel, between coasts in sight of each 
other, had wrought a greater transformation in his 
surroundings than the five weeks' voyage across the 
Atlantic had produced. The spareness, alertness, 
fussiness, and excessive politeness of the people was 
as great a contrast to the characteristics of the rubi 
cund Britons he had been among a day ago, as he 
could have imagined. The jabbering of the people, 
though, was not entirely strange to his ears ; he had 
heard its like from the habitant of Canada. Nor 
was the ubiquity of soldiers and priests new to eyes 
that had seen Quebec and its environs. Yet the 
tall, straight, carefully powdered French soldiers 
that he saw as he walked near the fortifications, 
little resembled the stout, well-fed English troops 
he had faced at Bunker Hill. 



374 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

Now and then he could recognize in the crowd, at 
a glance, some round, red, contented-looking English 
face ; and, when two of these passed together, it was 
a pleasure to Dick to hear the English words that 
fell from either mouth. 

As he was approaching one of the best hotels of 
the place, Dick got a rear view of a gentleman stand 
ing before it, from whose broad back and solid- 
looking legs Dick would have sworn him to be an 
Englishman. Dick observed that this gentleman 
was looking at a pretty girl at an upper window 
of a house across the street. Himself gazing at 
the same object, he bumped heavily against the 
gentleman in passing. 

"Damme," cried the gentleman, in a robust voice, 
" must you frog-eaters be always tumbling over peo 
ple, because you have no footways in your cursed 
streets ? " And he glared indignantly into the face 
of Dick, who had stopped and was inspecting him. 

" I don't happen to be a Frenchman, and I agree 
with you in cursing the lack of footways," said Dick. 
"How have you fared since we met and parted 
at the Pelican at Newbury, Sir Hilary ? " 

" Eh ? Sir Hilary ? Pelican ? Why, who the 
devil By the lord, 'tis the gentleman that of 
fered to pay the landlord, so we might all get 
away betimes ! Welcome, sir ! By your looks, I 
can guess you're like some others of us on this 



"FAIR STOOD TH WIND FOR FRANCE." 37$ 

side the Channel, you've had your own reasons 
to try the air of France ! Well, by George, you 
shall keep me company awhile ! You shall come 
in, and break a bottle with me, sir, half a dozen 
bottles, damme ! And after that you shall be my 
guest. Come in ! I won't hear you say no ! God 
save the "King, and huzza, for old England ! " 

And, having capped these patriotic exclamations 
with a defiant look around at the French passers-by, 
the exiled Berkshire fox-hunter caught hold of Dick, 
who had not the slightest intention of saying no, and 
hustled him cordially into the inn. 



CHAPTER XV. 

AN ELOPEMENT FROM A DILIGENCE. 

IT came out, over the Burgundy, that Sir Hilary 
passed most of his time in Paris, but often repaired 
to Calais or Boulogne to be for the while nearer 
England. He still remained from his own country 
because he dreaded being called on by the law for 
an account of the killing of Mr. Bullcott, not that 
he feared the outcome as to his bodily safety, but 
that such legal proceedings might bring out the 
name of his sister, and provide the Town and 
Country Magazine with a characteristic narrative, in 
which every one concerned should figure, the vowels 
in each name supplanted by dashes. Bold as he 
was in many things, the fox-hunter was timid as to 
that sort of celebrity. 

But the non-existence of any one who would 
desire to see Squire Bullcott's removal avenged, 
promised eventual safety for Sir Hilary's person ; 
and the general forgetfulness of things past would 
in time enable him to return home without risk of 
reviving interest in the affair at the Pelican, although 

376 



AN ELOPEMENT FROM A DILIGENCE. 3/7 

he was forever officially branded by the coroner's 
verdict as having caused the death of Bullcott under 
circumstances to be further determined. 

And now, at the fourth bottle, Sir Hilary insisted 
on repaying Mr. Wetheral, with interest, for having 
silenced the landlord of the Pelican. It seemed that 
Sir Hilary received plenty of money from his estate, 
and, being given to amusements of the country, 
knew not how to spend it on the pleasures of Paris. 
He required that Dick should go along immediately 
to a tailor's, and fit himself out handsomely, and Dick, 
seeing how much gratification the Englishman really 
took in this kind of generosity, made no protest. 
Nor did he object when the bountiful Berkshire bar 
onet thrust upon him a well-filled purse. In those 
days, gentlemen had not the petty vanity of refusing 
to put themselves under obligations to one another. 
Without any affectation of pride, they readily ac 
cepted favors which they knew they would as readily 
bestow were conditions reversed. 

So Dick remained Sir Hilary's guest at the hotel 
that day and night, and the next morning they took 
post-horses and rode to Samers, Sir Hilary's inten 
tion being to proceed in a leisurely way, seeing as 
much country and drinking as much wine as they 
could, to Paris. As for Dick, recalling that memo 
rable afternoon's journey of his childhood, he con 
sidered now that the words of old Tom MacAlister 



3/8 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

had been those of an oracle, and that fate designed 
his road to lead to Paris, whatever plans he might 
make for himself. 

Moreover, a definite purpose now formed in his 
mind, which purpose of itself called him Parisward. 
In the auberge at Samers, where Sir Hilary pro 
longed their stop to try thoroughly the wine of the 
country, Dick overheard a conversation between a 
voluble petit maitre and a short-gowned Capuchin 
monk, in which the name of Washington instantly 
caught his ear. He soon found that the talk was on 
the American war, and that the talkers sympathized 
with the Americans. He learned that a recent dar 
ing blow struck by Washington at Trenton, and 
another victory, won at Princeton, had offset the 
effect of the British occupation of New York and 
the British victories connected therewith. He 
learned, too, that Franklin, a name spoken with as 
great honor at this little French inn as at home, had 
come to France as an agent of the Americans, and 
was now with his fellow agent, Mr. Silas Deane, at 
the Hotel d'Hambourg, in the Rue 1'Universite, in 
Paris. This news, at which Dick glowed inwardly, 
gave him the idea of offering his services to Frank 
lin, to be used in any way and in any place 
proposable. 

That same day the fellow travellers rode on, over 
the undulating country of the Boulonnois, by woods 



AN ELOPEMENT FROM A DILIGENCE. 379 

and streams, to Montreuil, where they had to give 
their names to a polite guard officer at the gates ; 
leaped from their horses at the sign of the Crown of 
France, paid their post, and took lodging for the 
night. 

Sir Hilary promptly ordered a roasted capon, a 
fricasseed hare, a wild duck, a salad, and a flask of 
Burgundy, the two gentlemen having chosen a table 
at a window. While they sat eating, they saw drive 
up to the inn a lumbering four - wheeled carriage, 
which let out a severe, stately, slender old lady, a 
demure-looking, black-eyed girl of seventeen, and a 
gaunt, gray-haired man-servant, in well-worn livery. 
Waiting while the old lady oversaw the removal of 
several ancient portmanteaus, the girl looked with 
indifferent curiosity at the inn. Her eyes, swiftly 
moving, met Dick's through the window, and rested 
a moment, a moment only, but time sufficient to 
give him that sensation which fine eyes, so encoun 
tered, usually produce. The girl soon looked else 
where, the old lady led the way into the inn, and the 
carriage moved off. Dick saw no more of the black- 
eyed girl that evening, yet he did not forget that she 
was under the same roof with him. 

The next morning, at breakfast, Sir Hilary raised 
the question as to what means of conveyance they 
should next take. At that moment, Dick saw the 
gray-haired man-servant taking out the ladies' lug- 



380 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

gage to the Paris diligence, which great, unshapely 
vehicle, drawn by gaunt horses, now stood before 
the door. 

" What conveyance ? " echoed Dick. " How can 
you ask ? Why, the diligence, of course ! " 

And there was more haste than Sir Hilary saw 
the need of, in finishing the breakfast, paying the 
bill, and getting Sir Hilary's baggage down-stairs in 
time to make sure of not being left behind. 

Dick and Sir Hilary had been aboard some min 
utes, before the ladies appeared. Dick leaped out 
and gave his hand to them, the old lady first, to 
assist them into the diligence. The old lady bowed, 
but looked distrustful ; the girl said, " Merci, mon 
sieur," in a low but appreciative voice, and turned 
her eyes on his for a considerable part of a second. 
Dick took a seat where he could get a view of the 
girl's face without staring directly at her, and 
the diligence rumbled off with many a violent jolt. 

"They call these machines turgotines," said Sir 
Hilary, alluding to the diligence, and speaking in 
French purposely to be heard by the other pas 
sengers, "because they were introduced during the 
ministry of Monseer Turgot, but if I were Monseer 
Turgot I shouldn't be proud on that account." 

A Picardy abbe replying with a polite question as 
to stage-coaches in England, the conversation soon 
became general. One of the passengers was an old 



AN ELOPEMENT FROM A DILIGENCE. 38 I 

lieutenant who had served in Canada, and, through 
some remark of his, the American war became the 
topic, a topic at that time held in far greater 
interest throughout Europe than Dick had imagined 
it would be. A difference arising among the pas 
sengers as to the relative situations of Boston and 
Philadelphia, Dick undertook to set them right; but 
his statement was doubted by the majority. There 
upon, the black-eyed girl, who had of course kept 
silent hitherto, spoke out in a somewhat embar 
rassed manner, confirming Dick's assertion. 

" Thanks, mademoiselle ! " said Dick, gratefully. 
" The word of mademoiselle must be final, ladies and 
gentlemen, she is doubtless more recently from 
school than any of us." 

Mademoiselle smiled slightly, and said no more, 
the old lady's look being directed at her in severe 
rebuke. 

The stop for dinner caused a rearrangement of 
the passengers as to the places in the diligence. 
Dick now found himself beside the dark-eyed girl, at 
whose other hand, in a corner, sat the old lady. 
At Dick's other side was Sir Hilary. The ladies' 
man-servant was outside. Having dined heavily, Sir 
Hilary fell asleep before the coach had gone far. 
And, to Dick's unexpected pleasure, the old lady, 
after several preliminary nods, followed the fox- 
hunter's example. The other passengers became 



382 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

engrossed in the adventures of the lieutenant and 
the comic stories of the abbe. 

" Have you ever been in America, mademoiselle," 
said Dick, softly, "that you are so well informed 
about its towns ? " 

"No, monsieur," she answered, in as low a tone 
as his, " but, as you said, I am very recently from 
school. I have often studied the maps at the 
convent I left but yesterday." 

The conversation thus entered upon continued 
during the whole afternoon, and was marked by an 
uninterrupted progress in mutual acquaintance and 
confidence. Under certain conditions, and between 
congenial persons, a closer intimacy may be reached 
in a half day's fellow-travelling than may otherwise 
be attained in a lifetime of occasional meetings. By 
the time the diligence neared Abbeville la Pucelle, 
Dick was the young lady's confidant as to these 
facts : 

She was leaving her convent school to be married 
in Paris to a Chevalier of St. Louis, whom she 
regarded with aversion for the reason that he was 
almost old enough to be her grandfather. The mar 
riage had been arranged by her father, an officer of 
the regiment of Picardy, whose sister was the old 
lady now taking her to Paris. With such antipathy 
and dread did the girl look forward to the marriage, 
that she had almost dared to meditate rebellion and 



AN ELOPEMENT FROM A DILIGENCE. 383 

flight, for she was not closely attached to her father, 
whose military duties kept him away from her, and 
she inherited from her dead mother, a moderate for 
tune that could not be alienated from her. But she 
was under the domination of her aunt, who had 
helped arrange the marriage, the girl's father being 
on service. 

" What else can I do ? " she asked Dick, helplessly. 
" I dare not disobey my aunt, I have not the courage 
to resist her. I have felt like one half dead, since I 
left the convent, and in that condition I shall be led 
passively through it all, till I find myself oh, how 
can I endure it ? " 

" You shall not ! " said Dick, with impulsive eager 
ness to play the chivalrous part. " You must not ! 
I will save you from the intolerable fate ! " 

The girl looked at him in wonder. " If you 
could ! " she whispered slowly, half in despair, half in 
newly risen hope. 

At that moment, the diligence coming to a stop at 
the post inn at Abbeville, the aunt showed signs of 
waking. " Rely on me, I shall not desert you ! " 
whispered Dick, and then very gallantly stooped and 
restored a handkerchief dropped by the aunt in the 
act of waking. 

That evening, while Sir Hilary celebrated in many 
bumpers the beauty of the girls of Abbeville, Dick 
thought over the situation of her whose eyes made 



384 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

the Abbeville virgins colorless and uninteresting. 
The only practicable way for her to avoid the mar 
riage was by physical flight. She might become a 
nun, but Dick could not tolerate the idea of so much 
charm buried for life in a convent, and she herself 
had not spoken of such a refuge. She might have 
friends or relations who would shelter and conceal 
her in her rebellion. But if this were not the case 
she would have only the protection and guidance of 
Dick, and there was but one condition on which she 
could accept those with safety to her honor. Well, 
Dick was not a man to turn back after having given 
his assurance ; the girl was certainly charming and 
amiable, she had a small fortune to ensure her own 
comfort, and the thought of her perturbing glances 
reserved exclusively for some other man filled Dick 
with a kind of chagrin. Moreover, her name was 
Collette, and she looked the name. 

The next day he got no chance to speak to her 
until the afternoon. Then, protected as before by 
the slumbering aunt on one side and the drowsy 
baronet on the other, the young people resumed 
their conversation. Was she still as much opposed 
to the marriage as ever ? Oh, decidedly, far more 
so! with a little terrified look at Dick. Had she 
any friends to whom she might go ? None who 
would not betray her. No refuge whatever in mind ? 
None whatever. Would she risk her father's dis- 



AN ELOPEMENT FROM A DILIGENCE. 385 

pleasure and her aunt's, provided there were some 
one to stand between her and that displeasure ? 
Why, yes, if such a situation were possible, any 
thing rather than the marriage. Would she be 
resigned to a marriage with a younger gentleman ? 
Why, yes, if that is to say if - 

" If," said Dick, in low tones, but with all due 
signs of feeling, " if the gentleman were an American, 
carried from his country by the wind of circumstance, 
with nothing in the world but the clothes on his 
back, a few louis in his pocket, and some land in the 
wilderness of Pennsylvania, but with a prospect of 
honorable employment for his country on reaching 
Paris, and with a hand that could be turned to any 
thing and would ever be devoted to your honor and 
happiness ? " 

She raised her eyes, which had been lowered, and 
in meeting his their jetty brilliance took a humid 
softness as she answered, gently, " Is it of yourself 
that you speak, monsieur ? " 

So it was agreed upon, while the diligence rumbled 
past a gentle hillside crowned by a fair chateau 
flanked by oak woods. When they came in sight of 
the oak-topped ramparts of Amiens, their plans were 
complete. Dick was to have a hired carriage and 
post-horses ready near the inn, and Collette was to 
join him at the inn door as soon as her aunt and the 
servant should be abed. Riding all night and part 



386 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

of the next day, they could defy pursuit, and carry 
out their purpose at leisure. Though they should 
continue towards Paris, there would be no danger of 
being overtaken, especially by the diligence, which, 
because of bad weather and bad roads, was then mak 
ing smaller than the usual daily stages, as any one 
acquainted with the country traversed will have seen. 
Dick preferred not yet to take Sir Hilary into confi 
dence ; he knew where to communicate with the 
baronet in due time in Paris. 

Amiens was a large town with fine streets of well- 
built houses, and with a beautiful cathedral contain 
ing the head of John the Baptist ; but Dick had no 
eye for these things on this occasion. At the inn 
Sir Hilary met two officers of the regiment of the 
Prince of Conde, on leave, and was soon lost in 
.conversation and champagne, so that Dick was free 
to make his arrangements. 

Fortunately, the purse pressed upon Dick by the 
baronet in Boulogne was still nearly full. He 
obtained a carriage from the diligence company, and 
two horses and a postilion from the postman at 
the inn. Soon after supper, while he paced before 
the inn door, in the cold evening, the cloaked and 
hooded figure of Collette appeared from within, 
noiselessly ; whereupon he took her hand, and the 
pair hastened like ghosts to the waiting carriage, 
which rattled away with them a minute later. A 



AN ELOPEMENT FROM A DILIGENCE. 387 

twenty-four-sous piece, handed to the sentinel, caused 
the city gates, which had been closed for the night, 
to fly open, and the jack-booted postilion was soon 
swearing and singing, and whipping his horses, in 
the open country, on the road to Chantilly. Inside 
the carriage, the two young people sat silent, the 
girl perhaps trembling now and then at thought of 
the leap she had taken into the unknown, Dick some 
what sobered at the responsibility he had so speedily 
assumed. But he was, as usual, ready for anything, 
and often he pressed her hand to reassure her. 

It was the night of Thursday, February 27, 1777. 
Evening had set in with increasing cold and a howling 
wind. Engrossed in their thoughts, Dick and Col- 
lette for two or three hours noticed not that the wind 
was constantly gaining in force and fury. Suddenly 
the carriage stopped, there was a brief wait, and the 
door was flung open. 

" It is impossible to go farther to-night, monsieur," 
said the postilion, thrusting in his head. "One of 
the horses has cast a shoe and is very lame." 

" But we must go on," said Dick. " It is a matter 
of life and death." 

"It is simply impossible," said the postilion, 
stubbornly. 

" It cannot be impossible. Have I not paid half 
the post hire in advance ? " 

" Monsieur can go on, in the m'orning. There is 



388 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

an auberge a little distance ahead, where he and 
madame can pass the night. I will find a smith and 
have the horse shod in time to set out early." 

" Are you sure it is the lameness of the horse, that 
moves you, or a desire to get indoors from the cold ? " 
queried Dick. 

" Monsieur 1'Anglois has the privilege of thinking 
as it may please him. Will he have me drive to the 
auberge, or will he remain here in the road all 
night ? " 

" Let him drive to the auberge, for heaven's sake ! " 
whispered Collette, somewhat terrified. 

The auberge, when reached, proved to be a misera 
ble hut of three apartments, stable, kitchen, and 
common sleeping-room. The host and his wife, 
visible by light of candle and by kitchen fire, were 
an evil-looking pair. 

" Oh," said Collette, drawing back from the door 
way, " I can never stay here ! " 

" There is no other place," said the postilion, 
with an impudent grin. 

" I will find another place," said Dick, beginning 
to feel ugly towards the postilion. " I see a light 
on the hill yonder. It comes from the window of a 
chateau. Such a house will not refuse us hospitality, 
my Collette ! You will drive us to that house, fel 
low ! " And Dick lifted Mademoiselle Collette into 
the carriage. 



AN ELOPEMENT FROM A DILIGENCE. 389 

" I will not drive one step ! " said the postillion, 
insolently, with a careless crack of his whip. 

Dick looked at the fellow a moment, strode up to 
him, wrenched the whip from his hand by an unex 
pected movement, and struck him two quick blows 
across the face with it. 

" Drive us to that house ! " said Dick. 

The postilion mounted, without a word, and 
Dick, retaining the whip, joined Collette inside the 
carriage. 

At the chateau, while Collette remained in the 
carriage, Dick got out to speak to the servant who 
opened the door in response to the postilion's knock. 
Dick so framed his message to the master of the 
house, that the latter himself came to the door, Dick 
remaining outside to guard Collette and the carriage. 
The master of the house, lighted by the candles in 
the entrance-hall, was an elderly gentleman, tall and 
slender, with a bright eye and a face at once kindly, 
distinguished, and intellectual. 

" Monsieur," said Dick, in as good French as he 
could command, " a circumstance has made it im 
possible for me to continue to-night a journey I 
began in that carriage a few hours ago. The only 
inn near at hand is one where it would be equally 
impossible for the lady whom I have the honor to 
protect, to pass the night. The lady is now in the 
carriage, and " 



390 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

" Monsieur need say no more," replied the gentle 
man, in a most courteous and sympathetic tone. 
" My house shall be the lady's inn and your own. 
There is no hostess yet to welcome her, but fortu 
nately there is a maid, whom I shall send immediately. 
As for you, monsieur, when you have seen the lady 
cared for, Etienne will show you, if you choose, to 
the room in which I shall be at supper. The lady 
will doubtless prefer to sup in her own apartment." 

" I thank you, monsieur, but we have supped 
already. I will do myself the honor to join you, 
nevertheless, and make myself better acquainted 
with so courteous a gentleman." 

The gentleman smiled, bowed, and disappeared 
through an inner door. Dick returned to Collette. 

" A maid will come for you in a moment," said he. 
" Our host is a most charming gentleman, both in 
act and in appearance." 

" I did not look out of the carriage to see him," 
said Collette, taking Dick's hand and stepping to 
the ground. " Why, how strange that I should be a 
guest at this house ! I recognize it now. It is one 
that I have often noticed while riding past in the 
road below. I have always wished I might live in 
it." 

A maid now appeared at the doorway. Collette 
took leave of Dick for the night, saying she desired 
nothing further and would defer till morning her 



AN ELOPEMENT' FROM A DILIGENCE. 39! 

meeting with the master of the house. Dick there 
upon sent the shivering postilion, with horses, car 
riage, and whip, back to the auberge, and asked 
Etienne, the servant who had let him in, and who 
still stood in the entrance-hall, to show him to the 
supper table. 

In a richly furnished room, softly lighted by wax 
candles, and warmed by fragrant fagots in a small 
fireplace, he found his considerate host seated at a 
well-filled table, opposite a round-faced priest, still 
under middle age, who beamed with merriment and 
good nature. Dick announced his name, and was 
thereupon introduced to the Abbe Foyard by the 
master of the house, who then said : 

" Monsieur will pardon me, I am sure, if I adhere 
merely for the sake of habit to the incognito I 
am preserving in this neighborhood at present. I do 
not wish my name to get abroad as the new pur 
chaser of this estate." 

" My obligations are no less for my not knowing 
to whom they are due, monsieur," said Dick, taking 
the seat to which his host motioned him, at the 
table. He would eat nothing, but he would drink 
some wine, and he joined in a toast of Burgundy, 
proposed by the Abbe", with a twinkling eye, to 
"Madame la Comtesse that is to be." 

From the fact that in the ensuing conversation 
the Abbe addressed the master of the house as Mon- 



39 2 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

sieur le Comte, Dick soon understood the toast, the 
Abbe's look of sly merriment, and the half pleased, 
half chiding expression of the Count himself. The 
bottle went round often, and the talk became uncon 
strained. Dick made it known that he was an Ameri 
can, whereupon he was plied with many questions 
concerning the war, and particularly concerning the 
personality of Washington. The Count then said 
he had seen that great philosopher, Franklin, in 
Paris, honored by beautiful women and celebrated 
men, among whom he appeared in his plain coat, 
as if the simplicity of the ancient sages had been 
in him revived. 

" It is in the hope of meeting him," said Dick, 
"that I am now on the way to Paris." 

" Then you have a pleasure very near at hand," 
said the Count. 

"I trust it is near at hand," said Dick. "It may 
be delayed by another matter that must intervene, 
also a pleasure." 

" You speak and look as if it were a matter of 
some doubt or difficulty," said the Count. " If I can 
be of assistance " 

" I thank you, monsieur, but it is a matter in 
which the aid of Monsieur 1'Abbe would be more 
to the point." 

" Command me, monsieur," put in the Abbe". 
" My aid is for whoever asks it." 



AN ELOPEMENT FROM A DILIGENCE. 393 

"I begin to understand," said the Count, with a 
kindly smile. " The lady in the carriage ' 

" Precisely," said Dick. " Monsieur le Comte is 
very penetrating." 

" Oh, no, very stupid, usually," said the Count. 
" But at present there is a reason why my percep 
tion is keen wherever a love affair or a marriage 
is concerned." 

" Then it is true, as the toast of Monsieur 
1'Abbe indicated, that you also are about to 
achieve happiness? We have to felicitate each 
other ! " 

"Yes, it is true. And so great is my happiness 
that I would have the whole world happy at the 
same time. I was saying this to the Abbe only 
an hour ago, and wishing for opportunities to make 
others similarly happy, when, behold, the good God 
grants my wish by sending you to my door. You 
would have the aid of the Abbe!, you say ? Very 
well. I use the power I have over the Abbe's 
actions, through his affection for me, to compel 
his aid in your behalf." 

"But that is not necessary," said the Abbe. 
" You know I dote upon runaway matches. I need 
not apologize, Monsieur Wetheral, one can easily 
see, by the circumstances, that yours is a runaway 
match. It is therefore a love match." 

"You are right, Monsieur 1'Abbe. The young 



394 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

lady was to have been sacrificed, according to the 
custom that prevails everywhere but in my country. 
Her horror at the match arranged for her would 
have distressed you, gentlemen, if you could have 
witnessed it." 

" I am sure it would have distressed me," said 
the Count. " But it is now averted, and need be 
thought of no more. The Abbe shall perform your 
marriage before you leave my roof, under which you 
are safe from all pursuit." 

" Imagine Monsieur le Comte aiding and abetting 
a runaway marriage a year ago ! " said the Abbe", 
with a roguish smile. 

"The Abbe" is right, young gentleman. A year 
ago I should no more have thought of violating a 
universal custom of our civilization than of joining 
a conspiracy against the King. But a year ago I 
ha4 not loved. I knew not what it might be for a 
man to see the woman he loved given into the posses 
sion of another. I now consider love as having first 
right. It is to be obeyed against all other considera 
tions. Moreover, if I now do Love a service in aid 
ing this match of yours, Love will owe me a favor. 
It may repay me by giving me The Count 
ceased talking, and sighed. 

" Monsieur le Comte has a strange fancy he does 
not receive back as much love as he bestows," 
explained the Abbe, gently. " He does not allow for 



AN ELOPEMENT FROM A DILIGENCE. 39$ 

the lady's youth, which makes her naturally shy and 
undemonstrative in his presence." 

" I am sure there can be no reason for his fancy," 
said Dick, glancing with genuine admiration at the 
singularly noble and gentle countenance of his 
host. 

"And if there were," said the Abbe", noting that 
the Count still looked pensive, " what woman's heart 
could continue long unsusceptible to such munifi 
cence ? What think you of this chateau, with its 
princely parks, as a wedding present, monsieur, a 
little surprise, after the jewels, the house in Paris, 
and the other trinkets shall have been surveyed ? 
Do you not think that, if anything be wanting to 
make the lady's heart respond, it will be supplied 
when she is told that she is mistress of this house, 
which, as Monsieur le Comte has learned, she has 
coveted since her childhood ? " 

Dick's thought that the Abbe" knew less of how 
women are constituted than abbes are supposed to 
know, was suddenly driven out by another thought, 
that it was strange two young ladies should both 
have coveted this chateau since childhood. 

"You now understand," said the Count to Dick, 
" my desire to remain unknown as the purchaser of 
this place. I would not have the news reach her 
ears and spoil the surprise. And I congratulate 
myself on being here, superintending the last altera- 



396 tHE ROAD TO PARIS. 

tions, and on having brought the Abbe with me as 
company ; for that your love match may be some 
what facilitated through us. Come, Abbe, rejoice 
with me that we are enabled to serve love, and to 
baffle those who would do it violence ! What greater 
crime can there be than to force a girl to a marriage 
of interest ? Your rival, monsieur, will deserve his 
discomfiture ! I should really like to witness his 
chagrin. To conspire selfishly, with a young girl's 
natural protectors, against her happiness ! Yes, it 
pleases me to think how crestfallen he will be ! 
Monsieur, you have drunk already to my future coun 
tess ; let us drink now to the lady whom the Abbe 
shall unite to you in this house at whatever time 
she may select ! " 

The toast was drunk heartily, and Dick, letting 
his eyes rove lazily among the many signs of wealth 
and luxurious comfort in the room, inwardly con 
trasted the possible future of the girl whose fate he 
was to take in charge, with that of her whose destiny 
was to be in the keeping of the rich and generous 
Count. 

" To think that her house should serve the roman 
tic purpose of a runaway love match ! " said the 
Count, with a smile*. "It will amuse Collette." 

Dick turned pale. "Collette ! " he echoed. " You 
said Collette ! " 

" That is the first name of the lady who is to be 



AN ELOPEMENT FROM A DILIGENCE. 397 

my wife," explained the Count. "Why does it 
startle you ? " 

" Oh, because I have heard that name so recently. 
My own fiancee has a friend of that name, a 
schoolmate, at a convent somewhere near Mon- 
treuil." 

" Tis the very same ! " cried the Count, with 
great pleasure. "To think, Abbe, that we should 
be of service to one of her friends ! That surely 
will delight her ! " 

" But," faltered Dick, " is it certain ? There may 
be two of that name at the same convent. The one 
of whom I speak has left it very recently, with her 
aunt " 

" It is she ! " said the Count, more and more 
rejoiced at corroborative details. " She ought to be 
at this moment at Abbeville or Amiens, on the way 
to Paris to be married. She will pass this house 
and look up at it, wishing it were hers, as she 
has so often done, and never dreaming I am here 
making it ready for her ! Yes, there can be no 
doubt, it is the same Collette, Mademoiselle de 
Sarton!" 

When Dick was shown to a round chamber in a 
turret-shaped corner of the chateau that night, he 
asked for pen, ink, and paper, saying he always 
wrote his letters late. By the light of a small can 
delabra, and after much thought and many begin- 



398 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

nings, he composed two documents before he went 
to bed. 

At earliest dawn he dressed and went down-stairs, 
told the only servant he found up that he was going 
for a short walk, and left with the servant the two 
letters, each to be taken to the chamber of its in 
tended recipient. Then Dick hastened to the au- 
berge where his horses and postilion had passed 
the night. 

One letter was to Collette, and read as follows : 

" MADEMOISELLE : 

" You are now in your own house, which you have so long 
wished to possess. Its master, the noblest, kindest, and hand 
somest gentleman in the world, with boundless will and means 
to make you happy, is he from whom I, a worthless adventurer 
with neither possessions nor prospects, would have taken you, in 
my ignorance and folly. You should thank God for your es 
cape and for giving you a husband such as Monsieur le Comte, 
whose years have but added to his graces and his merits. I 
have written him to such effect that he will understand all, and 
that, when he comes to greet you, nothing will be necessary on 
your part but for you to give him your hand, and offer your 
brow for the caress which a princess might be rejoiced and 
honored to receive." 

The other letter was to the Count himself, and, 
whatever it contained, there is plentiful record, in 
the family history of the Counts de Rollin court, to 
show that it accomplished its purpose. By the time 



AN ELOPEMENT FROM A DILIGENCE. 399 

the aunt of Mile, de Sarton reached the newly 
bought estate of the Count de Rollincourt, in mad 
search of her fugitive niece, servants were in wait 
ing at the road to conduct her to the chateau, where 
her amazement to find the Count in possession was 
promptly doubled on seeing Collette installed as mis 
tress, for, if the Count's little surprise was spoiled, 
his plan of having the Abbe" Foyard perform an im 
promptu marriage was carried out, after all. 

Meanwhile, long before this happy issue of affairs, 
Dick Wetheral had roused "the cowed postilion and 
set out on horseback towards Paris, leaving the car 
riage to be taken back when the postilion should 
return. Dismissing this postilion at the first post, 
he took new horses, and, riding all day, despite 
weather and bad roads, he arrived at evening at St. 
Denis, and dismounted at the principal inn, tired, 
hungry, and bespattered with mud. Before going to 
bed, he sent for a servant to give his clothes a thor 
ough cleaning, that he might in the morning make 
his triumphal entry into Paris in a state of attire be 
fitting so important an event. When his head rested 
on the pillow, it was with a pleasant thrill at the 
realization that his road, roundabout as it had been, 
had indeed led him to the very portals of Paris, and 
that it would take him across those portals on the 
early morrow. 

He little knew in what manner he was to cross 



4OO THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

those portals, how he was to pass through the city 
yet see it not, and what a vast loop his road was to 
describe, over strange perils and through wild heart 
burnings, ere it should land him in Paris with free 
feet and open eyes. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

PASTORAL AND TRAGEDY. 

THE morrow, March 2d, was Sunday, and with it 
came a change to soft and sunny weather. As Dick 
soon learned, this was a day to bring Parisians out 
into the fields ; a day on which the people would go to 
church and then to pleasure, in their gayest clothes ; 
a day on which a stranger entering Paris in Dick's 
circumstances would be out of harmony with the 
general picture. Moreover, gladdened by the unex 
pected foretaste of spring, St. Denis itself looked 
charming. Therefore, Dick decided to postpone the 
long-anticipated entrance till Monday. 

He went in the morning to the famous abbey 
church where the kings of France were buried ; 
and after that he walked to the banks of the Seine, 
whose waters sparkled in the sunlight or flowed 
green beneath the trees along the edge. Doing as 
he saw some others do, Dick hired a boat, with a 
boatman, and started to row up the Seine, that 
is to say, southward, towards St. Ouen and the more 
immediate environs of Paris. 

401 



402 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

Keeping to the right or eastern bank of the river, 
the boat had reached a place between an island and a 
terraced park, when it was suddenly run into by 
a larger craft, which contained a pleasure party row 
ing down the river. Dick's boat was upset, and himself 
thrown out in such a way that he had to dive to save 
his head from collision. He made a few powerful 
strokes under water, to put himself clear of the 
boats, and when he came to the surface he found 
that his boatman had been taken aboard by the 
pleasure party and was proceeding down the river, 
the smaller boat in tow. There was evidently no 
intention, on any one's part, to pick up Dick. 

"French politeness, in the lower classes, is so 
thick on -the top that there's none left at bottom," 
thought Dick, thus abandoned ; and then he struck 
out for the noble park that rose on the right bank 
of the river. Thanks to the evergreens among 
its trees, and to its grass streaked here and there 
with sunshine, this park had even now a verdant 
appearance, and it was made inviting by little pavil 
ions and summer-houses here and there, and by 
glimpses of a charming chateau in its midst. 

Dick had no sooner clambered ashore and risen to 
let the water drip from his clothes,, than a slender 
girl, eleven years old, came out of a summer-house, 
carrying a cane, as was the fashion of the time, 
and accompanied on one side by a footman who 



PASTORAL AND TRAGEDY. 403 

held a parasol over her, and on the other by a large, 
bounding black dog. She had an extremely intelli 
gent face, the hair turning back from a thoughtful 
forehead. Her manner and, as Dick soon found 
out, her speech were those of a woman twice her 
age. 

" Monsieur has been emulating Leander," said this 
young lady of eleven, the instant she was within 
speaking distance of Dick, one glance of her fine 
eyes having enabled her to estimate him to her own 
satisfaction. 

Surprised at such a speech, made with such non 
chalance by such a child, Dick gazed for a moment 
in silence. She bore his gaze with perfect sang-froid. 
So he said, smiling : 

" It would be worth while, if mademoiselle were 
the daughter of Sestos." 

" Has monsieur swum all the way from England ? " 
asked the girl, evidently to show that she recognized 
his way of speaking French. 

" Mademoiselle mistakes, doubtless for the first 
time in her life," said Dick. " I am an American, 
and if I have not swum all the way from America, I 
am at least as wet as if I had." 

" Monsieur is indeed a veritable rain-storm. Al- 
phonse, show monsieur to a room where he may dry 
his clothes. If he went home in them as they are, 
he might catch cold, America is some distance 



404 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

away. You may leave me alone, yonder comes 
Monsieur Marmontel." 

The footman, resigning to her the parasol at a 
gesture, immediately led Dick, over gravel walks 
flanked by lime-trees and foliage, to a side entrance 
of the handsome house, and thence up-stairs to a 
chamber, in which another servant soon started a 
fire. After taking off his clothes to dry them, Dick 
donned a dressing-gown brought him by the foot 
man. The chamber having been placed entirely at 
his service, he made use of its toilet articles to re 
store his best appearance. This done, and his clothes 
dried, he put them on again, and went out the way he 
had come, looking around, when he reached the front 
of the house, for some one to thank. 

"The weather has changed as to monsieur," came 
a voice from a clump of shrubs, and the girl stepped 
into view, attended, as before, by the footman. 

" It is true, mademoiselle. I no longer weep tears 
of Seine water. Instead, I smile in my heart with 
gratitude. May I know to whom my thanks are due ? 
I am " 

" No, no, do not say who you are ! One is far 
more interesting who remains unknown, and I am 
dying to meet an interesting person." 

" I am sure mademoiselle would remain interesting, 
even if I knew her name." 

,' No, for as long as you don't know me I shall be 



PASTORAL AND TRAGEDY. 405 

just as interesting to you as your imagination can 
make me. Besides, the luxury of being unknown, at 
St. Ouen, where everybody knows me, is refreshing. 
It makes me seem another person." 

She had led the way farther from the chateau 
while talking, and now she sat down on a rustic 
bench, and motioned Alphonse to take away the 
parasol. Dick saw no reason for an immediate de 
parture, so he stood behind the bench, looking now 
at the girl, now at the large trees on the terrace. 

" Do you know, an idea has come to me," said the 
girl, when Alphonse had taken his station some dis 
tance away. The dog now came bursting through 
some leafless foliage, and stood beside her, receiving 
her light caresses while the conversation went on. 

" If ideas are as uncommon in France as they are 
elsewhere," said Dick, "you will be famous." 

" I shall doubtless be famous some day, but not 
through this idea. It is not original. The Abbe 
Raynal and I used to amuse ourselves by means of 
it, but I knew all the while that he was the Abbe 
Raynal, and he knew that I was Germaine nion 
Dieu, I nearly spoiled all by telling my name ! " 

" Germaine," repeated Dick. " I shall remember 
that, at least." 

" I give you permission to remember it, only on 
condition that you promise not to find out who I 
am, or whose house this is." 



406 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

"Very well. After all, I like mystery. I 
promise." 

" So much the better. This is the idea. When I 
was younger, I used to have a little make-believe 
theatre, with miniature actors that I cut out of paper. 
The Abbe" overheard me one day rehearsing them in 
a little comedy I had written, and offered to act with 
me whatever pieces required only two characters. 
We began with a piece containing a shepherd and a 
shepherdess, and, from acting that, we went a step 
farther, and continued to pretend that we were the 
shepherds, carrying out the illusion without premedi 
tated speech or action. The Abb6 had done similar 
things at Sceaux, in the time of the Duchess du 
Maine." 

" I have read of the French nobility having amused 
themselves in that way," said Dick. 

" Yes, when all the world was reading ' Astree,' and 
a hundred years later, when Watteau and the opera 
brought shepherds into fashion again," replied this 
youthful prodigy of information. " It was a charming 
amusement, was it not ? But the trouble was, when 
we attempted it, that no amount of imagination could 
transform the Abbe", with his ' History of the Two 
Indies ' in mind, into a shepherd. You understand, I 
knew him so well. But you, of whom I know nothing, 
and who have come into my view in so strange a 
manner " 



PASTORAL AND TRAGEDY. 407 

" More like a river god than like a shepherd," 
commented Dick. 

" Oh, shepherds often fell into brooks ! Nothing 
could be more in character. Well, we are to play 
that you are a shepherd called not Celadon ; we 
sha'n't take our names from d'Urfe, let me 
think " 

" Silvius," suggested Dick, remembering the shep 
herds of Arden, in Shakespeare. 

"Yes, Silvius is a good name. And I shall be 
Amaryllis." 

" And where are the sheep ? " 

"We shall have to imagine the sheep at present, 
though I can obtain some easily enough. Well, you 
shall come every day in a boat, in the afternoon, and 
I will be waiting somewhere near the place at which 
you landed this morning." 

" And must I come as wet as I was this morning ? " 

" No. You shall be a dry shepherd hereafter. 
Come about two o'clock, if the weather is clear ; but 
remember, I am not to know where you come from, 
or whither you go when you leave, any more than 
you are to know who I am. Now, that is all settled ! 
Till to*morrow, Silvius ! " 

" But how am I to get home to-day ? Would you 
have me swim ? " 

" No. Alphonse will show you out by the gate 
to-day, and you can go by land to your lodge, 



408 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

remember, shepherds dwell in lodges. But after this 
you will come in a boat, and leave it at the shore to 
return by. So, till to-morrow, Silvius ! " 

"Till to-morrow, Amaryllis!" said Dick, with a 
bow not very shepherd-like. Obedient to a word 
from the girl, Alphonse, who had heeded nothing of 
her talk if he had heard it, conducted Dick past the 
house and through more of the park, to a gate, which 
opened on a tree-lined avenue. Dick turned to the 
left, and a walk of about a mile and a half brought 
him to St. Denis, where he dined and spent the rest 
of the day thinking of his odd adventure. 

He found himself looking forward to the next day 
with pleasure. The bright face and the expressive 
eyes seemed to draw him back towards St. Ouen. 
He could not get them out of his mind. The knowl 
edge of their proximity gave the whole neighborhood 
a new life and charm. He no longer wished to 
hasten from that neighborhood. Paris no longer 
lured him as with irresistible seductions. He found 
it now quite easy to tarry at the very threshold of 
the city. 

"Can it be possible," he thought, "that I am 
falling in love with this child ? " 

He knew not that men twice and thrice his age 
great men, whose names sounded through the 
world of philosophy and letters had asked them 
selves the same question, regarding the same child. 



PASTORAL AND TRAGEDY. 409 

The next morning, Dick visited one or two small 
shops in St. Denis, and added to his meagre supply 
of linen, handkerchiefs, and hosiery. Considering 
the small stock of money he had left, this was a piece 
of extravagance, but he counted on immediate em 
ployment by Mr. Franklin, on reaching Paris. Such 
is the confidence of youth. 

In the afternoon he hired a boat, this time without 
a boatman, and rowed alone to the appointed landing- 
place. As soon as he had made his boat fast, he 
saw his shepherdess approaching down the terrace, 
herself carrying the parasol, the footman standing 
back within hearing distance. 

" Good day, Amaryllis ! " he called out. 

" Good day, Silvius ! Follow me to my lodge." 
She led the way to a rustic open summer-house 
veiled by a clump of trees, the smaller ones forming 
a semicircle that enclosed a sunlit, grassy space 
descending gradually from the summer-house to a 
row of shrubs that grew along the river. 

"This is my lodge," she said, sitting on the bench 
that ran around the inside of the structure. 

Dick sat on the step at the entrance, near her 
feet, and said, glancing at the clear space before 
them : 

" I see your lodge is situated so that you can sit 
in it and keep your sheep in sight while they 
graze." 



410 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

"Yes, this spot is their favorite pasture, as you 
can see." 

Dick looked at the invisible sheep dotting the 
clean sward. "So I perceive. But let me under 
stand. Is this flock yours alone, or are my sheep 
also here ? " 

" Oh, you have left your flock on your own hill 
side, and have come up the stream to see me. 
Neglectful shepherd ! " 

" When a shepherd neglects his own sheep, and 
hies to the lodge of a neighboring shepherdess, you 
know what it is a sign of," said Dick. 

"It is a sign that he likes to gossip." 

" No ; it is a sign that Cupid is at work." 

Amaryllis blushed ever so slightly, but seemed 
pleased, and did not lose her composure. " Well, 
to be sure, that is what invariably occurs between 
shepherds and shepherdesses. I suppose there is no 
way of getting around it." 

"Not when Amaryllis is the shepherdess, by 
Jupiter ! " said Dick, with genuine enthusiasm. 

So the game went on, and, whether or not it was 
all fun with Amaryllis, it soon became half in earnest 
with Silvius. By a miracle, the balmy weather, a 
premature promise of spring, lasted a week. Every 
day Silvius came to the tryst, and, when he did not 
find Amaryllis waiting, he had not long to wait for 
her. They strolled along the wooded banks of the 



PASTORAL AND TRAGEDY. 4! I 

Seine, fancying those banks to be now those of 
the Lignon, now those of the Tiber, now those 
of some Hellenic or Sicilian stream. 

. Sometimes a dainty luncheon, set out in the lodge 
or under the trees, varied the monotony of this shep 
herd life. Sometimes the conversation rose far out 
of the ken of ordinary shepherds, and invaded such 
subjects as philosophy and religion, sentiment and 
the passions, art and letters, music and the drama. 
Amaryllis described the acting of LeKain, and Sil- 
vius gave an account of the last appearance of 
Garrick, which Dick had witnessed from the first 
gallery of Drury Lane Theatre the previous June 
loth, when the English actor played " Don Felix " 
in " The Wonder " and made a farewell speech that 
drew tears from himself and his brilliant audience. 
But Dick learned far more than he could impart. 
His week of make-believe pastoral was an education, 
and did more to fit him for the fine world than all 
his former years had done. Of course that week 
had results of the heart as well as of the intellect. 

One afternoon, the second Tuesday of their 
acquaintance, after they had sat some time at the 
lodge in silence, Dick gazing pensively at the green 
space before him, he let his thought take the form 
of speech : 

" After all, when you are eighteen I shall be only 
twenty-six." 



412 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

" That will be seven years from now," she said, 
lightly. " Seven years is a very long time." 

" So much the better. It gives a man like me 
time to attain a position worthy of a woman like 
you." 

" Oh, position, rank, and that sort of thing, what 
are they, after all ? Have you heard what the 
Empress of Russia said to Monsieur Diderot ? You 
know that by devoting himself to the encyclopaedia, 
Monsieur Diderot has kept himself poor, and his 
threadbare coat is no affectation. Well, Catherine 
II., aware of this, and appreciating the great sacrifice 
made in the interest of knowledge, bought Monsieur 
Diderot's library at a fine price, and then ordered it 
left in Paris, and appointed him her librarian to take 
care of it. Monsieur Diderot went to St. Petersburg 
four years ago, to thank her in person, and while he 
was there Catherine and he got into many disputes 
on questions of philosophy. One day Diderot hinted 
that he was at a disadvantage in arguing with the 
Empress of all the Russias. ' Nonsense,' said 
Catherine, ' is there any difference between men ? ' ' 

Dick sighed, perceiving that she had sought to 
divert him from the topic he had broached. He 
rowed back to St. Denis that evening an unmistak 
ably love-sick youth. He could hardly wait for the 
next afternoon, that he might renew the subject at 
any hazard. 



PASTORAL AND TRAGEDY. 413 

On the morrow, to his dismay, the sky was dark, 
and chill winds were blowing. Spring, having thrust 
her sunny face in at the door too soon, had been 
frightened far away, and might never have been pres 
ent, so different was to-day's world from yester 
day's. Dick resolved, nevertheless, to make his usual 
voyage. 

Rain had already begun to fall on the agitated 
surface of the river, when he landed at the park. 
He hastened to the lodge and found it empty. How 
bleak and utterly forlorn the place now seemed ! 
How disconsolate in heart was Dick ! Well, he 
ought not to have expected her on such a day. 
He gazed with a heavy sigh at the spot where 
she usually sat. 

What was that white thing, lying under a pebble, on 
that very spot ? Dick seized it eagerly, saw the name 
" Silvius" written on it, opened it out hastily with 
trembling fingers. It was indeed a note, written in 
a charming hand, and signed " Amaryllis." His dis 
appointment turned to gladness, for the first sight 
of the beloved's handwriting, addressed to oneself, is 
as good as an interview, and he read : 

" For a few days I must be away, yet Silvius will come as 
usual to the lodge, will he not ? On the day of her return, he 
will find Amaryllis waiting. Since I last saw Silvius I have 
been thinking. It is true, seven years is not a very long 
time!" 



414 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

One knows, without being told, what demonstra 
tions Silvius made over this letter, how often he 
re-read it, what other things he did to it, and where 
he finally bestowed it as he returned to his boat to 
row back to St. Denis. He scarcely knew what he 
was doing, as he pulled his boat out into the current, 
or how disturbed the river was, how heavily the rain 
came down. So overjoyed was he by the promise 
contained in the last line of the letter, that he was 
not cognizant of outward circumstances until he was 
half-way between St. Ouen and St. Denis. Then he 
became aware of the work of wind and water. He 
saw, moreover, that the day was as dark as late 
evening, and that all signs were growing more 
threatening every minute. 

" The devil ! " thought he. " This is not a 
time for taking chances, now that such pros 
pects await me. I must guard my life and 
health, and achieve great things during those seven 
years." 

He therefore rowed to an old, abandoned landing, 
which led to a ruined garden, within whose crum 
bling walls stood a deserted house of rough gray 
stone. On Dick's first row up the river, he had 
been told by the boatman that this house had long 
been unoccupied. 

Making his boat fast to a wooden spile, Dick 
went through the half unhinged, half opened gate 



PASTORAL AND TRAGEDY. 415 

which was partly sunk into the earth, and up the 
weed-grown garden walk, to the house. The door 
yielded to his pressure, and he passed through a 
bare, dark, damp, mouldy corridor, into a room 
whose windows opened on the garden. Though 
otherwise empty, this room contained an old oak 
table, and several rough wooden chairs. Dick sat 
down and waited for the storm to abate. 

The doors and windows creaked, the wind sighed 
through the corridors and chambers overhead, the 
rains beat on what glass remained in the casements. 
But what was that other sound ? Surely it was of 
the footsteps of men. Peering through the window, 
Dick saw forms approaching through the shrubbery, 
from a small side gate in the garden wall. These 
were, doubtless, the last of a party whose foremost 
members were already in the corridor. 

The intruders came cautiously, but as if familiar 
with the place. Evidently some organized meeting 
was at hand in this empty house. Dick noticed the 
chairs and table anew. What were these men ? A 
social club, a gang of thieves, or a band of con 
spirators ? In any one of these cases Dick felt that 
he would be de trop. Manifestly the men were ap 
proaching the room in which he sat. They were 
already too near the door for him to escape unseen 
by the corridor. So he slipped into the wide, empty 
fireplace with which the room was provided, and 



416 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

whose rear was quite in shadow. A moment later 
three men entered the room. 

Each took from beneath his cloak a bundle 
wrapped in cloth, and laid it on the table, then sat 
down and waited. Other men arrived, almost imme 
diately, and the number kept increasing at short 
intervals until perhaps fifteen were gathered. Their 
conversation so far had consisted of brief remarks 
about the weather. They now sat in an irregular 
semicircle, facing the table. The man who had first 
entered arose and opened the bundles. The gray 
light of the stormy afternoon disclosed the con 
tents of these bundles as three swords and several 
pistols. 

" Messieurs," said the man who had risen, an 
erect, powerful, handsome man of thirty, "the 
hour is almost at hand. That all of us may par 
ticipate in the intention, though but one of us may 
strike the blow, I am to describe fully the plan 
agreed upon by the Committee of Three. As each 
one of us is potentially the chosen arm of the 
Brotherhood in this honorable deed, it behooves 
each one to attend every detail as if he were, in 
fact, already the selected instrument." 

The men sat in perfect silence, their eyes fixed 
upon the speaker, every attitude being that of 
breathless attention. 

" In this silken bag," continued the orator, produc- 



PASTORAL AND TRAGEDY. 

ing from beneath his cloak that which he mentioned, 
" are a number of beans. One of them is red, four 
are black, the others white. As soon as the plan of 
action shall have been made known, each man shall 
draw from the bag a single bean, in the order in 
which his name appears on our list. When all have 
drawn, and not till then, each man shall disclose his 
bean to view at the table. The possessor of the red 
bean will be God's choice for the performance of this 
holy mission. He shall choose one of these swords, 
which differ in weight and size, though all have been 
blessed and devoted to our righteous purpose. The 
four who hold black beans shall guide and guard 
the chosen instrument, both to protect him, and to 
assure the Brotherhood against the consequences of 
any possible weakness on his part. The holders 
of the white beans shall not act in the present task ; 
but, in the improbable event of its failure, the whole 
Brotherhood shall assist the four, if necessary, as 
avengers against the brother who will have failed, 
as spies to seek him out should he hide, as hounds 
upon his track should he flee, as executioners to 
compass his death when he is brought before us. 
Is it agreed ? " 

" Agreed ! " said every man, resolutely, with 
clenched fingers, set teeth, and gleaming eyes. 

"The procedure shall be in this wise," went on 
the leader. " In an hour, a carriage will be waiting 



41 8 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

outside the gate of this garden. The chosen man, 
armed with the sword, shall be conducted to it by 
the four, each provided with tw6 of these pistols. 
Two of the four shall enter the carriage with him, 
the other two shall take the place of the coachman, 
who will be dismissed. The carriage shall set forth 
at once. The Committee of Three has provided 
already for its passage through the barrier, unhin 
dered by the revenue collectors. The carriage will 
proceed through the Faubourg de St. Denis, cross 
the boulevard, turn into the Rue Clery, and so con 
tinue to the corner of the Rue du Petit Carreau, at 
which corner, as we all know, the house is situated. 
The two gentlemen of the black bean, in the car 
riage, shall accompany him of the red bean to the 
door, their hands upon their pistols beneath their 
cloaks. When the servant responds to their knock, 
the chosen man shall give the name of Victor Mayet, 
and say that he must see Monsieur Necker immedi 
ately. Victor Mayet is a clerk in the General Con 
trol Office, and Necker will suppose he comes on 
a matter of urgent importance. Necker also will 
surely receive him alone. When the man enters, 
his two comrades shall return to the carriage, and 
wait for his reappearance. The man himself will 
keep his sword concealed until he is alone with 
Necker. At that moment, taking our enemy by 
surprise, he will thrust his sword into Necker's body 



PASTORAL AND TRAGEDY. 419 

as many times as may be necessary to assure its 
reaching a vital spot. So shall fall the haughty 
bourgeois Protestant, whom the King in his blind 
ness has raised to the most powerful post in the 
land, and would doubtless soon, but for our inter 
vention, raise higher ; thus shall God's holy religion 
and the nobility of France obtain revenge and 
triumph at our hands." 

There were murmurs of applause, repressed ex 
clamations of " Vive le roi!" and other signs of 
intense enthusiasm. 

" Then, messieurs, he whose arm shall have struck 
this glorious blow, shall hasten back to the carriage, 
and it shall be driven at once to my lodgings in the 
Rue St. Honore, which, though not large enough 
for such meetings as this, will serve as a hiding- 
place for the five gentlemen until news comes, from 
other sources than the chosen man himself, of the 
death of Necker. When such news comes, the four 
guards shall release the happy Instrument of the 
Brotherhood. Until such news comes, they shall 
guard him unremittingly ; and, if it turn out that 
Necker still lives, the man who ought to have slain 
him shall die in his place, at the hands of the four. 
Thus are we assured against treason, weakness, or 
bungling, on the part of him whom God, in the guise 
of chance, shall elect to do our Brotherhood and 
France this service. Messieurs, each of you re- 



42O THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

membering that the red bean or a black one may 
fall to him, are you still agreed ?" 

The expressions of assent were as prompt and 
determined as before. 

" Let us proceed at once to the drawing," said the 
leader. 

" Pardon, brother," spoke up another. " It is so 
dark that, when we come to show what beans we 
have drawn, we shall hardly be able to distinguish 
the colors." 

" Bring the candles, then, from the mantel to the 
table, and light them," said the leader. 

Dick's heart underwent a sudden jump. Two 
men came straight for the fireplace. Accustomed, 
now, to the half darkness of the room, both descried 
his form vaguely, and at the same moment. "The 
devil ! A spy ! " cried one. The other drew a 
pistol of his own, and instantly brought it to bear. 

" One moment ! " cried Dick, stepping forth. " I 
am an unintentional intruder. Rather, it was you 
that intruded upon me. I had sought shelter here 
from the rain, when I heard you coming. Foolishly, 
thinking this might be a refuge of thieves, I hid in 
the fireplace, hoping to remain unseen till you had 
gone." 

The assembled men, all of whom had risen, looked 
at Dick and then at one another. 

"I quite believe you, monsieur," said the speaker 



PASTORAL AND TRAGEDY. 421 

of the meeting, courteously, after some moments, 
" not only because it is my gift to perceive when a 
man is telling the truth, but also because a spy 
would be sure of discovery in such a hiding-place. 
Nevertheless, you have overheard everything that 
has been said here this afternoon." 

" How could I avoid doing so ? " said Dick. 

" I do not say it was a fault on your part to over 
hear, monsieur," said the other, whose authority 
over his comrades was manifestly so complete that 
they left the present matter entirely to him, only 
waiting with silent attention to carry out what orders 
he might give. " But what you have heard, you 
would doubtless feel called upon, sooner or later, to 
reveal, unless you were entirely of the same mind 
with us." 

Here he paused, but Dick said nothing, for Dick 
did not choose to risk certain death by admitting 
that he would feel so called upon. After a moment, 
during which the speaker seemed to read Dick's 
thoughts, he went on : 

" You might give us an assurance that you would 
remember nothing of what has passed here, but how 
could we let you go, on that assurance, monsieur ? 
For, if you secretly meant to betray us, you would 
feel justified in giving that assurance, for the sake of 
your life and of defeating our purpose. Or, you 
might give your word in all honesty, and yet at some 



422 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

future time feel justified in breaking it. You can 
plainly see, monsieur, that there is nothing for us to 
do but to kill you on the spot " 

Dick read the quiet resolution in the speaker's 
eyes, and the more impetuous determination in the 
eyes of the others ; considered his unarmed condi 
tion and the utter impossibility of a rush through 
the line of stalwart forms that encircled him ; and 
thought of Amaryllis, the seven years, and the long 
and brilliant future that seemed about to burst like 
a soap-bubble in a moment. 

" Or to receive you as a member of our Brother 
hood," concluded the leader, calmly. Used to judg 
ing men instantly, he had doubtless estimated Dick 
as a gentleman worthy of membership. 

Forgetting for the moment what this alternative 
entailed, seeing only the unexpected chance of life 
held out, Dick instantly grasped at the latter. 
"Very well, I will join," he said. 

But the matter had to be thoroughly considered 
by the assembly, and there was a careful discussion 
of it for half an hour, while Dick sat silent before 
the table, on which, in the meantime, candles had 
been placed and lighted. During this talk, he 
began to realize all that he was taking on himself in 
joining what was neither more nor less than a secret 
society, whose present purpose was assassination. 
But a man with his life in his hand must seize the 



PASTORAL AND TRAGEDY. 423 

first means of gaining time that offers, and face, each 
consequence when it occurs. The chances were in 
favor of his having nothing to do with the sanguinary 
affair to be immediately attempted ; and he could 
probably give the Brotherhood the slip in the near 
future. In any case, it was impossible to prevent 
the attempt now under way, and the question as to 
whether he should eventually expose that attempt, 
was a river not to be crossed till he should come to 
it. Perhaps, after all, this Necker, whose name he 
knew only as that of Councillor of Finance and Gen 
eral Director of the Royal Treasury, was a rascal 
who merited death, as many public officials did ; cer 
tainly the Brotherhood showed a humane disposition 
in considering an alternative by which Dick's life 
might be saved. Perhaps the removal of their chosen 
victim, even by death, would benefit humanity, so 
little was Dick acquainted with matters of state. 

Well, it was decided to admit him. He had to 
repeat a long oath after the leader, kiss one of the 
swords, which, having been blessed, served in place 
of a Bible, and sign his name at the foot of a list 
that the secretary produced from a leather bag, which 
that officer carried to and from the meetings, and 
which contained materials for what few records the 
society required. 

"And now," said the leader, "it is growing late. 
The carriage will be at the gate at any moment. 



424 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

Let us draw for the honor that God holds ready for 
one of us." 

He held the bag in his left hand, and thrust his 
right hand inside ; when he withdrew the latter, he 
kept it closed, and passed silently, with the bag, 
from man to man ; knowing, without reference to 
the list, in what order their names stood. Before 
this, he had put an additional white bean into the 
bag, having been provided with several surplus ones. 
Each man kept his hand closed on withdrawing it. 
When the bag reached Dick, there was only one 
bean left. He did as the others had done. Then, 
not a word being said, the leader laid aside the bag, 
and all pressed close to the table, which they quite 
surrounded. Every right hand was laid out, palm 
down, on the bare oak surface. The leader was the 
first to disclose. 

" A black bean ! " he cried. " That is something, 
at least ! Who has the red one ? " 

Every eye turned with intense eagerness, from 
the bean immediately before it, to the beans right and 
left, every eye but Dick Wetheral's, that is to say, 
for his remained fastened, with a kind of mild aston 
ishment, on the palm of his hand, whereon lay a bean 
that was red. 

" Come, brother," the leader was saying, when 
Dick at last looked up. " Choose a sword. I hear 
the carriage at the gate." 



PASTORAL AND TRAGEDY. 42$ 

Before he had recovered from his bewilderment, 
Dick was passing through the rain, towards the 
gate, clasping one of the swords tightly beneath his 
coat. At his right arm was the leader, who carried 
one of the other two swords, as well as a pistol in 
each outer pocket ; at the left arm was a second 
man, similarly armed. Two other men mounted the 
coachman's place. 

" Which way, monsieur ? " said one of these latter, 
in joking imitation of a driver, when Dick and his 
guards were seated in the dark carriage. 

" The road to Paris," said the leader, and drew the 
coach door after him with a bang. 



CHAPTER XVII. 

"STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE." 

THE chill and rainy afternoon gave way to an 
evening as rainy and more chill. The carriage 
rolled southward, past St. Ouen, and still on. Those 
inside spoke not a word. The men on the coach 
man's seat protected themselves from the rain with 
their cloaks as best they could, and ifttered no com 
plaint. Dick could see nothing through the carriage 
window, against the dark sky, but the darker forms 
of trees and buildings gliding by. He had too much 
else on his mind to appreciate the fact that he was 
at last about to enter Paris, the goal of his dream- 
journeys in childhood. At first he was in a kind of 
stupor, and felt like one hurled through increasing 
darkness towards blackest night, there to meet anni 
hilation. Then his mind began to work, and soon 
was in a whirl. Assassination, he shrank from it 
with disgust and horror. The alternative, death, 
he recoiled from the idea, as youth and hope ever 
must recoil. Was there no middle course ? He 
racked his brain to find one ; he found it not, yet 
still he racked his brain. 

426 



"STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE. " 427 

It was quite dark now, and they had passed the 
outer barrier without Dick's noting the fact. But 
the houses, now close together and of different char 
acter from those of the village of La Chapelle, in 
dicated that the carriage must be in the faubourg, 
at least. Presently Dick perceived that they were 
passing beneath a great arch (it was the Porte St. 
Denis, erected under Louis XIV., though Dick knew 
it not) ; then that they turned to the right, and, a 
minute later, obliquely to the left, finally proceeding 
along a slightly narrower street than they had already 
traversed. A movement on the part of the man at 
Ins right seemed to indicate that the destination was 
near at hand. They were indeed in the Rue Clery, 
and approaching the Rue du Petit Carreau, although 

the dark streets were nameless to Dick. Suddenly 

he had an idea. He gave a start, as if he had 

awakened from a feverish sleep. 

"Messieurs," he said, in a half terrified tone, "I 

have had a remarkable dream, a wonderfully vivid 

one, though I have not for a moment lost sense of 

my being with you in this carriage." 

" It is the time for acts now, not for dreams," said 

the leader of the Brotherhood. 

" But this dream concerns the act," said Dick, in 

an awe-stricken manner. "It was rather a vision 

than a dream. I felt, and feel now, as if it were a 

message from above." 



428 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

" Let us hear it, then," said the leader. 

" I dreamt all had been carried out as planned, up 
to the moment of my striking the blow. And then 
the man caught the sword entering his body, and 
broke it in two, though the hilt was still in my hand. 
He drew the point from his side, and stood, very 
little wounded, before me, while I looked around in 
vain for another weapon." 

"A message from God, perhaps," said the leader, 
" to put you on your guard against such an out 
come." 

" But, monsieur, I had this dream a second time, 
and then a third, and it was always precisely the 
same." 

" It warns you to make the first thrust sure and 
deep, and to give him no opportunity of grasping 
your sword." 

" I think, rather, it warns me to provide myself 
with a second sword. My keenest impression in the 
dream was of chagrin at finding myself without a 
second weapon after the first had become useless." 

" You are doubtless right," said the leader. " One 
to whom a revelation is given is the best judge of 
its meaning. Buckle on one of these swords, in 
addition to the one you have." 

Dick did as he was bid. A moment later the 
carriage stopped, close to the wall of a house at 
the left side of the street, for Paris had not foot- 



"STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE." 429 

ways then, as London had, and coaches went as near 
the walls as their drivers pleased to take them. 

One of Dick's guards got out, Dick followed, the 
leader came last. Dick could see that these two 
grasped their pistols beneath their cloaks. He was 
before a large and imposing house with a rounded 
facade. Lights shone through some of the windows. 
His two guards led him to the door, and one of them 
knocked. The time seemed incredibly long till the 
servant came. 

" Monsieur Victor Mayet, clerk in the General 
Control Office, begs an immediate interview with 
Monsieur Necker, regarding a matter of the utmost 
importance," said Dick, with a steadiness that sur 
prised himself. The servant went away. Another, 
and seemingly longer, interval ensued. At last the 
servant came back and told Dick to follow. 

Dick stepped forward, and his two guards returned 
to the coach. The servant showed the way up a 
staircase with a handsome balustrade, and thence 
through one of the doors that opened from the corri 
dor, to a rich and elegant apartment, its ceiling 
painted with mythological pictures, its walls deco 
rated with arabesques and medallions. At a magnifi 
cently carved and ornamented desk at the farther 
end of the room, sat a gentleman of striking appear 
ance, slender and noble-looking, but haughty and 
stiff. The splendid armchair in which he sat was 



43 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

turned sidewise towards the desk, so that the gentle 
man, who leaned upon one elbow, faced Dick as the 
latter entered. Dick stood at a distance, and bowed 
low, the distance being warranted by the singularly 
cold look of the gentleman in the chair. It served, 
in the soft candle-light, to keep Dick's features 
vague. 

Dick cast a look at the servant, whereupon the 
gentleman motioned the latter from the room. Then, 
his coat still clutched tight over his swords, Dick 
said : 

" Is it Monsieur Necker I have the honor of 
addressing? " 

" If you are a clerk in the General Control Office 
you must know that it is," said the gentleman, in a 
dry tone. 

" But I am not a clerk in the General Control 
Office," said Dick, quietly. " I am, through a strange 
accident, the chosen instrument of a secret society 
whose object is to kill you. Don't think I am a 
madman. What I say is perfectly true. I have 
taken an oath that requires me to make an attempt 
upon your life. But that obligation, through lack of 
foresight, does not forbid my giving you means of 
defending yourself ; therefore," and here Dick opened 
wide his coat, and held forth a sword, " I offer you 
one of these swords, and beg you to stand on guard. 
Don't call for help. If you do that, I must save 




; OH, YOU HAVE A VISITOR. 1 MON DIEU, SILVIUS ! ' " 



"STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE. " 43 I 

myself by having at you immediately. Take the 
sword, I advise you, for I certainly intend to attack 
you." 

Monsieur Necker had risen, and he stood looking 
at Dick in the most profound astonishment. 

" Why do you keep us waiting, papa ? " came a 
voice from a suddenly opened doorway, and a mo 
ment later a slender figure followed the voice into 
the room. " Oh, you have a visitor ! Man Dieu, 
Silvius ! " 

" Mon Dieu, Amaryllis ! " Dick's lips went through 
the motions of these words, but what he uttered were 
rather the shadows or ghosts of words than words 
themselves. He continued unconsciously to hold 
out the sword towards her father, while gazing at 
her. 

" What does it mean, papa ? " she asked, in a 
hushed voice that betokened vague alarm. " Silvius, 
what are you doing with those swords ? " 

Dick's wits returned. " Cannot you see, made 
moiselle ? I have been chosen by a certain society to 
make your father a present of them, in token of the 
society's feelings towards him." Whereupon Dick, 
to show Necker that everything had been changed 
by the revelation that he was Germaine's father, 
moved courteously to the desk, laid both swords 
thereon, and stepped back. 

" Leave us alone, my child," said Necker, gently ; 



432 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

"and beg your mother to grant me another half- 
hour." 

"Very well," said the girl, and then, still some 
what puzzled, but with a parting smile for both 
Dick and her father, she disappeared through the 
doorway. 

" And now you will be good enough to explain this 
scene ? " said Necker, in a tone of authority, having 
put himself between the swords and Dick. 

" All that I said, before the arrival of mademoi 
selle, was perfectly true," replied Dick. " But now 
that I find you are her father, what I proposed is 
impossible." 

" It is strange you should have known my daugh 
ter and not known who her father was." 

" I made her acquaintance at some children's 
games, and without learning her name." 

"That a youth who amuses himself at children's 
games should amuse himself also by belonging to 
an assassination society, is a novel idea, to say the 
least." 

" It is a very strange story, monsieur. But if you 
will take the trouble to look out into the street, 
you will see a carriage waiting ; with it are four men 
who must be already impatient for my return to 
them. When I do return, if I tell them you are 
alive, -they will kill me. If I tell them you are dead, 
they will guard me closely while they await confir- 



"STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE." 433 

mation through the public news. When they find that 
I lied, they will kill me." 

" It begins to appear as if these men ought to be 
arrested," said Necker, ringing a bell. He then sat 
down at the desk and wrote a note, Dick standing 
all the while at a respectful distance. A servant 
entered, and, in response to a slight gesture from 
Necker, went close to the latter, and received some 
low-spoken instructions, of which Dick caught only 
the word "police." The servant then took the note, 
and hastened from the room. Throughout this time, 
Necker had kept an oblique glance on Dick. 

Now that he had not only saved Germaine's father 
on the present occasion but had also given him warn 
ing against future attempts, Dick had no mind to 
betray the Brotherhood further. He saw himself 
between Scylla and Charybdis. On the one hand 
was the danger of his being called upon to figure as 
a witness against men who had spared his own life, 
and of being mistaken by the world as a common 
informer. On the other hand was the probability 
of his being sought and punished with death by the 
Brotherhood, for, though four of its members might 
be arrested, there remained a dozen others as reso 
lute, to hunt him down wherever he should take 
refuge. 

Monsieur Necker "began to question him, but 
he refused to disclose the slightest additional fact 



434 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

regarding the society. " It is enough," said Dick, 
" that its purpose is defeated through your being 
now on your guard for the future." He gave his 
name, though, with his St. Denis abode, and Necker 
made a note of them. 

. From the street below came the sound of a pistol- 
shot, and then of a carriage rattling off over the 
stones. Necker flung open a window, and saw 
the carriage fleeing in one direction, his own ser 
vant in another. As Dick guessed, his guards had 
divined the errand of the servant leaving the house 
by a side door, and had sought their own safety, after 
having vainly tried to stop the messenger with a 
shot. It was a relief to Dick to know that the four 
were thus out of danger of arrest. 

Seeing the present futility of questions, Necker 
took up the matter of Dick's own future safety from 
the Brotherhood. The two were in the midst of this 
discussion, when the tramp of several men was heard 
on the staircase, then in the corridor. Necker's face 
took on a peculiar light as the door opened and in 
came a uniformed official, followed by a squad of 
armed men and conducted by the servant who had 
been sent with the note. 

"A moment, monsieur," said Necker to the officer, 
whereupon the newcomers all bowed and stood still. 
Necker proceeded to fill in the blank spaces of a 
document he had meanwhile taken from a drawer in 



"STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE." 435 

his desk, and to which a signature and seal were 
already affixed. He then held this out to the officer, 
who advanced to take it. 

" You will send four of your men immediately as 
this gentleman's escort, to the place mentioned in 
that order," said Necker, speaking to the officer, but 
motioning towards Dick. " As for you and the rest 
of your force, remain here, I shall have work for 
you." 

While the officer, having read the written order, 
gave it with some whispered directions to one of his 
men, Necker addressed Dick thus : 

" Young gentleman, you will not have to fear any 
present danger from this well-disposed society of 
which you have spoken. The place to which you 
are about to' be conducted will be a safe refuge. I 
feel it is my duty to provide for your protection in 
this manner." 

" I thank you, monsieur," said Dick, bowing. 

The man who now held the written order, politely 
motioned Dick to go before him from the room. 
Preceded by two men, and followed by two, Dick 
went down the staircase and out to the rain-beaten 
street. There the party waited, while one of the 
men hastened off on some errand. He soon returned, 
sitting beside the driver, on a large carriage. The 
man in authority opened the carriage door, sent one 
comrade inside, then courteously begged Dick to 



436 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

enter, then followed in turn, and was finally joined 
by his remaining comrade. The man with the driver 
remained where he was. The man in command 
thrust his head out and shouted the destination to 
the driver, then closed the door. Dick gave a 
violent start. 

"To the Bastile," was what the man had called 
out. 

Why had Dick not thought of this possibility 
sooner ? he asked himself. There were two very 
obvious reasons, if not more, why Necker should 
wish to keep him caged. First, imprisonment might 
induce him to break his silence as to the Brother 
hood's place of meeting and as to what names his 
eye had caught during the signing of his own to the 
list. Secondly, his disclosure, with every attendant 
circumstance, might be suspected of being a ruse to 
gain favor, similar to that by which Latude had 
brought well-nigh a lifetime of captivity upon him 
self ; for men who devise such ruses are to be held 
as dangerous. 

Yes, imprisonment was the logical conclusion of 
this incident. Dick shuddered as the word " Bastile " 
repeated itself in his ears. It had a far more formi 
dable sound than that of Newgate, though, thank 
heaven, a far more gentlemanly one. And so Dick 
was now about to round out his prison experience, 
begun in America as a prisoner of war, and resumed 



"STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE." 437 

in London as a civil prisoner, by being a prisoner of 
state in France ! He sighed, and resigned himself 
to the inevitable. He looked not into the future. 
He might be out again in a day, or he might pine' in . 
his cage, purposely forgotten, the rest of his years. 
Well, well, no reason to be downcast ! " Heart up, 
lad ! " he said within himself, in the language of old 
Tom MacAlister ; " wha kens the morrow's shift of 
the wind of circumstance ? " 

After a long ride through streets of frowning 
houses, the carriage approached an open "place" or 
square, at one side of which Dick could make out, 
through the window, a huge rectangular building 
whose uniform towers, bulging out at regular inter 
vals from straight stone walls, darkened the sky 
above an outer wall that enclosed the whole edifice. 
That end of the building which fronted the square 
contained two of the towers. Towards this front the 
carriage drove, crossing a drawbridge, and stopping 
for the man in command to show his order to the 
guard officer. ^ 

Dick was then driven past the outer guard-house, 
crossed a second bridge, a court, and other enclo 
sures, and finally arrived at a second guard-house, 
where he was put down and his name entered on the 
prison register. He was then given into the charge 
of a squad of men, and by these conducted to an 
interior paved court, to which an iron-grated gate 



438 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

opened, and which seemed like the bottom of a vast 
well. This was the inside of the rectangle bounded 
by the eight towers and their connecting walls. 

By the light of lanterns, Dick was led through a 
door at the side, and thence, through corridors and 
up steep stairways, to a large cell. The lantern's 
light showed a bare stone-floored chamber, with a 
table, a stool, a small bed, an empty fireplace, and in 
the wall an aperture in whose depths, though it was 
designed to serve the purpose of a window, Dick's 
sight was lost before coming to the outer end. Be 
fore he had time to ask a question, his conductors 
had closed the door upon him, turned its he,avy lock, 
and left him alone in the darkness. 

He had been searched in the guard-house, but not 
required to put on other clothes. Pleased at this, 
and at his not having been shackled, he groped his 
way to the bed, undressed, and fell into a deep sleep. 
So ended the, to him, eventful day of Wednesday, 
March 12, 1777. 

He was visited on Thursday by Monsieur Delaunay, 
the governor of the Bastile, and on Friday by the 
lieutenant of police, each accompanied to the cell 
door by soldiers. Each tried by questions, vague 
promises, and implied threats, to make him speak of 
the Brotherhood. Their attempts failing, the gover 
nor visited him a week later, thinking imprisonment 
might have had effect upon him. The governor 



"STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE." 439 

spoke incidentally of the dungeons, nineteen feet 
below the level of the courtyard, and five feet below 
that of the ditch, their only opening being a narrow 
loophole to the latter. But Dick only smiled. A 
fortnight elapsed before the governor's next appear 
ance, and still Dick was as silent .on the one topic as 
ever. The hint as to the dungeon was not car 
ried out. Perhaps the worthy governor received 
more money for the food of a prisoner in an upper 
cell than for that of a prisoner in a dungeon, and 
consequently could make more by underfeeding him. 
The governor now allowed a month to pass before 
renewing his persuasions ; after that, two months ; 
and then he came no more. 

Meanwhile, Dick had little to complain of. In 
fact, many an honest and hard-working man of talent 
nowadays might envy such a life as the ordinary 
prisoner in the Bastile could lead, especially in the 
reign of Louis XVI. Such a prisoner's state, in 
those old days of tyranny and oppression, was heav 
enly, compared with that of an innocent man merely 
awaiting trial in the prison of a police court in New 
York City in this happy age of liberty and humanity. 

Dick was allowed to walk, under guard, not only 
in the interior court, but also in a small garden on 
one of the bastions, where the pure air was sweetened 
by the perfume of flowers. He was permitted to 
have books, some of which were lent him by the 



44 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

governor, the royal intendant, the surgeon, and other 
officers, and some 'of which were bought, at his 
request, out of money allowed for his food. Could 
he have afforded it out of his own purse, he might 
have hired a servant, furnished his room luxuriously, 
dressed in the height of fashion, eaten of the choicest 
delicacies, practised music and participated in con 
certs got up under the governor's patronage, kept 
birds or cats or dogs, and otherwise brought to him 
self the world to which he was forbidden from going. 
The comforts of the Bastile, however, were at that 
time accessible to only about half a dozen prisoners 
besides Dick. In 1761 there had been only four. 
In 1789, when the Bastile was destroyed, there were 
only seven. 

But Dick, who lived in an age when young men of 
talent did not set upon leisure the value they give it 
in this overworking period, pined for the open. He 
began to grudge the time lost in captivity, and the 
fear grew on him that he was doomed indeed to for- 
getfulness. Summer came and went. The flowers 
in the elevated garden withered. Autumn winds 
howled around the towers, and winter snow was 
lodged on the lofty platforms. The beginning of 
December brought Dick, through the lieutenant of 
the Bastile garrison, the news that in America the 
British had taken Philadelphia, but that their North 
ern army, under Burgoyne, had surrendered at Sara- 



" STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE. " 44! 

toga, and that the glorious victory had been largely 
won by his own old commanders, Arnold and Morgan. 
Such tidings made Dick eager to be out in the world. 
At night he would fall asleep, gazing at the dying 
embers in his fireplace, and dream of broad fields, 
boundless stretches of varied country over which he 
could speed with bird-like swiftness, barely touching 
the ground with his feet. At last he resolved to 
uncage himself. 

The aperture that served as his cell window was 
defended by iron bars an inch thick, so crossing one 
another that each open space was but two inches 
square. There were three such gratings. As Dick 
was high up in the tower, the outer end of this aper 
ture was at a great distance from the earth. Dick 
turned from this opening in despair, put out his fire, 
stooped into the fireplace, and examined the interior 
of the chimney. It was not very far from the bottom 
to the top, but the way was guarded by several iron 
bars and spikes, securely fixed in hard cement. They 
had the look of being less difficult to unfasten than 
the bars in the window seemed. Dick resolved to 
attack the obstructions in the chimney. 

There was no iron in his cell, his scanty furniture 
being joined by wooden pegs. The stone of his cell 
floor was so soft that the first piece of it he succeeded 
in detaching crumbled like- plaster against the hard 
cement of the chimney. What was he to do for an 



442 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

instrument with which to scrape free the iron bars 
from the cement in which they were set ? His lucky 
star sent him an inspiration in the shape of a 
toothache. 

By patiently and painfully forcing aside his gum 
with a chip of fire-wood, and by strong exertions of 
thumb and forefinger, he succeeded in extracting the 
tooth after several hours' excruciating pain and labor. 
With the tooth itself he hollowed out of a fagot's end 
a place in which afterward to set its root, which he 
then fastened securely in this handle by means of 
extemporized wooden wedges. He thus had a scraper, 
so adjusted that he could apply his full strength in 
using it. This he hid in his bed. 

He then unravelled underclothing, handkerchiefs, 
and cravat, and twisted the threads into a rope, to 
which he tied, at intervals of one foot, small wooden 
bars to serve as hand-holds and foot-rests. All this 
work was done at times when he was least likely to 
be visited by any official or attendant of the prison. 

He tied a heavy fagot, six inches long, to the end 
of his rope, and by dint of much practice he finally 
managed to throw this end up the chimney and over 
one of the iron bars therein. He then swung his 
rope about until it was so entangled with the sus 
pended fagot as to remain fast to the bar when he 
put his weight on it. Armed with his scraper, he 
then mounted by the rope to the iron bar, undid and 



"STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE." 443 

lowered the rope's end that had the fagot, thus giving 
himself a double rope to cling to, and began work 
with the scraper on the cement that held one of the 
other bars than that over which the rope was thrown. 
Habit had taught him to see in the dimmest light, 
and his fingers to find their way in total darkness. 
To his joy he soon found that the hard enamel of his 
tooth had effect on the surface of the cement. 

With what difficulty and pain he worked, supported 
by his fragile rope ladder, compelled to brace himself 
against the sides of the chimney, and often to find 
relief from his cramped position by hanging to the 
iron bar, is hardly to be imagined. When he desisted 
he had to descend by the double rope, then let go of 
one end and draw the rope by the other end over the 
bar, for the rope also had to be hidden in his bed 
when not in use. 

When not working in the chimney, Dick made 
additional rope, for that purpose unravelling all of 
his clothing and bedding that would not be missed 
by any who might enter his cell. He continued to 
borrow books, and as he now asked for such as he 
was already acquainted with, either French works 
that he knew through translation, or French versions 
of English works, he could talk so well of their 
contents that the officers he occasionally met sup 
posed him to pass all his time in reading. So appar 
ent was his seeming contentment, that no one 



444 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

suspected him of desiring to escape. But that 
desire increased daily. It was only stimulated by 
the news, in February, that France had recognized 
the independence of his country and formed an 
alliance with it. 

In less than eight months after setting to work, 
he had opened a way through the chimney. So slen 
der was he, and so supple, that he found he had not 
to remove all the bars, for he could wriggle between 
some of them and the chimney wall. Those that 
he did unfasten he replaced loosely in position after 
each period of work. He now estimated that he 
had nearly two hundred feet of rope, and he had 
been told correctly that the towers of the Bastile 
were nearly two hundred feet high. By the first of 
August, 1778, all was ready; and Dick waited only 
for a dark and rainy night. 

Such a night came on Wednesday, August 5th. 
Dick had walked in the court that afternoon, under 
a steady downpour of the kind that lasts twenty-four 
hours or more, and he felt assured of a black sky for 
the night. He attached his rope in the usual man 
ner, ascended the chimney, removed the loosely re 
placed iron bars, one by one, climbed by the rope to 
the highest of the bars he had left fast, squeezed 
through between that bar and the chimney wall, 
attached the rope's end to his waist, and then labori 
ously worked his way up the rest of the chimney 



"STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE." 445 

with arms and legs, rubbing the skin off elbows and 
knees in doing so. At last he emerged from the top 
of the chimney, and, after resting a minute, dropped 
on the flat roof of the tower. 

For some time, the darkness and rain hid every 
thing from Dick's sight. But at last, having mean 
while drawn the full length of rope after him from 
the chimney, he could make out vaguely the dark 
houses and streets stretching far away below. By 
sheer force of will, and by confining every thought 
and moment to his work, he kept himself from turning 
giddy at the height. 

The lofty platform of the Bastile was surmounted 
by ordnance, even as in the days of the Fronde, 
when the " great Mademoiselle " had fired the guns 
on the soldiers of Turenne. Dick fastened his rope 
around one of these cannon, and threw the loose end 
over the battlement of a corner tower. He believed 
that the rope would reach down almost to the fosse, 
which separated the prison from the outer wall. This 
ditch was twenty-five feet deep, but was usually kept 
dry. Along the inside of the. outer wall ran a 
wooden gallery, which was paced by sentinels and 
was reached from below by two flights of steps. 

It was Dick's plan to drop from the rope's end to 
the fosse, slink up the steps under cover of darkness 
and rain, elude the sentinels, reach the top of the 
outer wall, and drop therefrom to the ground outside, 



446 THE ROAD TO IRAKIS. 

trusting to his lightness and his luck to make this 
last fall an easy one. He had obtained his knowl 
edge of his surroundings from a book of memoirs 
that he had read in his cell, written by a gentleman 
who had been imprisoned in the Bastile under the 
Regency. 

He clambered over the battlement, took a good 
hold of his slender rope, or, rather, of one of the 
wooden rounds knotted to it, and let down his weight 
over the outer edge of the battlement, grasping at 
the same time the next lower round with his other 
hand. He had an instant of giddiness and weakness, 
at the discovery that the rope swung far out in the 
air, the wall being overhung by the battlements. He 
hardened his muscles and somewhat overcame this 
momentary feeling. But his arms trembled as he 
cautiously disengaged one hand and sought the next 
round below. 

In this manner, swaying in the air, and feeling 
sometimes as if the tower were leaning over upon 
him, and at other times as if it were receding so as 
to leave him quite alone between earth and sky, he 
gradually made the descent. It began to seem as if 
the rope were endless, as if he were doomed forever 
to descend towards an earth that fell back from him 
as he approached. But at last his feet felt about for 
the rope below, in vain. His hands soon confirmed 
the discovery that he was at the rope's lower end, to 



"STONE WALLS DO NOT A PKISON MAKE." 447 

which a stout piece of wood was attached. Yet he 
was still far from the fosse ; indeed, he saw, with 
dismay, that he was a good distance above the level 
of the outer wall. 

To drop from such a height would be suicide. To 
climb back to the top of the tower was impossible ; 
his strength was almost gone. 

Thanks to the darkness and to the noise of the rain, 
he had not been seen by the sentinels. It was a 
time for desperate expedients. He had noticed that, 
whenever the rope swung him close to the tower 
wall, it swung back to a corresponding distance out 
ward. He now swung in, and, in rebounding, struck 
his feet against the tower in such manner as to pro 
pel him farther outward on the return swing. He 
next guided himself so as to swing clear of the 
rounded surface of the tower and yet so as to kick 
the tower in passing, and thus to gain additional 
space and force for his pendulum-like movement 
through the air. Continuing thus, and describing a 
greater arc at each swing, he found at last that his 
outward swing brought him almost directly above the 
outer wall. At the next swing, he let the rope go, 
with the hope of landing somewhere on the outer 
wall, which was so near that the fall would not be 
exceptionally dangerous. 

Through the air he was hurled, far beyond the 
outer wall. He had miscalculated. For an instant 



448 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

he was aware of this, and gave himself up as a dead 
man. He knew that no human bones could with 
stand such a collision with solid earth as he was 
about to experience. He instinctively made himself 
ready for the shock. It came, with a splash, an 
immersion, a gurgling, and a further descent through 
muddy water. He had dropped into the aqueduct of 
the Fosse St. Antoine. 

The ten feet of water then in the aqueduct suffi 
ciently broke his fall, and he rose to the surface in a 
state of amazement. As there was no demonstration 
from the wall over which he had swung, he inferred 
that the sound of the rain had drowned the splash of 
his contact with the water. He clambered up the 
bank, slunk along the outer wall of the Bastile, 
and emerged in the square before the Porte St. 
Antoine. 

Westward lay the city proper, eastward the 
Faubourg St. Antoine, with highways leading to the 
open country. The first faint sign of dawn was 
appearing, so many hours had Dick been employed 
in his escape. The rain was still descending, and 
the water of the ditch was dripping from his clothes. 
He stood still for a moment, gazing at the dark roofs 
of Paris ; then he turned his back upon them, and 
looked towards the two streets that opened before 
him. He chose that towards the right, and plunged 
into it. It led him southeastward. 



"STOKE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE." 449 

By full dawn he had passed through some open 
fields to the country, for the great circular wall 
completed under Napoleon had not then been even 
authorized. Regaining the highway, he proceeded 
towards Charenton, making on this occasion more 
haste on the road from Paris than he had ever made 
on the road thereto. 

He was moneyless, hatless, clad in outer garments 
only, his inner ones having gone to make rope. As 
the morning advanced, people on the road stared at 
him with curiosity. Near Charenton he stepped 
aside to let a post -carriage pass towards Paris. To 
his surprise, the occupant of the carriage, having 
observed him in passing, thrust a good-natured face 
out of the window, ordered the postilion to stop, and 
called to Dick : 

" My friend, you look wet ! " 

"I am wet," replied Dick, who had not moved 
since the carriage had gone by. 

"Haven't I seen you somewhere before?" asked 
the gentleman in the carriage. 

" The same question was on the tip of my tongue," 
said Dick. " But I have already answered it." And 
then he spoke in English. " Good morning, Lord 
George ! " 

" Why, damme if it isn't Wetheral ! " Lord George 
Winston also spoke English now, and a very pleased 
and friendly expression came over his face. 



450 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

"Yes, it is Wetheral, and in much the same 
condition as when he first had the honor of meeting 
you." 

" Egad, so it seems ! Come, then, let me play 
the Good Samaritan again ! " 

"I don't see how I can refuse you, my lord," said 
Dick, looking down at himself. 

" Good ! Wilkins, open the door for Mr. Wetheral." 

" A moment, my lord. Where are you going ? " 

"To Paris, of course." 

" Then I thank you, but I have important business 
in the opposite direction." 

" Oh, come into the carriage ! I shall not be in 
Paris long. I've come up from Fontainebleau, to 
engage a secretary. Then I am going to make a 
tour of France and Germany." 

" Do you want a secretary ? I am sure I should 
make a good secretary." 

"Why, you are a gentleman." 

" Do you want an hostler for a secretary, then ? " 

"Why, if you really wish it, the post is open to 
you." 

" Then I accept it on the spot." 

" Then I have no need to go to Paris. Get in, 
Mr. Secretary." 

Dick obeyed with alacrity, Lord George ordered 
the postilion to turn around, and soon they were 
whirling through Charenton, on the road to Melun, 



"STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE." 45 I 

Dick telling Lord George his story, and receiving 
the latter's unsolicited promise to back whatever 
assertions might become necessary to show that his 
lordship's secretary was not the man who had escaped 
from the Bastile. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

DICK GIVES A SPECIMEN OF AMERICAN SHOOTING. 

BUT Dick's appearance was soon so changed as 
to remove fear of recognition, thanks to the equip 
ment with which Lord George provided him, as 
advanced payment, out of his lordship's own ward 
robe, an equipment for a fine gentleman rather 
than for a secretary. The transformation was begun 
at Melun, whence the travellers went speedily to 
Fontainebleau, where a barber and hair-dresser com 
pleted it. Dick was then told that his duties would 
consist in writing letters of travel that his lordship 
had promised to send to England. His lordship gave 
the name to which these epistles were to be directed. 
Dick echoed back the name, in astonishment : 

" Miss Celestine Thorpe ! Why, it seems to me 
I've heard 

"Yes," admitted Lord George, with a sigh, 
"I went to Oxfordshire and renewed the attack, 
and the lady capitulated, that is to say, con 
ditionally on my behavior during absence. These 
letters are to show how I spend my time. I under 
took to write them myself, but at this place I found 

452 



A SPECIMEN OF AMERICAN SHOOTING. 453 

I hadn't the literary gift. So I started for Paris in 
search of a secretary. By the way, you may be glad 
to hear that the lovely Amabel is soon to be Sir 
William Fountain's lady. He is the exact opposite 
of the lamented Bullcott. Alderby has married Miss 
Mallby, and revenges himself for her treatment of 
him before marriage, by keeping her green with 
jealousy." 

Dick sighed to think how long ago seemed his 
contact with the lives of the people thus recalled to 
his mind, and how completely he must have been by 
them forgotten. Such is the world ! 

The next few weeks, passed in leisurely travel 
from one old town of France to another, were among 
the most uneventful and serenely pleasurable in 
Dick's life. From the noble forest, great rocks, and ' 
historic chateau of Fontainebleau, they went to Sens, 
with its winding streets and pleasant rivulets. There 
they took the water-coach, and were towed, by horses 
on the bank, up the Yonne to Joigny, which looks 
down on fertile meadows watered by the two rivers 
that join at the foot of its hillside. Continuing on 
the water-coach, with a cheerful company of mer 
chants, lawyers, abb6s, milliners, soldiers, fiddlers, 
women of different ages and degrees of virtue, and 
other people, they joined in the quadrilles in the 
cabin and on deck with a gaiety that effectually 
disguised Lord George's rank and nationality. 



454 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

At Auxerre they left the water-coach, and pro 
ceeded by a hired conveyance to Dijon, where they 
met several English, Irish, and Scotch gentry at the 
coffee-house, and were reminded of London by the 
garden called Vauxhall, hard by the ramparts. So 
they went through Burgundy, drinking the wine, 
exchanging civilities with the well-fed monks, and 
partaking everywhere of the fat of the land. By 
way of Auxonne, a town small but fortified, and 
Dole, with its Roman vestiges, they neared the 
Swiss frontier at Besangon, then noted for its uni 
versity, its hospital, its large garrison containing 
among others the regiment of the King, its perpetual 
religious processions, its frequent suicides of lovers 
in the river Doube, and its soldiers' duels. 

Thence they went to Basle, lodging at the inn of 
the Three Kings, and dining by a window that 
looked across the Rhine to smiling plains; thence 
past miles of tobacco fields to Strasbourg ; thence 
across the Rhine and to Rastadt ; thence by way of 
Carlsruhe and Speyer to Mannheim, whose straight 
streets, crossing at right angles, reminded Dick of 
Philadelphia. Over a flat country where there were 
few houses but palaces and peasants' cottages, for 
in most small German states the gentry lived in the 
capitals and the merchant class in towns, they 
went by carriage to the ecclesiastical capital, Ma- 
yence, which swarmed with priests, many of them 



A SPECIMEN OF AMERICAN SHOOTING. 455 

rich and gay-looking, and not a few openly tipsy 
with Rhenish wine. From there Lord George and 
his secretary proceeded to Frankfort, notable for its 
stately houses covered with red stucco, its spacious 
streets, its well-dressed and well-mannered people, 
its multitude of Jews. 

From the free imperial city they drove to Marburg, 
in the landgraviate of Hesse-Cassel, a hilly, well- 
wooded country, with many fertile valleys and fields. 
Its landgrave, Frederick II., was one of the richest 
and most powerful of all the German princes, and 
was then in close relations with England, which fact 
gave him a mild interest in Lord George's eyes ; but 
there was to that fact a circumstance with a different 
interest for Dick Wetheral, it was this Landgrave 
that sold his troops to England, and thousands of 
them were even now in America fighting against 
Dick's countrymen. 

Pushing on from Marburg as rapidly as the bad 
roads and the stolid, smoking German postilion would 
let them go, the young gentlemen entered Cassel, 
then no longer a walled city, on a pleasant autumn 
evening, little foreseeing, as they drove in from the 
southwest and set foot before the hotel in the round 
platz near the Landgrave's palace, that in this capital 
a very remarkable drama was about to open in the 
life of Dick Wetheral. 

The next morning Dick stayed in the hotel to write 



45 6 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

Lord George's journal up to date, while his lordship 
went out to visit the English resident. Before 
noon Lord George returned. 

" Lay aside your pen, my dear fellow," he said to 
Dick. "We are to dine at the palace with their 
highnesses, the Landgrave and Landgravine. Make 
haste, you've barely time to change your clothes." 

"But I am merely a secretary," objected Dick, 
who had no desire to enjoy the hospitality of the 
Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel. 

" So much the more reason why you should see 
the Landgrave's court, to write my description of 
it. Besides, no one will know you are my secretary 
as well as my friend." 

"But no one is permitted to appear at German 
courts who isn't noble." 

" That rule of etiquette is observed only towards 
the natives, not towards strangers, and particularly 
not towards Englishmen. Come, this is a gala-day, 
and we shall go to the masquerade to-night as well. 
I must have at least one court dinner and court ball 
in my journal of travels, to be in the fashion. To 
morrow we shall leave Cassel, which doesn't interest 
me, and go by way of Magdeburg to Berlin." 

Dick was glad to hear this last intention, for, 
unlike the Landgrave Frederick II. of Hesse-Cassel, 
King Frederick I. of Prussia (who was also Duke of 
Magdeburg) had shown some favor to the American 



A SPECIMEN OF AMERICAN SHOOTING. 457 

cause, having some months ago forbidden the passage 
of Hessian soldiers through his dominions to embark 
for America. So Dick complied the more cheerfully 
with Lord George's wish. 

Cassel then, as now, was mainly on the west bank 
of the river Fulda, and consisted of the "old town," 
large and irregular, and the " new town," where the 
nobility and the court officers had fine houses. The 
circular platz in which the travellers lodged was at 
the southwestern extremity of the old town, and by 
proceeding a short way southwest from the platz, one 
reached the winter palace and the new town. A few 
steps of their carriage horses brought Lord George 
and Dick to the palace, then a large Gothic castle, 
west of which, was the great rectangular open space 
now known as the Friedrichsplatz. South of this 
space, and between the new town and the Fulda, 
was a flat-roofed villa, used by the Landgrave as a 
summer residence, and surrounded by parks, gar 
dens, an orangery, and a menagerie. But though 
September was not yet past, the Landgrave was now 
occupying the winter palace. 

The guard officer at the palace, to whom Lord 
George showed his order for entrance, caused a foot 
man to conduct the visitors into a large decorated 
room, where a number of officers stood about in 
groups, talking in low tones. One of these, whom 
Lord George had met in the forenoon, greeted the 



45 8 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

two with the utmost courtesy, which seemed like a 
compound of French politeness and English gravity. 
Dick observed that this officer spoke in French, 
which indeed was so much the court language in 
Germany while Frederick of Prussia set the fashion, 
that the use of German was deemed a mark of vul 
garity. In France the craze was for everything 
English ; in Germany for everything French. 

From the number of military officers present, it 
was evident that the Landgrave had not sent all of 
his army to serve England in America. Dick made 
several acquaintances in a very few minutes. He 
who had first approached was* Count von Romberg, 
a captain in the foot-guards. . Another was the 
Baron von Sungen, lieutenant-colonel of the horse- 
guards, a witty, spirited, impulsive, chivalrous man, 
with a French manner acquired in Paris. A third 
slim, talkative, vain, meddlesome, with brazen gray 
eyes and reddish eye-lashes was Count Mesmer, 
one of his highness's chamberlains. These three 
were young men. Of the older ones in the assem 
blage, Dick noticed particularly a bent, wrinkled, 
crafty-looking sexagenarian, who, he learned, was 
Von Rothenstein, minister of police. 

Presently doors were thrown open, and there 
appeared a robust gentleman of medium height, look 
ing fewer years than his fifty-eight, and wearing the 
Order of the Garter. He came with a firm tread, 



A SPECIMEN OF AMERICAN SHOOTING. 459 

noticing in a brief but gracious way the officers, who 
bowed low to him as he approached. He had a mo 
ment and a word for this one and for that ; for Gen 
eral Scliven, his chief reliance in military affairs ; 
for old Zastrow, who had commanded at Schweidnitz ; 
for the Prince of Saxe-Gotha, who had a regiment in 
Hesse-Cassel's service ; and, in due time, for the 
officious Count Mesmer, by whom Lord George and 
Dick had the honor of being made known to the 
Landgrave. 

His highness expressed, in the French language 
and in a guttural voice still full of virility, the pleas 
ure he took in meeting Englishmen. While Lord 
George was bowing indifferently, and Dick hypocriti 
cally, other doors opened, and a lady entered, very 
beautiful and dignified, large, and somewhat over- 
plump. Dick knew from the great respect with which 
she was received, and from the number of ladies that 
followed her, that she must be the Landgravine. A 
very cold greeting passed between her and the 
Landgrave, for, though it was but five years since 
Frederick II. had married, for love, the Princess of 
Brandenburg-Schwedt, he already lived estranged 
from her, as he had lived from his first wife, a daugh 
ter of England's George II. ; and as he now lived 
also from his son George William, the hereditary 
prince, who was also Count of Hanau, and main 
tained there a little court. 



460 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

Dick glanced from the Landgravine to her ladies, 
who looked neither as piquant as French women, 
nor as reserved as English women. If what an 
ungallant American traveller wrote at that time 
that at the German courts beauty and butter alike 
were measured by the pound were true, it was to 
be granted that the German ladies had fair skin, 
radiant complexion, and something of a classic cast 
of countenance. But Dick's gaze fastened upon 
one face, which had beauty without heaviness ; a face 
that stood out from the others, making them and 
all the world besides fade into nothingness, while 
Dick, in doubt whether he was not dreaming, forgot 
that any other woman had ever lived. It was the 
-face of Catherine de St. Valier ! 

She saw him, looked slightly startled, then took 
on the faintest flush, which passed immediately but 
left him with the happy assurance that he was recog 
nized. Half-way across the room as he was, he 
bowed low. She slightly inclined her head, and 
hastened to the Landgravine, for whom she had 
brought a forgotten handkerchief. She then went 
swiftly out by the door at which all the ladies had 
entered. 

The company was already on the way to the 
dining-parlor, and Dick had to follow. It was the 
privilege of Lord George and his friends to dine at 
their highnesses' table, where only strangers and 



A SPECIMEN OF AMERICAN SHOOTING. 461 

such officers as were not under the rank of colonel 
were allowed to sit, the lesser guests eating in an 
adjoining room, to which the doors were left open. 
But Dick took no thought of the honor done him, or 
of the table-talk, which was constrained and low- 
spoken, no voice being raised save when one of their 
highnesses addressed some person at a distance. 
Catherine was not present. Dick continued to won 
der how in the world she had come to be an inmate 
of the palace of Cassel. As the dinner lasted two 
hours, he had time in which to repeat this question 
to himself many times. After dinner he absent-mind 
edly followed the company back to the room where 
it had first assembled. Here he stood in a trance 
for a quarter of an hour, and then, the Landgrave 
having left the apartment, the company broke up. 

" Let us hope we sha'n't be so bored at the mas 
querade to-night," said Lord George, on the way 
back to the hotel. " I shall thank God when I have 
put this stupid place far behind me." 

" Stupid ! " echoed Dick. "I find it very interest 
ing. I sha'n't think of leaving for some time." 

" Why, this morning you were glad we were going 
at once to Berlin ! " 

" My dear Lord George, if you are determined to 
go at once to Berlin, I beg to resign my place as 
your secretary. I will do my best to find you 
another secretary here at Cassel." 



462 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

" Why, I suppose I can easily find one. But are 
you serious ? One would suppose you had got some 
fat appointment in the court or the army, since this 
morning. 

" I wish I had, God knows, or even a lean one, 
but not in the army. I would not go to fight against 
my against the Americans." 

" Oh, you wouldn't be sent to America. We 
should have to get you into one of the household 
battalions, not as an officer, of course ; you know 
the officers must be of the nobility, but there are 
gentlemen in the ranks of every military body that 
is attached to a sovereign's person. There are the 
body-guards, the foot-guards, the horse-guards, and 
other such troops. Doubtless volunteers are very 
welcome. These German princes have crimps all 
over Europe kidnapping men for their armies. Let 
us speak to one of the various counts or barons we 
shall meet to-night." 

" No, my lord, I would never serve this Landgrave 
as a soldier, nor in any other post, but for one 
reason." 

His lordship, though puzzled, was too polite to ask 
what the reason was. "Very well," said he, after a 
moment's silence, "we shall see to-morrow. I shall 
try to lure away some under-clerk from a brilliant 
official career, as my secretary, and to get you in his 
place, if you continue of the same mind," 



A SPECIMEN OF AMERICAN SHOOTING. 463 

" My lord, you are destined to be always my Good 
Samaritan," cried Dick, his eyes suddenly moist with 
gratitude. He considered that, in occupying a civil 
sinecure under the Landgrave, he would not in reality 
be serving that virtual enemy to his country, but 
would be merely supporting himself by means of 
that enemy ; that is to say, he would be, in time 
of necessity, existing at the expense of the foe, 
according to the custom of war. Moreover, his posi 
tion might enable him to serve his country directly, 
by giving him early intelligence of future movements 
by Hessian troops, and, perhaps, of future intentions 
of England. 

They drove to a costumer's, obtained dominoes, 
and, at six o'clock, returned to the palace, where 
they found the gentlemen of the court all in domi 
noes, the ladies in ordinary ball dress. Card tables 
had been set, and the Landgrave played at cavaniolle 
with a rather talkative party of about a dozen mem 
bers, while the Landgravine took a hand at quadrille 
with a trio of her own choosing. A number of play 
ers occupied tables in adjoining rooms. Dick helped 
make up a game at which Captain von Romberg and 
two placid, apple-cheeked baronesses were the other 
participants, but his eyes roved from his cards, in 
vain search of Catherine. 

While the games were going on, a gentleman 
passed around with a hat containing small tickets. 



464 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

Each lady took one of these, when the hat was 
offered her, and then similar tickets were drawn by 
the gentlemen. Dick saw that his ticket bore the 
number twenty-three, and he learned from the talk 
of his fellow players that the lady who had drawn 
the same number would be his partner at supper 
and at the dance. Presently an officer began calling 
out the numbers, a lady declaring herself at each 
number, and a gentleman offering his arm to lead 
her out to supper. 

" I wonder who has twenty-three," said Dick, 
indifferently, to Lord George, who had meanwhile 
rejoined him. 

"I can't tell you that," replied his lordship, "but 
I know who has my number, seventeen. I happened 
to see her ticket, when she held it up to the light. 
She is that splendid, dark-eyed creature, standing 
yonder under the candles." 

Dick's glance turned idly towards the indicated 
place. Suddenly he became afire. 

" My lord," he almost gasped, " be my Good 
Samaritan once again. Exchange tickets with me, 
for heaven's sake ! " 

" Why, certainly. That gives me back the uncer 
tainty to which this game entitles me." And the 
exchange was quickly made. 

" Seventeen," was called out, and Dick advanced, 
with beating heart, to meet Catherine. She colored 



A SPECIMEN OF AMERICAN SHOOTING. 465 

again was it with pleasure? as she took his 
proffered arm. They walked in silence to the supper- 
room. 

At supper there was more ease and animation 
than there had been at dinner. This circumstance 
favored conversation between Dick and his partner. 

" I should not have expected to meet you so far 
from where I saw you last," he began, in a low 
voice. 

"Nor I to meet you," she replied, speaking with 
out haste, and with the gravity that characterized 
her. 

" Oh, my coming here was a very simple matter. 
Sent to England as a prisoner, I escaped to France, 
and there fell in with an English nobleman, whose 
travels brought him this way. I am his secre 
tary. It is not known I am an American." 

" My coming here was quite as simple," said she, 
with a slight smile. " My brother and I came to 
France to receive a small bequest left by a cousin of 
my mother's. In Paris we met a distant relation, 
one of the ladies of her highness the Landgravine. 
When she returned to Cassel, she obtained for me 
a post as lady-in-waiting. French people are in 
request at the German courts." 

" And Monsieur Gerard ? " 

"My brother is in the foot-guards." 

" I should like to see him," said Dick, and added, 



466 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

with special intention, " I suppose he has forgotten 
me." 

" Oh, no, monsieur," she replied, quite artlessly ; 
" we have often talked of you. Our gratitude for 
recovering the portrait, and risking your life to 
bring it to us 

" 'Twas the opportunity of risking it to serve you, 
that made my life worth having," he said, in a tone 
little above a whisper. 

" My brother will be -glad to learn that your life 
was surely saved," she replied, avoiding Dick's glance. 

" And you, who saved it ? " 

" I, too, of course." 

The words were nothing, but the slight blush with 
which she uttered them was eloquent. 

After supper, all the company put on masks with 
which they had provided themselves. The Land 
gravine was led to the ballroom by her partner, an 
owlish colonel, and the other couples followed. Her 
highness stopped at the upper end of the room, the 
second couple stopped immediately below this, and 
at last there was a double file extending the length 
of the hall. This arrangement seemed to promise a 
country-dance, but when the music began, Dick 
found that a form of minuet was intended. When 
this had been walked through, everybody sat down, 
except the Landgravine, who then danced with 
several different gentlemen in succession. 



A SPECIMEN OF AMERICAN SHOOTING. 467 

After this there were minuets and country-dances. 
The company was augmented by maskers from the 
town, some in fancy dresses ; while several who 
belonged to the court, having meanwhile slipped 
out, returned in different costume, so as to be really 
disguised, for on first entering the masquerade- 
room, all were known, notwithstanding their masks. 
Everybody was now on a footing, and the maskers 
mingled promiscuously. But Dick remained with 
Catherine, who showed no desire for other com 
pany. He thought himself in the midst of paradise, 
until suddenly she said : 

"Her highness is retiring. I must go." 
" But, mademoiselle, the others are not going ! " 
"The others are not keepers of her highness's 
robes," said Catherine. 

"But one moment ! When may I see you again?" 

" How can I say ? My hours of duty are long. I 

am usually free in the afternoon, from three to five 

o'clock. On occasions like this, sometimes I attend 

her highness, sometimes T may do as I please." 

" From three to five, you say. I suppose you 
remain in the palace then ? " 

" Except when I visit my brother. I must go 
now, monsieur. Au revoir!" 

In a moment she was lost in the crowd. You 
may be sure much had been said, between their 
opening colloquy at supper and their brief dialogue 



468 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

at parting, to bring about the tacit understanding of 
a future meeting. 

So she was in the habit of going to see her 
brother ! Dick had learned that the Prussian sys 
tem was followed in Cassel, that the troops, instead 
of being lodged in barracks, were quartered with 
citizens. He walked the next morning to the drill- 
ground and armory of the foot-guards, and, happily 
meeting Captain von Romberg, learned where Gerard 
had lodgings. He went immediately to the house, 
which was in a street running east from the platz 
and through the southern extremity of the old town. 
It was the house of a glover, whose shop was on the 
ground floor. Gerard was out on duty. 

Dick, rinding that the guardsman occupied the 
first-floor room towards the street, immediately hired 
a corresponding room in an obscure inn across the 
way. He waited at the inn door till he saw Gerard, 
in military coat and buff cross belt, coming down the 
street ; he then crossed over, with a preoccupied air, 
as if going about his business. Looking up sud 
denly, as he came face to face with the soldier, 
Dick pretended the greatest surprise at recognizing 
Monsieur de St. Valier. 

The recognition was not mutual at first, but, as 
soon as Dick had recalled himself to the other, the 
young Frenchman became instantly cordial. A min 
ute later the two were sitting in Gerard's room, 



A SPECIMEN OF AMERICAN SHOOTING. 469 

expressing wonder at the strange chance that had 
made Dick a lodger across the street from Gerard. 

They dined together at the table d'hote of Dick's 
inn, and then returned to Gerard's house, where the 
marvellous coincidence had to be discussed over 
again when Gerard's sister called in the afternoon. 
It was his custom to receive her in the glover's back 
parlor, and on this occasion Dick was of course 
invited to be present. Not until she had gone back 
to the palace, did Dick return to Lord George, who 
had been mystified at his absence. 

" I have found a secretary," said his lordship, who 
also had passed a great part of the day out of the 
hotel, "in the shape of a clerk at the French resi 
dent's office, who has got into trouble over cards and 
a woman and has to seek other pastures. But the 
vacancy he will leave is already provided for. I 
don't know what can be done for you if you are 
determined to remain here." 

" I shall find something," said Dick ; " and, mean 
while, I've taken a room at a cheaper hotel, where I 
can live for some time on the money I have. But 
I am as grateful to you 

"As if I had ever really done anything for you," 
broke in Lord George, who liked expressions of grati 
tude to be cut short. He supposed that Dick's 
" some time " meant several weeks, whereas it really 
meant three days. 



47 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

The next afternoon there was a review of the first 
battalion of guards, in that part of the park which 
lay between the summer palace and the menagerie. 
Lord George remained at Cassel on the pretext of a 
desire to see an exhibition of target-shooting that 
was to be given in connection with the review, by 
certain of the guardsmen. Dick guessed that his 
lordship's real purpose in tarrying was to make 
further effort towards obtaining employment for 
him. 

The two met at Lord George's hotel (Dick having 
already moved to the inn opposite the glover's), and 
rode on hired horses to the reviewing-ground. It 
was a fine day, warm and sunny. The Landgrave 
and his chief officers were present on horseback. 
The Landgravine and several ladies were in car 
riages, at that side of the park which bordered on 
the Fulda and at which was the menagerie. Dick 
and Lord George took station, with several other 
horsemen, near the Landgrave's party. When the 
shooting at mark began, Dick found himself near 
the place where the men stood while firing. The 
competitors were drawn up in line, at right angles 
with the line formed by the rest of the battalion. 
This latter line formed the western side of an 
imaginary square, the targets were midway in the 
south side of the same square, the east side was 
formed by the menagerie and the carriages, while 



A SPECIMEN OF AMERICAN SHOOTING. 4/1 

the north side began with the line of marksmen, and 
was continued eastward by the groups of horsemen. 
After a few shots had been fired, Dick observed that 
the Landgravine and other ladies had got out of 
their carriages and were standing at some distance 
from them, so as to see better the effect of each 
shot. 

Some one had just called Dick's attention to the 

fact that Mile. F , the Landgrave's Parisian 

mistress, was standing within a few feet of the 
Landgrave's wife, when suddenly a terrible roar 
came from the menagerie, followed a moment later 
by a great four-footed, striped figure, which bounded 
into sight, then crouched and looked around with 
ferocious curiosity. 

" The tiger has broken out ! " an officer exclaimed, 
while everybody gazed at the animal as if struck 
dumb with sudden amazement and alarm. 

A man rushed wildly out from the menagerie after 
the tiger, he was the keeper, through whose care 
lessness the beast had escaped. At this sight the 
women began to scream and to run back to the car 
riages. In a moment or two, the Landgravine was 
left alone. She stood looking at the animal as if 
fascinated, or as if paralyzed with terror. 

The keeper threw himself before the tiger. It 
felled him with a blow, drew the blood from his face 
with its claws, and began to tear his flesh with its 



4/2 THE ROAD TO PARIS, 

teeth. The women shrieked with horror. The ani 
mal looked up, glided across the body of the man, 
and made swiftly towards the Landgravine. 

A kind of shuddering moan went up from the 
whole field. Some officers dashed forward on their 
horses, as if to intervene between the Landgravine 
and the beast, though the great distance made the 
attempt a hopeless one. 

As the tiger made its spring, a shot rang out. 
The beast gave a howl of pain, dropped sidewise, 
and lay still, at the Landgravine's feet, pierced 
through the brain. 

The officers looked around amazed, and saw Dick 
Wetheral, afoot, lowering a smoking gun. He had 
slid from his horse at the tiger's first appearance, 
run to the nearest marksman, seized the loaded 
weapon, and fired as he had fired at many a running 
bear in Pennsylvania. 

"Who fired?" cried the Landgrave, too deeply 
moved to say more, for a prince does not wish 
his wife to die a violent death in his presence and 
the court's, however estranged he may be from her. 

"I took the liberty, your highness," said Dick, 



handing back the gun to the guardsman, and 
approaching the Landgrave. 

" You have saved the Landgravine's life," said his 
highness. "I lack words in which to express my 
gratitude. You shall hear from me." 



A SPECIMEN OF AMERICAN SHOOTING. 473 

And the Landgrave rode quickly over to the 
Landgravine, who was being supported to her 
carriage. 

"You don't need a Good Samaritan any longer. 
Your fortune is made ! " said Lord George, as Dick 
remounted. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

THE FAVOR OF A PRINCE. 

DICK now seemed to stride towards felicity with 
seven-league boots. His famous long shot, decidedly 
the most remarkable given at that afternoon's exhibi 
tion of shooting, speedily became famous. His place 
of abode being learned through Lord George, he was 
invited to court to receive the thanks of the Land 
gravine in person, with a present of a jewelled watch 
and a diamond ring. Returning from the palace to 
his hotel opposite the glover's, he found awaiting him 
an equerry with a superb black horse, a gift from the 
Landgrave. He had no sooner seen this animal 
stabled, and gone to his room, than he was visited by 
Count Mesmer, accompanied by a lackey bearing a 
gold-hilted dress sword, another token of his high- 
ness's gratitude. Mesmer then sounded him as to his 
future, in such a manner as to raise suspicion of Lord 
George's having dropped a hint in a proper quarter. 
The next day Dick received an appointment to a post 
in the Academy of Arts, which . favor was to be con 
sidered a high one, for the Landgrave was a great 
patron of the arts and took pride in his museum. 

474 



THE FAVOR OF A PRINCE. 475 

Lord George now departed from Cassel, but Dick 
did not suffer loneliness. His intimacy with the St. 
Valiers increased. He saw Gerard every day, and 
Catherine whenever she came to visit her brother. 
He made friends among officers and civilians, and he 
had the constant society of Rembrandts, Van Dycks, 
Raphaels, Titians, and other creations of Dutch and 
Italian masters. His duties brought him into fre 
quent presence of the Landgrave, who often visited 
the picture gallery. 

His highness soon showed a pronounced liking 
for Dick, conversing with him whenever occasion 
offered, and regarding his freedom of speech and 
opinion with the amused indulgence that one has for 
a clever child. People of the court began to see in 
Dick a possible favorite, and flattered him in his 
presence, though hating him in their hearts as a suc 
cessful interloper. It annoyed Dick to know that he 
was liked by a prince whom every American should 
hold in enmity ; and this annoyance became disgust 
when his highness, from discussing the pictures of 
women, would often fall to discoursing upon women 
themselves. But Dick concealed his feelings, listen 
ing in silence to the sovereign's coarse or jocose 
remarks upon the sex for which that sovereign's 
weakness was notorious. 

Now that his future seemed assured, Dick set 
about carrying matters forward with Catherine. The 



476 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

first sight of her face, so noble and yet so girlish, so 
reserved and yet so sincere, so open and yet from 
its dark eyes and hair so mysterious, had reawak 
ened in him a passionate adoration beside which the 
bygone manifestations of his heart towards Amabel, 
Collette, and " Amaryllis " were but feeble flutter- 
ings. To him all other women became insipid when 
Catherine reappeared on the scene. Her outward 
gravity betokened a nature of vast range and un 
fathomable depth, a book that could not be read 
through in a day, a book with new beauties and daz 
zling surprises on every page. He felt that she was 
the only thing in the universe worth having, and he 
pressed his suit accordingly. Gerard proved very 
amiable by finding numerous reasons for sudden 
absence when Catherine called. She had little 
coquetry, though much natural reserve ; yet, having 
been secretly disposed in his favor from the first 
(heaven knows by what undetectable something in 
his face or manner), she dropped her reserve at last 
before his oft-repeated " I love you," and, dropping 
her glance at the same moment, yielded her hand to 
his. It is only in plays and novels that confessions 
of love are matters of impassioned declamation or 
witty dialogue. 

Dick told the St. Valiers of his parentage and life, 
omitting only the episodes of Amabel, Collette, and 
"Amaryllis." An understanding was reached that 



THE FAVOR OF A PRINCE. 477 

Catherine should become his wife at some future 
time yet to be determined. As Dick was really in 
love, and so would have turned Mohammedan to 
possess her, he readily agreed to adopt her religion, 
as far as a Voltairean could adopt any, that is to 
say, in outer appearance only. It was urged by both 
Catherine and Gerard that the engagement should be 
kept secret, and Dick, being in mood to grant any 
conditions without question, readily consented. This 
interview, like all others between Dick and Cath 
erine since the night of the masquerade, occurred 
in the back parlor of the glover's house. As 
usual, Catherine insisted upon returning alone to 
the palace, which she always entered by a private 
door. 

" Why," said Dick, " may not a lady-in-waiting be 
seen with her affianced husband and her brother, in 
the streets ? Here are two people soon to be mar 
ried to each other, yet I'll wager nobody in Cassel, 
except Gerard, knows they are even acquainted with 
each other." 

"We must have patience," she said, with a smile 
in which there seemed to be something of sadness. 
Then, having gravely given him her hand to kiss, 
she hastened from the room. 

Dick and Gerard celebrated the day with a bottle 
of wine, after which Gerard went on duty and Dick 
to the Academy of Arts, which was a few steps 



THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

south of the palace. While there he was sent for by 
the Landgrave, who greeted him with a patronizing 
and approving smile, and the words : 

" I wish you to call immediately on the treasurer 
and on the chief equerry, who have orders regard 
ing your conveyance to Diisseldorf. I have a com 
mission for you to execute at the picture gallery 
there." 

Instead of the look of gratitude and pleasure that 
the Landgrave had expected to see on Dick's face, 
there was one of blank dejection. To leave Cassel, 
though for only a week, was not in Dick's plan of 
happiness at this time. But the Landgrave's order 
had to be obeyed, and Dick mustered up a gratified 
expression before it was too late. 

The next morning he started on his journey, leav 
ing with Gerard a note for Catherine. The commis 
sion was indeed one to be envied ; as it was out of 
all proportion to Dick's infinitesimal knowledge of 
art, it was the greater evidence of the Landgrave's 
favor. So Dick cheered himself up ; made the ac 
quaintance of the famous collection of that other 
elderly connoisseur in art and women, Charles Theo 
dore of Bavaria ; attended to his business, surrounded 
himself with the vision of Catherine, and suffused his 
heart and mind with anticipations of his next meeting 
with her. 

It was growing dark on a November evening, 



THE FAVOR OF A PRINCE. 4/9 

when Dick reentered Cassel. It was past the hour 
when he might have met Catherine at the glover's 
house, but he was so hungry for the sight of her, 
that he decided to attend the usual evening assembly 
at the palace, on the bare possibility of her being 
present. He knew that his favor with the Land 
grave would secure him admission on his merely 
sending in his name. He therefore drove at once to 
his inn, dressed and put on the sword given him by 
the Landgrave, which custom permitted him to wear 
at court, and hastened to the palace. It was a little 
after seven o'clock, and the reception-rooms were full. 

To Dick's surprise, one of the first persons he saw 
was Gerard de St. Valier, in the uniform of a body 
guard. 

" Why," cried Dick, rushing up to him, and press 
ing his hand, " you've been transferred, I see ! 'Tis 
the same as a promotion. We are both in good 
luck." 

"Yes," said Gerard, in a constrained manner. He 
then cast a swift look around, bowed formally, and 
hastened to another room, making a pretext of being 
on duty. 

Dick gazed after him in amazement. What meant 
this coldness, this evidence of being ill at ease ? 
Such a reception from Gerard cut Dick to the heart, 
made a tear start in his eye, and gave him an unde 
fined foreboding. 



480 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

While he stood thus, there was near him a move 
ment to either side, and a general bowing. He 
became aware of the Landgrave's approach, just in 
time to step back from his highness's way. But 
the Landgrave turned and greeted him with a kindly 
smile. 

" Back from Diisseldorf so soon ? " said Frederick 
II., in his rich and deep, but heavy and guttural, 
voice. 

" The feet move swiftly when they return to where 
the heart is," said Dick. 

The Landgrave, taking this as an expression of 
attachment to the sovereign presence, smiled pater 
nally ; then said : 

" I shall send to hear your report to-morrow. The 
King of Bavaria has fine pictures. He used to be as 
famous for the fine women he kept, also." 

" So I have heard, your highness," replied Dick, 
with a side glance towards the Landgravine at the 
farther end of the room, to see if Catherine might 
be among her highness's ladies. 

The Landgrave, again misinterpreting, followed 
Dick's glance. "Ah," said he, in a low tone, 
audible to none of those who stood back from him 
and Dick at respectful distance, " you are thinking 
that the court of Cassel also is not without its fair 
ones. And you are right, my clear-eyed Englishman. 
Like the rest of your race, you will doubtless some 



THE FAVOR OF A PRINCE. 481 

day write your recollections of the court of Cassel. 
Like the rest, you will give a page to the mistresses 
of the sovereign. Well, tell me if you think any of 
the ladies that even Louis XIV. delighted to honor, 
was fit to buckle the shoes of her whom you see 
standing beneath the picture of Diana yonder." 

" Whom do you mean, your highness ? " 

The Landgrave was too absorbed in his subject 
to heed the note of wild alarm in Dick's swift 
question. 

"The lady with the black hair and eyes," said the 
Landgrave, gloating across the distance. 

Dick turned cold. " Why," said he, in what 
faint voice he could command, " I thought your 
highness's favorite was Mademoiselle F ! " 

"King David himself changed his mistress now 
and then," said the Landgrave. 

Mad with grief and humiliation, Dick sprang for 
ward to Catherine de St. Valier for she it was 
whom the Landgrave had pointed out and said : 

" Mademoiselle, is it true, what I am told ? " 

She gave a start at first seeing him, then stood for 
a moment in a kind of sudden dismay. This gave 
way to an expression of surprise, as if he who ad 
dressed her were a stranger ; and then she turned to 
hasten from him. 

" Ah ! " he cried bitterly, in a voice that drew the 
attention of the whole assembly ; for, as consterna- 



482 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

tion had stopped his heart, rage now set it beating 
fiercely. " It is true, then ! Faithless ! " 

She turned and faced him, with a countenance as 
pale as death. At that instant Gerard confronted 
Dick from out of the throng, with cheeks as color 
less as Catherine's, and cried out : 

"Monsieur, it is of my sister that you speak ! " 

" You know where to find me, Monsieur de St. 
Valier ! " 

At Dick's first words to Catherine, the Landgrave, 
with a sudden ejaculation and frown, had turned and 
walked precipitately from the room. The Land 
gravine, seeing Gerard's movement, had instantly 
hastened out by another door, that her eyes might 
not be outraged by a scene. It was the duty of all 
the guests to follow, and so, as if by magic, while the 
two young men stood gazing at each other, with 
Catherine looking on as if turned to marble, the 
three found themselves alone in the assembly rooms. 
Gerard was the first to perceive this fact. His face 
suddenly lost its look of wrathful challenge, and took 
on one of deep sorrow and concern. " Mon Dieu f" 
he moaned. " We are lost ! Oh, Dick, why did 
you come here ? Why didn't you understand ? " 

" What do you mean ? Understand what ? " asked 
Dick, with a sudden fear of having made a terrible 
false step. 

" That it was for your own sake and ours we pre- 



THE FAVOR OF A PRINCE. 483 

tended not to know you," replied Gerard, despair 
ingly. " The Landgrave attributed my sister's re 
pulses to the fact that she loved another. We 
have tried to conceal who that other was, lest the 
Landgrave should destroy you ; we thought best to 
keep even our acquaintance with you unknown at 
court, so lynx-eyed is that evil old lieutenant of po 
lice, Rothenstein. But now all is out, and your 
chance of making your fortune is ruined ! Even 
your life is in peril if you stay in Cassel another 
hour ! " 

" Let me understand ! " cried Dick. " Repulses, 
you said ? " He turned to Catherine. "Then it is 
only in the Landgrave's evil hopes, not in fact, that 
you are his that you " 

"How can you ask ? " said Catherine, with a world 
of patient reproach in her voice and eyes. 

Dick knelt at her feet. " Forgive me ! " he said, 
in a broken voice that could utter no more. 

She held out her hand. He pressed it to his lips. 

" And what are we to do now ? " he asked, rising. 

" You must leave Cassel," said Gerard. 

" We must all leave Cassel," said Dick. 

" It is impossible for us to do so, at present," re 
plied Gerard, in despair. " We have no other resource, 
no way of living." 

" But the bequest you came from America to 
receive ? " 



484 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

"We were disappointed of that. Our right has 
been disputed, and the matter is in the courts." 

"Your relations in Quebec, and the estate con 
cerning which you were in Philadelphia ? " 

" We quarrelled with our uncle in Quebec, and we 
would die before we would go back to his charity. 
Our share of the Philadelphia estate was a trifle, and 
was spent long ago." 

" But you must leave Cassel ! I shall find a way 
to provide for us all ! " 

"You forget," put in Catherine, "that my brother 
dare not leave without a discharge from the military 
service. He would be taken as a deserter, and shot. 
Trust me, Wetheral ! I can hold the Landgrave 
aloof. His caprice will soon pass. You alone are 
in danger. It is best for us to stay till all can 
be properly arranged for our future somewhere 
else." 

" Then if you stay, I stay ! " said Dick, quietly. 
" I will act as if nothing had occurred, and await the 
consequences. After all, the Landgrave alone could 
have understood my meaning, when my miserable 
tongue so unjustly assailed you. The others would 
think my words merely the ravings of an unrequited 
lover. Yes, I will stay and see what comes of it ! " 

" Perhaps you are right," said Gerard. 

"Thank God, then, we do not have to say. fare 
well ! " said Catherine, resting her eyes tenderly on 



THE FAVOR OF A PRINCE. 48$ 

Dick. "I must hasten to the Landgravine. Good 
night ! Trust me, and be on your guard ! " 

" I trust you," said Dick, kissing her hand again. 
" But let the Landgrave take care ! " 

Dick then took leave of Gerard, whose presence in 
the palace was a matter of duty and not of privilege, 
and hastened to his inn. 

The next day, he went at the usual hour to his 
room at the Academy of Arts. In the course of the 
forenoon he received orders to submit in writing his 
account of his mission to the Diisseldorf gallery. 
He was glad that he did not have to report to the 
Landgrave in person, for he had no desire either to 
meet that' sovereign again or to enter the palace. In 
the afternoon Catherine came to the glover's house, 
this time attended by old Antoine, who had accom 
panied the St. Valiers from Quebec. The attendance 
of a man-servant was part of a lady-in-waiting's pay, 
and Catherine had been able to secure Antoine's 
appointment to her service in the palace. Hitherto, 
other duties had been allowed to prevent his following 
her to her brother's. Catherine brought the news 
that Dick's supposition had proven correct, the 
belief in the palace was that hia outburst had been 
merely a disappointed lover's. 

In the evening, while Dick was alone in his room, 
there came a discreet knock at his door. Opening, 
he let in a man cloaked and muffled, who immediately 



486 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

closed the door in a mysterious and secretive manner. 
The visitor then turned back his cloak and disclosed 
the face of Count Mesmer, the callous, self-assertive 
chamberlain. He was unattended. 

"Good evening, Count," said Dick, bracing him 
self for any evil this visit might portend. 

The Count took a chair at one side of a small table 
on which stood a lighted candle. Dick sat at the 
opposite side. 

" My friend," began the Count, in a half patroniz 
ing, half overbearing manner, " that was an unwise 
explosion at the palace last evening." 

" What do you mean ? " demanded Dick, ruffling 
up. 

" Oh, be calm ! I don't blame you, except for bad 
judgment. You see, I am one of the few who knew 
what it all meant. I am a man who keeps his eyes 
open. I have not been blind to what has been going 
on between you and the beautiful lady-in-waiting. 
Neither have I been blind to the intentions of the 
Landgrave. By knowing that two and two make 
four, I understood last night's little scene per 
fectly." 

"Then perhaps you have come to explain it to 
me!" 

" Ach, my young friend, you come too quickly to 
conclusions ! Wait and listen, and be not sarcastic ! 
Why do I say last night's explosion was injudicious ? 



THE FAVOR OF A PRINCE. 487 

Because it could only make matters worse, whereas 
there was, unknown to you, a secret way of mending 
them. Why do I speak of the Landgrave's inten 
tions ? Because he is as certain to carry them out 
as it is that this candle burns, if the power shall 
remain to him. Did any one ever hear of anything 
ever standing in a prince's way when he wanted a 
particular woman ? " 

" It is time then for an exception to the rule." 

"And if there shall be an exception in this case, 
what will cause it ? " 

"The lady herself," said Dick, half inclined to 
strike the Count's face across the table. 

" The lady herself ! Granted that she be a para 
gon of virtue, do you suppose that the will of an ob 
scure lady-in-waiting will endure long as an obstacle 
to the desires of a Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel, 
whose power over his subjects is absolute? What 

% 

becomes of a woman who resists such power ? How 
long does her life remain tolerable ? What happens 
to those who support her resistance ? Do princes 
have any pity for those who oppose their will, and 
will Frederick II. have any conscience where his 
desire to possess a woman is concerned ? " 

Dick shuddered. He knew what princely con 
sciences were like, and that the sovereigns of Ger 
many, of whatever title, had over their own people 
unlimited authority. 



488 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

"But," he said, in a slightly husky voice, "you 
spoke as if there might be an exception in this 
case." 

" And I asked you what would cause it. You 
could not tell me. Shall I tell you ? Can I trust 
you ? " 

" Certainly." 

" Do you give me your word of honor that what I 
am about to say to you shall be kept a secret as in 
violable as you would have the honor of your beloved 
one?" 

" Yes, my word of honor, as a gentleman." 

"Then the cause will be this. You know the 
Landgrave is a Catholic. You know his subjects 
are Protestants. You can imagine whether they 
have in their hearts forgiven him for forsaking the 
religion of his fathers. You know that the hered 
itary prince has no love no words, even for 


his father, the Landgrave. You know also the 
Landgrave's reputation in the matter of morality, 
and that he is nearly sixty. Now, suppose a cer 
tain number of the court officers, and of those guards 
who are on duty about the palace and the city, 
should one fine day lock his highness in a chamber, 
place soldiers at the door, and declare the hereditary 
prince to be Landgrave in his stead." 

" Dethrone the Landgrave ! " 

"It would be merely bringing the Landgrave's 



THE FAVOR OF A PRINCE. 489 

son to the throne a few years sooner than he would 
reach it in the order of nature. Do you fancy he 
would protest long, when despatches arrived at 
Hanau, inviting him to Cassel ? Remember his 
feelings towards his father, and that he is already 
thirty-five years old. Do you think the people 
would object to a young and virtuous sovereign, 
who is not an apostate? Do you think the army 
would hold out in behalf of a Landgrave that hires 
it out, regiment by regiment, to another nation? 
What though the hereditary prince does likewise 
with his troops ? Would the soldiers not relish a 
revenge upon the father, nevertheless ? And, if 
the Landgrave's army should really stand in the 
way of all this, has not the hereditary prince 
the troops of Hanau, as well as the Hanoverian 
regiments there? Perhaps you think other powers 
would step in to prevent this forced abdication ? 
Then bear in mind that the hereditary prince is 
the son of the daughter of an English king, and 
that that princess of England was ill-treated by 
the Landgrave. It is true, the present Landgravine 
is a collateral descendant of the house of Prussia, 
but, when we consider on what terms she lives 
with her husband, do we not find all the more 
reason why the King of Prussia should take no 
hand in the Landgrave's behalf ? In fine, my young 
friend, when the Landgrave is shorn of his power, 



490 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

we shall have nothing to fear from him on the 
score of our sweethearts ! " 

And Mesmer leaned back in his chair, with a 
self-laudatory smile, like an orator who has made 
his point. 

" But," asked Dick, eagerly, leaning forward on 
the table, to be nearer the Count, " when is all this 
to be brought about ? " 

" First tell me, are you willing to do what you can 
to help bring it about ? " 

" Willing ? I am eager ! Tell me what I am to 
do!" 

" You are to broach the matter to your friends 
whom you can trust, as I have broached it to mine. 
There is the lady's brother, St. Valier, of the body 
guards. As he is often on duty in the palace, he 
will be of the greatest value to us. He can sound 
his comrades, and win them over. Then there is 
Von Romberg, with whom I have often seen you. 
He can gain us men from his battalion. If things 
are managed rightly, and the blow is struck at the 
opportune moment, so that his highness can be held 
till word gets to Hanau and back, a few details of 
the body-guards, and three or four companies of the 
foot-guards, can carry the business through. I will 
answer for a sufficient number of palace officers." 

" But why do you come to me, a foreigner, a man 
without family or influence ? " 



THE FA VOR OF' A PRINCE. 49 1 

" For many reasons. Because you have much at 
stake, and will contribute zeal, which is a most 
important factor in a conspiracy. Because you have 
an ingratiating manner, and can get the ears and 
confidence of men. Because your post is one on 
which no eyes are turned, and you can go about 
unobserved, talking to whom you please, without 
exciting curiosity." 

" I see," said Dick. " Depend upon me, Count. 
As for what favors this Landgrave has done me 

" My dear friend, you earned far greater favors 
when you saved her highness's life ! And this I 
tell you, if you do not strike the Landgrave, he 
will strike you ! Who knows whether he has not 
already taken the initiative against you ? Many a 
first blow is really given in self-defence. That is 
your case, I assure you. And now let us talk of 
details." 

For the next hour this strangely ill-matched pair 
were deep in the plans of conspiracy. Then Mesmer 
hastened back to the palace, so as to be seen at the 
card party, from which he feared he might already 
have been missed. 

Three weeks afterwards, that is to say, near the 
end of November, the Landgrave and his court 
went hunting in the great forest a few miles south 
east of Cassel, between that city and Spangenberg. 



492 THE JtOAD TO PARIS. 

Now and then, during the chase, some gentle 
man or other would drop out, unnoticed, turning 
his horse into the thick woods. Thus, one by one, 
a number of gentlemen finally arrived at a ruined 
Gothic tower, in the midst of a thick copse near 
the road that ran south from Cassel to Melsungen, 
- that Melsungen which was thirteen miles south of 
Cassel. 

At intervals, too, horsemen coming from the direc 
tion of Cassel, each one stopping and looking care 
lessly around to see if he were observed, would turn 
leftward from the road, penetrate the copse, and so 
arrive at the tower, which was a mere shell of weather- 
beaten stone, seamed with irregular crevices, and 
mantled here and there with wild foliage. 

Each newcomer, from either direction, tied his 
horse to a tree, and entered the tower, by its high 
Gothic doorway. The second man who arrived was 
challenged by the first, who stood in shadow within 
the doorway, with the words, " Who comes ? " He 
replied, " Hesse-Hanau," and, thus eliciting the word 
"Welcome" from the first, went into the shadow. 
He found that the first man was the chamberlain, 
Count Mesmer. 

" By Heaven," said the second man, gaily, observ 
ing the other in a ray of light that entered through 
a lofty crack in the tower, "you are conspiring in 
character! A scarlet cloak certainly fits the rdle." 



THE FAVOR OF A PRINCE. 493 

The speaker was a young Frenchman, the Viscount 
de Rougepont, who jested at all times and places. 

"You make a light matter of high treason, Vis 
count," replied Mesmer, in a somewhat husky voice. 

Before the Frenchman could answer, another man 
was heard advancing over the fallen brown leaves 
outside the tower. The manner of his admission 
was the same as that of the Frenchman's. Within 
a short time, more than a score of men had thus 
assembled. Two remained on guard immediately in 
side the doorway. The others, soon accustomed to 
the half darkness of their meeting-place, proceeded 
with their business. The secretary, who was none 
other than Richard Wetheral, called a roll. There 
was a response to every name but that of Von 
Romberg. 

" He has been detained by the sudden illness of a 
dear friend, but hopes to join us later in the after 
noon. He has authorized me to represent him," 
said a young gentleman, Gerard de St. Valier. 

" You did not succeed in winning the Baron von 
Sungen," said Mesmer, addressing Wetheral, in a 
slightly petulant way. 

" He repulsed my very first overtures," said Dick, 
in explanation, " and bade me, for my own sake, go 
no farther into the subject with him. I saw that 
nothing could move his loyalty. It was prudent to 
stop where I did." 



494 THE ROAD 7V PARIS. 

" What a pity ! " said Mesmer, with some vexation. 

" I thought there was no love between you and 
Von Sungen," put in De Rougepont. 

"What of that?" said Mesmer, quickly. "He 
could have brought over the entire horse-guards to 
us. That is why I say, what a pity he is not with 
us!" 

" He is playing hard for the Landgrave's favor," 
said the Frenchman. "He is dying of love for the 
Baroness von Liiderwaldt, and wants to marry her. 
So does old Rothenstein, the sweet and chaste minis 
ter of police. The Landgrave has the disposal of 
her hand, and is still undecided whether to make Von 
Sungen happy or cause old Rothenstein to snivel 
with ecstasy. Hence Von Sungen's unexampled 
devotion to his sovereign." 

" Gentlemen, we can make better use of the little 
time we have than by talking court gossip," said 
Gerard de St. Valier. " As the one who has been 
chosen by lot to be your presiding officer, I remind 
you that our meeting is for the purpose of making 
the final assignments for the action we are to take 
next Wednesday 

" Pardon me a moment, monsieur," interrupted one 
of the conspirators. " You will remember there are 
three gentlemen here who have not signed the com 
pact. They ought to have opportunity to do so, 
before our plans are unfolded any farther." 



THE FAVOR OF A PRINCE. 495 

"That is unfortunate," put in the secretary, 
Wetheral. " It ought to have been thought of when 
we accepted Count Mesmer's suggestion to leave our 
compact concealed in my room. The roll I called a 
few minutes ago was from memory. The three new 
members may call at my hotel this evening to sign." 

"That appears to be the most practicable plan," 
said Gerard. " The new members, nevertheless, 
ought to take the oath before we proceed any 
farther. Let them advance and repeat it after 
the secretary." 

The conspirators were grouped semicircularly at 
one side of the tower's paved interior. Gerard and 
Dick stood out a little from the rest, their sides 
towards the doorway, so as to face the others. Three 
young officers stepped out from the crowd and stood 
before Dick, who began to dictate an oath, which 
they repeated in portions after him. Every gentle 
man present had brought with him a sword, those 
not in officer's uniform having small ones, which 
could be concealed beneath their cloaks. The three 
new comrades held their right hands upon the hilts 
of their swords in taking the oath. The ceremony 
required, at its conclusion, that the whole assembly 
should raise swords and utter a final pledge in chorus. 
The two guards at the door, their attention drawn 
despite themselves to the impressive scene within, 
grasped their swords as the others did, and moved 



496 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

imperceptibly in from the doorway as the conclusion 
was neared. 

The three recruits echoed Dick's low-spoken 
phrases in subdued tones. He raised the point of 
his sword aloft in token that they should do likewise. 
Up went every sword in the company, flashing back 
what beams of light strayed through the openings 
overhead. Eyes, too, flashed with feeling, as all lips 
united in the closing words : 

" And to this end we pledge life and honor ! " 

The light from the doorway was suddenly cut off, 
and a voice cried : 

" Surrender ! " 

The conspirators turned towards the doorway in 
amazement. Three soldiers stood upon the threshold. 
Behind them was the officer who had called out. In 
a moment, a score of bayonets appeared beyond him, 
from one side, and troops were seen massing in 
among the trees. It was plain that a large force 
had stolen up with the greatest possible silence. The 
conspirators were, in fact, confronted by some dis 
mounted horse-guards and a company from the 
battalion of foot then quartered at Melsungen. He 
who had demanded their surrender was an officer of 
the horse-guards. 

No one thought of making any pretence of injured 
innocence. Some looked around to see if there was 
any hole by which to crawl from the tower. Others 



THE FAVOR' OF A PRINCE. 497 

stood still, and waited for the arresting party to come 
in and take them. Mesmer ran farther back into the 
shadow. Dick saw this movement, and misinterpreted 
it. 

" He sees a way out of the tower," said Dick to 
his comrades, and ran after Mesmer. The Count 
stumbled in the darkness, and Dick fell over him. 
The soldiers at the door, surprised at this movement 
within, now entered at a run. The conspirators on 
whom violent hands were first laid resisted on 
impulse. Thus was brought about a brief scrimmage, 
whose confusion was increased by the twilight of the 
place. Two or three men tumbled over Dick. As 
soon as he could do so, he rose to his feet, clutching 
mechanically the cloak he thought to be his. Being 
for a moment out of the hurly-burly, he as mechan 
ically threw this cloak around him. He then ran to 
the doorway, which the entrance of the horse-guards 
had left unobstructed, although soldiers were drawn 
up outside at a short distance from it. As Dick 
stepped out to the open air, with some wild notion of 
making a rush, he saw muskets levelled at him. 

" Not this one ! " cried the commander, sharply, 
raising his cane with a swift movement to prevent 
any one's firing. To Dick's further amazement, the 
troops, a moment later, made an opening in their 
lines, for him to pass through. He did so with 
alacrity, traversed the rest of the copse, and ran 



498 THE ROAD -TO PARIS. 

towards the road from Cassel to Melsungen. He 
found his horse the one given to him by the Land 
grave in the wooded gully where he had tied it. 
Mounting, he was soon in the road. 

He now heard a shout at the edge of the copse 
and saw the same officer who had enabled him to 
pass. This officer was now violently motioning him 
to come back, and shouting orders to the same effect. 

But Dick waved an " au revoir" and started his 
horse towards Melsungen. A few seconds later 
several musket-shots rang out from the copse, and 
he heard the sing of bullets about his head. Looking 
back, he saw that a number of foot-soldiers were with 
the officer, who was vehemently ordering a pursuit. 

" If I were doing that shooting, the man here in 
my place would be full of lead by this time," said 
Dick to himself, as he set his horse galloping towards 
Melsungen. "There seems to have been some mis 
take about my departure from the tower. Well, it 
isn't for me to rectify the errors of the Landgrave's 
officers ! " 

And, glancing down at himself, he noticed for the 
first time that he wore a cloak of bright scarlet, 
instead of his own, which was of dark blue. 



CHAPTER XX. 

THE HONOR OF A LADY-IN-WAITING. 

DICK recalled now his collision with the fallen 
body of Mesmer, and the general tumble that had 
ensued in the tower,- and he remembered having 
noticed previously the bright color of the Count's 
cloak. " Doubtless the Count got mine or some 
one's else, in the scramble, and so no one is 
robbed," thought Dick. 

He foresaw that he would be speedily pursued 
towards Melsungen. He had not lived in the wil 
derness of Pennsylvania to be at a disadvantage in 
the neighborhood of a German forest, nor had he 
learned the ways of the American Indians for noth 
ing. So he very soon rode into the woods at the 
left, and, having penetrated to some distance from 
the road, deliberately turned northward towards the 
ruined tower, deeming that to be the safest place 
for him to hide while considering the situation. 
The captured conspirators once removed from it, the 
tower would have been left unguarded, and yet no 
one would suppose that he would return at once 

499 



5OO THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

to a place where he had recently stood in such 
great danger. 

Riding on through the forest, he reached an emi 
nence, from which the descent on the northeastern 
side was abrupt and steep. Here, over the tops 
of trees that were rooted where the precipice began 
to be less steep, he got a view of the country lying 
east and north, small parts of which country were 
clear of woods. Through one of these open spaces, 
directly east, a procession of troops, some mounted, 
some on foot, was moving towards the southeast. 
Dick's heart fell at the sight, although he could have 
expected nothing better. It was the march of his 
captured comrades, under an escort of remounted 
horse-guards and of a company of foot, to the 
prison-fortress of Spangenberg. He counted the 
prisoners, whom he could easily distinguish from 
their guards. All who had met in the tower that 
afternoon were there but himself. So Gerard must 
be among them. How, Dick asked himself, could 
their plot have been discovered ? 

And now he looked northward, towards the tower, 
which the prisoners must have left about two hours 
before. He could make out its dark, round, stone 
top in the midst of the thick copse. While he was 
gazing at it, he saw two figures on horseback emerge 
from the copse and proceed across a clear space 
towards that part of the forest where the hunt 



THE HONOR OF A LADY-IN-WAITING. 50 1 

had been in progress. One figure, stout and erect, 
Dick instantly knew to be the Landgrave's ; the 
other, so completely cloaked as to be unrecognizable 
by any lines of shape, was that of a woman. The 
two soon entered the farther woods by a narrow 
bridle-path, and were lost to view. 

" An assignation," thought Dick. " No sooner 
does the Landgrave clear the tower of conspirators 
than he uses it for a purpose of his own. To-day's 
hunt is remarkable for the number of people who 
have slipped away from it." 

He now pressed on to the tower. At some rods 
from it, he dismounted and tied his horse. He then 
advanced cautiously, to make sure that the place was 
deserted. Suddenly he stopped, at sound of a furi 
ous gallop on the road from Cassel to Melsungen. 
While he listened, the horse's ^footfalls came to an 
abrupt stop. After a few minutes of silence, there 
arose the sound of some one treading crisp leaves, 
and forcing a way through underbrush. Dick 
grasped his sword and waited, knowing he would 
have to face but one person, for the galloping 
had been of a solitary horse. The newcomer soon 
appeared on foot, among the trees. It was Captain 
von Romberg, in great excitement and alarm. 

"You are still here!" he gasped, seizing Dick's 
hand. " Thank God, I am in time ! " 

" In time for what ? " asked Dick. 



5O2 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

" In time to save you and our comrades. Come, 
the others are in the tower, are they not ? " 

" The others are on their way, under a guard, to 
Spangenberg." 

"My God! Then I am too late! I thought I 
might give a half-hour's warning ! We have been 
betrayed ! " 

" So it is evident. What do you know of it ? 
Come, my dear Count, sit here on this log, and 
tell me." 

The two sat down together at one side of the 
doorway, outside the tower. 

"I got word from a certain lady," began Von 
Romberg, in a half breathless, heart-broken voice, 
"to come to her at once, as she was suddenly at 
the point of death. This was a short time before 
I was to have started for the meeting this afternoon. 
When I entered her room I found her perfectly well, 
but in great trepidation. She said I must not leave 
her house till night. When I insisted on going, now 
that I had found she was not ill, she broke down, 
and told me everything. You must know she is the 
she is on close terms with the secretary of Roth- 
enstein, minister of police. Through this secretary 
she had learned that we have all been terribly tricked. 
Our conspiracy was instigated with the Landgrave's 
own authority ! It was an idea of old Rothenstein's, 
and the villain who carried it out was Mesmer ! " 



THE HONOR OF A LADY-IN-WAITING. 503 

" But, I don't understand. Why should the 
Landgrave authorize a conspiracy against him 
self? " 

" In order to have a reason, in the eyes of his 
subjects and of other powers, for removing certain 
objectionable persons from his way. You are an 
Englishman, St. Valier a Frenchman. Without a 
good pretext he would not dare have you two im 
prisoned, lest your governments might call him to 
account. Moreover, if he took any arbitrary step 
against yourself, the people might think he was 
secretly angry at you for having saved the Land 
gravine's life. And then, this woman told me, there 
is a lady whose hatred the Landgrave does not wish 
to incur, and he would incur it by causing your 
destruction ; but now it will appear that you have 
brought destruction on yourself by plotting high 
treason." 

"What a diabolical scheme ! " 

" You see, my dear Wetheral, we, who have sup 
posed ourselves to be conspirators, are the ones who 
have really been conspired against. All was per 
fectly arranged. Even the choice of officers by lot 
was so managed by Mesmer, who conducted the 
drawing, that you and St. Valier were designated." 

" The base-hearted Landgrave would remove both 
her protectors ! But what proof will there be against 
us, beyond Mesmer's testimony ? And will not 



504 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

Mesmer's testimony betray the Landgrave's whole 
design ? " 

"Mesmer will give no testimony. They have 
proof sufficient, of the kind they desire. This very 
afternoon they found the signed compact in your 
room ; they knew from Mesmer exactly where it was 
hidden. Mesmer will not even appear among the 
accused. It was part of the plan that he should be 
allowed to escape, and to stay out of the country till 
the others were disposed of. To that escape and 
absence, the rest of us would attribute his not being 
punished with us, and not to his having sold us 
to the Landgrave. Thus the world was to be kept 
from knowing the despicable part this wretch had 
played. And now mark how little these villains 
trust one another. Fearful, I suppose, lest the 
Landgrave would after all let him suffer, in order to 
make sure of his silence, Mesmer stipulated that he 
should be allowed to escape at the moment of arrest. 
Mesmer once inside a prison, he doubtless thought, 
the Landgrave might consider a dungeon or a 
grave the safest place for a man who possessed 
the secret of so detestable a transaction. And, to 
keep his treachery the more hidden, he provided 
that the arrest and his apparent escape should be 
entrusted to an officer not acquainted with him." 

" But how then could the officer know which man 
was to escape ? " 



THE HONOR OF A LADY-IN-WAITING. 505 

" Mesmer was to be distinguished by a cloak of a 
particular color," said Romberg. 

" The devil ! " cried Dick, smiling despite all 
circumstances. "And the cloak happened to be on 
me at the time of the escape." 

"Listen!" said Romberg, abruptly. "Some one 
is coming." 

The sounds of an approach were indeed heard 
from the side towards the depths of the forest. The 
two gentlemen rose, and grasped their swords. A 
moment later a man stepped into view, whom they 
both recognized by sight. He was a French valet of 
the Landgrave's. 

" Pardon, messieurs ! " he exclaimed, after a start of 
fright at so suddenly coming upon the two threaten 
ing-looking gentlemen. " I have come here merely 
to look for a riding-whip dropped by Mademoiselle 
de St. Valier a short time ago." And he stepped 
into the tower, where he began to search with his 
feet the paving, which was in comparative darkness. 

For a moment Dick's heart was stilled. The 
blood left his cheeks ; power left his voice. He 
followed the valet in. " Do you mean to say that 
Mademoiselle de St. Valier was here in this tower 
a short while ago ? " he asked, in a forced voice, 
when he could speak at all. He remembered 
the cloaked lady riding from the copse with the 
Landgrave. 



506 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

" Yes, monsieur," replied the lackey, adding in a 
significant tone, " and in very excellent company. 
Ah, here is the whip, and very far back in the tower, 
too." 

" You rascal ! " cried Dick, his energy returning 
with vehemence, and seized the valet by arm and 
neck. " Do you dare say that Mademoiselle de St. 
Valier was in this tower alone with the Landgrave ? 
Come into the light, you miserable cur, that I may 
see the lie on your villainous face ! " And Dick 
dragged the fellow from the tower. 

" Let me go, monsieur ! " whimpered the lackey, 
wriggling in" terror. " Mon Dien, is it the fault of a 
poor servant if a lady-in-waiting allows herself to be 
seduced by the Landgrave? Don't make an honest 
man pay for the sins of a prince's harlot ! " 

" My God, Romberg, do you hear that ? " cried 
Dick, throwing the valet to the ground. " And do 
you see that?" he added, picking up the whip, of 
which he now recognized the curiously formed 
handle, though his last sight of it had been on that 
New Jersey road where, three years and a half ago, 
he had volunteered to recover her stolen miniature. 

Von Romberg, who had begun to understand the 
situation in a general way, shook his head sadly, and 
said, with quiet tenderness, " We must not expect 
too much of the sex, my friend." 

Dick sank down on the log, dropping the whip, 



THE HONOR OF A LADY-IN-WAITING. 507 

and began to weep like a child. The wild suspicion 
had seized him that Catherine might have favored 
the prospective marriage to himself either as a cloak 
for a liaison with the Landgrave or as a refuge on the 
possible termination of such liaison. The valet, mak 
ing no attempt to recover the whip, now used his 
opportunity to rise and dash off through the woods. 

Suddenly Dick started up, and faced his kindly, 
pitying friend. 

"I will find out!" he cried. "The thing is too 
damnable for belief. I'll not hold a woman guilty 
till I've seen with my own eyes, or heard from her 
own lips. I will go to her as fast as my horse can 
carry me ! " 

"But," said Romberg, in great alarm, grasping 
him with strong arms around the body, "is she in 
Cassel ? " 

" She is in the palace. Don't delay me, Rom 
berg, for God's sake ! " 

"But they will arrest you. You are guilty of 
high treason, man. They are doubtless searching 
for you now. It is madness and suicide to go to 
the palace. My friend, would you throw yourself 
into the Landgrave's hands ? " For Dick, exerting 
all his strength, was violently getting the better of 
Romberg's hindering embrace. 

" I would learn the truth ! " he cried. " If that 
lackey lied, I shall either escape again or be content 



508 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

to die. I would rather die and know her pure, than 
live forever and doubt her honor." And, hurling 
Romberg away from him, he was free. 

" And what if you find the story true ? " called 
Romberg after him, in a voice of sympathetic 
dismay. 

" I will kill the Landgrave ! " cried Dick, and 
bounded through the bushes, towards his horse. 

Late that night Catherine de St. Valier sat in her 
apartment in the palace, accompanied only by one of 
the inferior attendants, a girl named Gretel, who was 
devoted to her. At one side of the chamber a pair 
of curtains concealed the alcove in which the bed 
was. At the other side was a door communicating 
with a corridor. The chamber window overlooked, 
at some height, an open space a kind of small park 
at the rear of the palace. Outside the window 
was a little balcony, and not far away was one of 
a few tall trees that grew in the small park. On 
a dressing-table was a candelabrum, with but one 
of its branches lighted, so that the interior of the 
room was dim to the sight. The night had recently 
clouded over, and only at intervals could the moon 
be seen through the dark window. 

Catherine sat on a small couch, her face as pale as 
death, gazing at the opposite wall with wide-open 
eyes, in which grief and horror had given way to a 



THE HONOR OF A LADY-IN-WAITING. 509 

kind of trance-like stupoi\ Now and then she would 
give a slight start, and a tremor would pass through 
her body, which was attired in a loose white gown 
lightly confined at the waist. At such moments she 
would turn her eyes furtively towards the door lead 
ing from the corridor. Near this door sat the maid, 
Gretel, silently watching with pitying eyes the half 
dead lady-in-waiting. 

Suddenly the window, which was made of two 
casements running each from top to bottom, was 
flung rudely open, and in from the balcony stepped 
a man, who immediately stood still and looked around 
until his eyes fell on Catherine. 

She rose quickly to her feet, and, with bowed 
head, said, in a low and lifeless voice : 

"You find me waiting, your highness." 

" Highness ! " echoed the intruder. " Then you 
did expect him. It is true. My God ! " 

She gazed at him like a woman struck dumb with 
astonishment, then staggered to the dressing-table, 
took up the candle, and moved swiftly towards him, 
holding the light so as to illumine his face. 

" It is his spirit," she whispered, having made sure 
that the features were those of Wetheral. The girl, 
Gretel, now gently took the light from Catherine's 
hand, lest Catherine might, in her half swooning con 
dition, drop it, and replaced it on the dressing-table. 

" It is no spirit, mademoiselle," said Dick, in a 



510 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

broken voice, " but a living man who might better be 
dead, for his last hope is killed, his faith crushed, his 
heart torn with misery ! Oh, my God, my God ! 
Oh, Catherine, Catherine ! " And he fell prostrate 
on the couch, hiding his weeping eyes upon his arm, 
and yielding his body to be shaken by sobs. 

Catherine stood looking at him, while her be 
wildered ideas approached a definite shape. But, 
before she could speak, he sprang to his feet, his 
grief having been succeeded by a wave of fierce and 
bitter reproach. 

" So I was right when I called you faithless before 
the whple assembly that night ! " he cried. " So you 
have fooled me from the first ! Oh, was there ever 
such cunning ? How I have been deceived by your 
guileless air, your innocent face, the truthful look of 
your eyes ! Great God, is anything to be trusted in 
this world, when a woman who seems so pure and 
noble proves to be not only the harlot of a prince 
but the lying betrayer of an honest man, who loves 
her with all his soul ? Why have you nothing to 
say ? " he demanded, with a fresh access of rage. 
" Haven't you the grace to defend yourself ? Oh, 
for God's sake, deceive me again ! Lie to me, and I 
will believe you. Let me have any reason, even the 
smallest, to delude myself with the fancy that you 
are still mine. Deny these accusations ! Deny 
that you expected the Landgrave here to-night." 



THE HONOR OF A LADY-IN-WAITING. 511 

" I cannot deny what is true," she said, quietly and 
sadly. 

" Oh, you admit it ! " he cried, wounded and 
enraged beyond all control. " You brazen Jezebel, 
I will kill you ! " He grasped her by the neck, and, 
as she yielded instantly to his movement, forced her 
to her knees. As he made to clutch her throat she 
threw back her head, disclosing the white and deli 
cate skin on which he formerly would not have 
inflicted the tiniest scratch for the world. " Oh, I 
cannot," he sobbed, pressing his lips against the 
tender throat, and breaking down completely. "Oh, 
Catherine, Catherine ! " He raised her, and stood 
with his arms enfolding her. But, after a moment, 
he released her and stepped back, saying, plaintively, 
" To think that you are not mine to embrace ! To 
think that you are the Landgrave's ! " 

"The Landgrave's!" she echoed. "No, not yet 
the Landgrave's, for you are not dead, and I am still 
a living woman." 

"What do you mean?" asked Dick, startled into 
a kind of wild hope. 

" He told me you were dead, that you had been 
shot while trying to escape 

"Who told you, Catherine ? What do you mean ? 
Tell me, quickly." He took her hand, and made her 
sit beside him on the couch. 

" The Landgrave told me, and Von Rothenstein, 



512 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

and others who were there. You see, I was at the 
hunt, with the Landgravine. We all heard of the 
terrible conspiracy, and of the arrests ; and, while we 
were talking about it in the forest, the prisoners were 
taken by, where we could see them all, the con- 
spirators, arrested for high treason. And one of 
them was Gerard, my brother Gerard." 

" And the whole court saw them led past ? " 
"Yes, with Gerard, my dear brother. When I 
was told that these men were going to prison and 
would surely be put to death oh, it was terrible to 
think of, my brother, little Gerard, as we used to 
call him, my mother and I. Mon Dieu, I would give 
my life to save him, and so I rode in search of the 
Landgrave, to beg that he would save Gerard. Some 
of the officers told me where to find him, in the 
tower where the conspirators had been caught. I 
went there, and begged him on my knees for Gerard's 
life. He sent away the Count von Rothenstein and 
the others who were there, and listened to me. At 
last he said there. was a way in which I might save 
Gerard, though my brother was one of the officers of 
the band and deserved death even more than the 
others did. I said I would give my life to save 
Gerard's, for I knew that you, my love, would not 
blame me for that. But the Landgrave said it was 
not my life he wished, it was 
" I understand ! " 



THE HONOR OF A LADY-IN-WAITING. 513 

" I would not consent to that, even to save my 
brother. When the Landgrave became more urgent, 
and began to speak of my duty as a sister, I said that 
what he asked was not mine to give, that I was 
pledged to another. And then he told me you were 
dead, that you had been shot while trying to escape 
when the conspirators were captured. For a time I 
could not speak. He called back the minister of 
police and the others, and asked them to assure me 
that you had been killed. When I could no longer 
doubt, something seemed to have died within me. I 
felt that I was no longer a living woman, that my life 
had gone out at the news that you were dead." 

" My poor beloved ! " 

"Then the Landgrave sent away the others, and 
spoke again of Gerard, saying that one of whose 
treason there was so much proof would certainly be 
condemned, and that only an arbitrary order of the 
sovereign could cause him to be released. The 
thought came to me that it was no longer a living 
woman that the Landgrave demanded for my brother's 
life, that I was no more Catherine de St. Valier, and 
that if I should consent to save Gerard it would be 
giving the Landgrave not myself but a soulless 
corpse. Oh, do you not understand ? " 

"Yes, yes, I understand. I can imagine all you 
felt ! " 

" It was agreed that a messenger of the Landgrave 



5 14 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

should go with Antoine to Spangenberg, with every 
thing necessary for Gerard's release and his flight to 
France. The Landgrave was not to present himself 
before me until he could bring proofs, with Antoine 
as an eye-witness, of Gerard's departure from Spang 
enberg. I was waiting for him when you came in 
by the window. So distracted I was, that, for the 
moment, I supposed the Landgrave had taken that 
way of entrance for the sake of greater secrecy." 
" It was I, who, for the sake of secrecy, chose that 
way," said Dick. " I was shot at in escaping from 
the tower, but they were not my countrymen be 
hind the muskets ! I went back to the tower, and 
saw the Landgrave riding away, alone with a lady. 
While I was at the tower, a lackey came to seek the 
lady's riding-whip. When he said the lady was you, 
and when I saw it was your whip he found, I was 
mad with jealousy and doubt, grief and fear, and I 
should have died had I not come to find out the 
truth. A friend, who had tried to hold me back, fol 
lowed and overtook me outside the city, persuaded 
me to enter Cassel with caution, and offered me his 
aid. We left our horses in the woods outside the 
city, obtained a boat from a peasant, rowed down 
the Fulda after dark, and thus got into Cassel with 
out crossing the bridge or meeting the guard. Rom- 
berg waited at the river while I hastened to the palace. 
I had learned from Gerard which was your window, 



THE HONOR OF A LADY-IN-WAITING. 515 

and, thank God, one can approach it without passing 
near the guards at the palace doors. I climbed yon 
der tree as I have climbed many a tree in America 
and swung by a branch to the balcony." He had 
risen to point out the tree, and she had followed 
him. 

" Thank God you came in time, that I knew 
before it was too late ! " she said, turning her eyes 
up to his with a grave and tender gaze. 

" Thank God you still are mine ! " he replied, 
clasping her again in his arms, and pressing a kiss 
upon her lips. 

There came a cautious knock on the door. Cath 
erine gave a start. 

" The Landgrave," she whispered, " coming to the 
appointment ! " 

She gazed up at Dick, in questioning silence. 
Gretel, who evidently understood the situation, cast 
an inquiring look at Catherine, and stood as, if await 
ing orders. No one in the room moved. 

The knock was repeated. Dick had now made up 
his mind. " He brings proof of Gerard's safety ? " 
he whispered, interrogatively. 

" Yes, or he would not be here," replied Catherine, 
under her breath. 

Dick motioned Gretel to come close to him. 
" Open the door, in a moment," he said to the girl, 
" but do it in a fumbling way, so as to delay him as 



516 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

long as possible." Dick then led Catherine quickly 
into the alcove, the curtains closing behind them. 

There was a third knock, a little louder and more 
insistent. But Gretel could now be heard at the 
door, which she first locked and then unlocked, in 
order to carry out Dick's instructions. When she 
finally opened it, the Landgrave stepped swiftly in, 
retaining the noiseless tread he had used in the cor 
ridor. His triumphant, expectant face, when he saw 
only Gretel in the room, took on a look of sharp 
disappointment. 

" The devil ! " he said, in a kind of quick growl. 
" No one here ? " 

The maid, not knowing what to say, pretended to 
be absorbed in fastening the door, which she had 
promptly closed. 

Noticing the curtained alcove, the Landgrave 
started towards it ; but he had not crossed the room 
when Catherine appeared, instantly letting the cur 
tains fall to behind her. 

"At last, mademoiselle, " said the Landgrave, joy 
fully, putting forth his hand to grasp her own. 

But she stood back aloof, and said, "The proofs 
of my brother's release, your highness ? " 

His highness received this temporary rebuff with 
resignation. " Be sure, I have brought them," he 
said. " Have the maid call your man-servant, who is in 
the corridor, arrived this minute from Spangenberg." 




" FREDERICK II. RECOILED A STEP OR TWO." 



THE HONOR OF A LADY-IN-WAITING. 

Gretel opened the door and called softly, " An- 
toine ! " Immediately the old servant entered, bow 
ing with a grave deference that was full of dignity. 
He wore riding-boots, and carried in one hand his hat 
and whip, in the other a folded piece of paper, which 
he now held out to Catherine. She took it to the 
candle-light, and read the few lines hastily scribbled 
in pencil. It was a message from Gerard, and told 
of his release. 

" You saw him safe out of the prison ? " she then 
asked Antoine. 

" Yes, mademoiselle." 

" On a good horse, and provided with money ? " 
she continued, quoting from the letter. 

" Yes, mademoiselle, with my own eyes ; and well 
out of the town, with a passport to assure his not 
being stopped anywhere on the road." 

"Then wait in the corridor, Antoine. Will you, 
too, Gretel, wait there ? " 

The Landgrave looked surprised at these orders, 
but, before he could put his disapprobation into more 
than a frown, the two servants had left the room. 
Catherine stepped at once to the door, locked it, 
withdrew the key, and started towards the alcove. 
The Landgrave's frown gave way to a smile of eager 
gratification, and he made to grasp her in his arms 
as she passed him. But she eluded his embrace, 
and ran towards the alcove. With a look of amused 



5l8 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

enlightenment, as if he thought her flight a mere 
trick of coquetry, he ran after her ; but his arms, 
again extended in the hope of clasping her, closed on 
nothing as the curtains fell behind her. His high 
ness laughed, and, pressing forward, opened the 
curtains to follow her. 

And, instead of the woman he had thought himself 
about to possess, he saw, standing where the curtains 
met, that woman's lover, the man he had tried to de 
stroy, the man he had reported dead, the man for 
whom his soldiers were even now scouring the roads 
in the vicinity of his capital. 

The look on that man's face added nothing to the 
Landgrave's pleasure at the unexpected meeting. 

Frederick II. recoiled a step or two, and stood for 
a moment as if petrified, his jaw moving spasmodically 
without producing any speech. 

Dick stepped out from between the curtains, keep 
ing his eyes fixed on the Landgrave's. Catherine 
now stood looking forth from the alcove, affrightedly 
watching for what terrible thing might next occur. 

The Landgrave recovered himself, and made for 
the door. 

"You forget it is locked," said Dick. "It is true, 
you might call for help, but if you did I should kill 
you. Do not look incredulous. I know that ordi 
narily you are a sovereign prince, with a people and 
an army behind you, and that I am a hunted man, 



THE HONOR OF A LADY-IN-WAITING. 519 

the least powerful in your dominion. But at this 
moment we are on fairer terms, with just what 
powers nature gave us, except that I have a sword 
and you have not. So now it is the weaker man that 
is my subject, the stronger man that is your prince ! " 

The Landgrave looked at the door, Dick's sword, 
then at Catherine. 

" Treachery ! " he said, in a voice deprived of 
strength by his feelings. " For this I freed your 
brother, mademoiselle, trusting you implicitly. It 
seems one needs more assurance than the honor of 
a lady-in-waiting ! " 

"Your highness may recall," said Dick, "that her 
promise was made on your assurance that a certain 
person was dead. Did that lie, and the plot by which 
her brother was tricked into his peril, comport with 
the honor of a sovereign prince ? But this is wasting 
time and talk. Mademoiselle de St. Valier and I in 
tend to leave this palace unhindered and unpursued. 
It rests with you as to the state in which you shall 
be left behind." 

The Landgrave looked bewildered. It seemed in 
credible that a ruling prince should be so helplessly 
placed, in his own palace, but a second glance assured 
him that this was no dream, that the locked door, 
the sword in Dick's hand, and the expression on 
Dick's face, were very actual facts. 

" Mademoiselle de St. Valier shall never go," his 



520 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

highness said at last. "As for you, I will let you 
pass out free. I cannot forget the service you 
rendered the Landgravine." 

Dick gave a short laugh of derision. " Can I not 
get it through your thick skull," he said, "that I am 
the one in position to offer terms ? You sovereign 
princes of Germany, we are told, have absolute 
power, but you seem to be very stupid. In my 
country, we are quicker to grasp a situation. It is a 
country, too, that has recently declared all men to 
be, in their rights, created equal. So you see that, 
to me, the blood of a prince is no more sacred than 
another man's ! " 

At this moment there came from the door one of 
those creaking or straining sounds that seem to 
occur unaccountably. 

The Landgrave gave a start of elation, as if this 
sound betokened an interruption. But Dick in 
stantly flashed his sword before the Landgrave's 
eyes, and said : 

" If any one breaks in while I am here, he will 
find something stretched on the floor, and to-morrow 
the people will cry ' Long live the Landgrave ! ' for 
your son. You see that each moment we lose is as 
dangerous to you as to me, because it brings the 
possibility of interruption." 

The noise at the door proved to signify nothing ; 
whereupon the Landgrave, who had given a shudder 



THE HONOR OF A LADY-IN-WAITING. $21 

at Dick's picture of the possible morrow, now showed 
as much relief as he had first shown pleasure. 

" Then what do you request ? " asked the Land 
grave, trying to conceal, by his best pretence 1 of 
dignity, his inward rage and chagrin. 

" I request nothing," said Dick. " I demand 
nothing. I merely offer to leave without harming 
you, on condition that you will not give any alarm of 
our departure, or orders for our pursuit." 

" Very well, I agree," said the Landgrave, with a 
readiness that made Dick laugh again. 

" Of course you do, for you think you can break 
the condition, and have us stopped by your guards 
before we are out of the city, or even out of the 
palace. I must provide against that." 

" I give you my word of honor, neither to leave 
this room nor to make any alarm, till daybreak." 

" It seems, one needs better assurance than the 
honor of a sovereign prince," said Dick, imitating 
the Landgrave's own words with a slight alteration. 
He then took from his pocket a phial given him at 
the riverside by Romberg, who had provided himself, 
on hearing of the trick played on the conspirators, 
with means of self-destruction in case of capture. 
Dick quickly took up a pitcher of water from the 
table, poured some of it into a glass, uncorked the 
phial with his teeth, and dropped a small portion of 
the liquid into the water. Meanwhile, Catherine, 



522 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

foreseeing Dick's plans, put on a hooded cloak, and 
gathered up her purse and what small things of 
value she desired to retain. 

"Drink this," said Dick to the Landgrave, from 
whom he had not for an instant taken his eyes. 

" What do you mean ? " said the Landgrave, turn 
ing pale. 

" To make it easier for you to keep your princely 
word, your highness ! Don't be afraid. It takes 
more than this quantity to kill a man. What is here 
will merely enable you to pass the few hours till day 
break in sleep. It would be a pity so great a prince 
should suffer from insomnia or ennui during that 
length of time ! Drink, man ! I am becoming a little 
bored with this place, myself." 

An impatient movement of the sword which 
weapon Dick had so managed as to check every one 
of his highness's numerous impulses to rush upon 
him ended Frederick's hesitation. He petulantly 
drank the contents of the glass, and handed it back 
to Dick, who motioned him to put it on the table and 
to go to the couch. 

" Call Antoine," said Dick to Catherine, follow 
ing the Landgrave close to the couch on which the 
latter dropped. 

Noiselessly Catherine unlocked the door and let in 
the two servants. Gretel, as soon as she saw what 
was up, begged to be taken along, and found a cloak 



THE HONOR OF A LADY-IN-WAITING. $2$ 

for herself in the room. Antoine, at Dick's whis 
pered direction, took coverings from the bed in the 
alcove, and knotted them together so as to form a 
means of descent from the balcony. Meanwhile, 
Catherine had relocked the door and possessed her 
self of the phial, which Dick had placed on the 
table. 

"Come," said Dick, taking Catherine's hand and 
leading the way towards the open window, when 
at last the Landgrave slept. " Put out the light, 
Antoine, and let us hasten. In a few hours, that old 
snoring rascal will be a prince again ! " 



CHAPTER XXI. 

"THE ROAD TO PARIS." 

DICK descended first, then came Catherine, Gretel 
next, Antoine last. While the four were speeding, 
in the darkness, from the open grounds of the palace, 
Antoine bethought him that he had not yet dismissed 
the horse on which he had come from Spangenberg. 
He therefore went and got the animal, in sight of the 
guards at one of the doors, who supposed he had left 
the palace by another exit. He then rode boldly out 
of the town, crossing the bridge to take the Mel- 
sungen road. As he not only knew the password for 
all guards and patrols, but was also known to have 
been riding on the Landgrave's business, he was not 
detained a moment on the bridge. He rode on to a 
place that Dick had named as a rendezvous. 

Meanwhile, Dick and the two women joined Rom- 
berg at the riverside, silently got aboard the boat, 
and rowed up the Fulda to a point some distance out 
of the city. Here they disembarked and found the 
two horses where the gentlemen had left them. In 
a few minutes they, too, were pressing forward on 

524 



"THE ROAD TO PARIS." $2$ 

the Melsungen road, Catherine mounted behind 
Dick, Gretel behind Romberg. 

"What road is this?" asked Catherine, whose 
sense of locality and direction had been confused by 
the darkness and the haste. 

" It leads first to Melsungen," said Dick, " but for 
us it is merely the first stage of the road to Paris ; 
we shall not stop, except to eat and sleep and change 
horses, till we arrive there." 

Dick felt certain he could now return to Paris 
without incurring danger there. He would make 
himself known at once to the American commission 
ers, and so establish connections that would not allow 
of his being imprisoned again without inquiry. As a 
citizen of a country now France's ally in war, he 
would have little, if anything, to fear from Necker, 
as long as he should act prudently. As for the 
secret Brotherhood, perhaps it no longer existed. 
Now that he had not four armed men at his elbows, 
he felt he could take care of himself. But he trusted 
most to the likelihood of his being unrecognized 
after such a lapse of time. 

Meanwhile, he was yet several days' journey from 
Paris, and far from being out of the dominion of his 
friend, Frederick II. of Hesse-Cassel. 

When the four riders, on the two horses, neared 
the place where Antoine was to have waited, they 
heard a horse coming towards them from ahead, and 



526 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

soon the dark figure that loomed up on its back 
proved to be his. 

"Monsieur," he said to Dick, "there is a body of 
horsemen approaching from the direction of Mel- 
sungen. They must be the troops that the Landgrave 
sent in search of you after your escape yesterday." 
Antoine had been informed of recent occurrences 
by the messenger whom he had accompanied to 
Spangenberg. 

" Shall we turn back and take the by-road we 
passed awhile ago ? " asked Dick, of Romberg, who 
was better acquainted with the country. 

" It is the only thing to do," said Romberg, suiting 
action to the word by turning his horse. 

When the party had moved a few rods back 
towards Cassel, there came from the direction of the 
city a sullen boom, breaking with startling effect the 
silence of the night. 

"The alarm-gun, "said Romberg, checking his horse. 

" That is fired for deserters, is it not ? " said Dick, 
following his example. 

" But deserters might have robbed gentlemen, and 
taken their clothes and horses, with which to escape," 
said Romberg. " That gun warns the country to 
look out for fugitives of any kind." 

" The Landgrave must have awakened too soon 
and given the alarm," said Dick. " I let him off with 
too small a dose." 



THE ROAD TO PARIS." $2? 

At that instant there was heard a distant hollow 
sound like thunder, but less uneven. 

" Horsemen galloping over the bridge at Cassel," 
said Romberg. 

" A pursuing party, without any doubt," said 
Dick. " Hang my thoughtlessness ! The guards saw 
which way Antoine came. Well, we must reach the 
by-road before they do." 

"That is impossible," said Romberg. "We should 
meet them before we arrived there." 

" But if we wait here they will be upon us in a 
few minutes. And, if we resume our way towards 
Melsungen, we shall meet the party that Antoine 
discovered. Hark, I can hear that party now ! " 

Romberg looked around, scanning the dark country 
on both sides of the road. Here the land was quite 
clear of trees, and every object was now and then 
made visible by the appearance of the moon through 
cloud-rifts. 

" There is a ruined abbey, at the head of that short 
lane," said Romberg. " Perhaps if we should hide 
there till these two parties meet, 

"As neither party would have come upon us on 
the way," said Dick, "they might suppose we had 
taken some other road, after all. Come, then. 'Tis 
our only chance." 

The three horses were instantly turned into the 
lane. The abbey was now used as a barn. The wide 



528 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

door was barred on the outside with a piece of wood, 
merely to keep it from being opened by the wind. 
The men dismounted and led the horses into the 
dark interior, which smelled of hay and grain. They 
closed the door, but there was no way of bolting it on 
the inside. The women now dismounted, and the 
party stood in silence, trusting that their horses 
would not in any way betray their presence. 

As fate would have it, the two forces of horsemen 
the one commanded by the officer who had let 
Dick escape, the other by the Baron von Sungen 
met near the mouth of the lane leading to the barn. 
Torches were lighted, and the two leaders conferred 
for some time. Then Von Sungen, who was not only 
the superior in rank but was also the more recently 
from Cassel and had the Landgrave's latest orders, 
got off his horse, seized a torch from one of the 
bearers, and started up the lane, followed afoot by 
six of his men. 

The gentlemen in the barn saw this movement 
through chinks of the door. 

"It is Von Sungen," said Romberg. "He must 
have a strong personal interest in your capture, that 
he should come to search with his own eyes." 

He and Dick drew their swords. Antoine held 
ready a pistol, which he had carried in his saddle-bag 
on his Spangenberg journey. 

Von Sungen's concern seemed indeed very great, 



" THE ROAD TO PARIS." 529 

for so rapidly he strode that he reached the barn a 
dozen feet ahead of his men. He opened the door, 
and thrust in his head, preceding it with his torch. 

Before any one could make a movement, the atten 
tion of all was drawn by Catherine, who said to Dick 
and Romberg : 

" Flee for your lives, gentlemen ! Don't heed 
me. I shall be dead before he can lay a hand 
upon me." 

And she held to her lips the phial that Dick had 
left on her table in the palace. 

Dick ran to grasp her hand, and Von Sungen cried 
out to her, in the utmost alarm, " For God's sake, 
not that, mademoiselle ! " He, too, would have 
rushed in to prevent her, but his breast was 
menaced by the sword of Romberg. 

Meanwhile the dismounted men who had accom 
panied Von Sungen from the road, had halted at a 
respectful distance from him, and they now stood 
awaiting orders, which he was too much occupied 
with Catherine's movements to give. The men 
could not see the inside of the barn, or hear what 
was said there. 

" Oho ! " said Romberg to Von Sungen. " Your 
interest in mademoiselle's welfare betrays you. You 
have orders to take her back alive." 

" You have the gift of second sight, my dear 
Romberg," said Von Sungen, watching Catherine, 



530 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

who still held the phial to her lips, although Dick's 
hand upon her wrist could have dashed it from her 
at any moment. 

"Then," said she to Von Sungen, "the instant 
your men approach, I will take this poison, I 
swear ! " 

" Therefore, Baron," put in Dick, " to prevent 
accident, you would better order your men away, 
while we discuss matters." 

" If your frame of mind is for discussion, I am 
quite willing to do that," said Von Sungen, who him 
self feared that some sudden movement of his men 
might precipitate Catherine's threatened action. He 
turned and spoke a few words to the six, who there 
upon faced about and marched back to the road, 
where the two mounted forces waited. Only Von 
Sungen as yet knew who were in the barn. He 
had given his followers the impression that his talk 
was with peasants who might put him on the track 
of the fugitives. 

"And now, mademoiselle and messieurs," said 
Von Sungen, " will you listen to reason ? You 
cannot fail to see how impossible is your escape 
from this place, with all those horse-guards watching 
from the road. Even if you could kill me 

"We have no desire to do that," said Dick. "God 
knows there are few enough kind hearts and cheer 
ful faces in the world, as it is. But we are as 



" THE ROAD TO PARIS." 531 

determined to escape, or all to die together, as you 
probably are to capture us." 

Von Sungen here stepped into the barn, but the 
look on Catherine's face promptly checked him from 
going any nearer to her. 

"My orders are," he said, "to bring back Mon 
sieur Wetheral and Mademoiselle de St. Valier, both 
alive, if possible ; or, if need be, the gentleman dead, 
but the lady alive in any event. Nothing was said 
of Captain von Romberg." 

"Nevertheless," put in that gentleman, "Captain 
von Romberg joins his fate with theirs, until all are 
safe or dead." 

" You are sure to fail of carrying out your orders, 
Baron," said Catherine. " I will never go back to 
Cassel alive." 

" Not even if I take on myself the risk of letting 
Monsieur Wetheral go free ? In that case you will 
save his life, as well as that of Captain von Rom 
berg, who seems determined to die with his friend. 
Moreover, you will be saving your own life as well," 
said Von Sungen. 

"A man of honor like the Baron von Sungen," 
said Dick, with the gentlest shade of scorn and 
reproach, " must have a very strong motive for 
proposing that two other men of honor should 
accept their lives on the terms given." 

" It is true," replied Von Sungen, " I have a large 



532 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

stake in this night's business, as great a one as 
yours, monsieur." 

" How can that be possible ? " said Dick. 

"I will prove it to you," said Von Sungen. "I 
infer that you love this lady, and that your greatest 
wish is to preserve her from the purposes of the 
Landgrave. Well, I love a lady, and my dearest 
desire is to save her from a marriage that would be 
for her a degradation as great as any woman could 
feel in becoming the Landgrave's favorite. Don't 
tell me, monsieur, that marriage would lessen the 
horror of a virtuous woman's union with old Rothen- 
stein. Well, the Baroness's hand is at the disposal 
of the Landgrave. He has hesitated whether to 
favor Rothenstein or yield to my entreaties. To 
night, when his highness sent me to seek you, he 
said, ' Bring Mademoiselle de St. Valier back alive, 
and you shall marry the Baroness von Liiderwaldt 
when you please. Come back without mademoiselle 
alive, and Rothenstein shall marry your Baroness 
to-morrow.' ' 

" My poor Von Sungen ! " said Dick, his ready 
imagination putting himself for the moment in the 
place of the other, with whom his own case enabled 
him perfectly to sympathize. 

"Well, monsieur," said Von Sungen, "it seems 
that both of us must lose our sweethearts and our 
lives, for if mademoiselle will not save your life, and 



"THE ROAD TO PARIS." 533 

enable me to save my sweetheart, I will kill myself. 
I would no more live to see 'her wedded to that vile 
old wretch, Rothenstein, than you would live to see 
your beloved possessed by the Landgrave. But, 
mademoiselle, will you not save your lover's life in 
spite of himself ? " 

" I will not go back to the Landgrave," she said, 
with calm resolution. Her agreement for the saving 
of her brother had been made on the belief that her 
lover was dead, and before she had experienced the 
horrible emotions that came with a later conception 
of what that agreement would require of her. 

The Baron sighed in despair. Suddenly he uttered 
an exclamation : 

" Ach ! Since for each of us it is all or death, let 
at least one of us have all ! You must admit, our 
stakes are equal or nearly so. I repeat, I should 
suffer as much from the Baroness's marriage to 
Rothenstein as you would from mademoiselle's falling 
into the hands of the Landgrave. So let us appeal 
to chance. If you win the throw, you shall both go 
free, you and the lady ; I will go back without her, 
and take the consequences. But if I win, the lady 
shall go back with me." 

" You consider," said Dick, with a faint smile, 
" that even chances are preferable to the certainty of 
mademoiselle's taking the poison." 

" Good God, monsieur, do you not consider like- 



534 T H E ROAD TO PARIS. 

wise ? Come. If you lose, you can at least die, as 
I shall do if I lose. It is the honor and happiness of 
your sweetheart against the self-respect and happiness 
of mine, the life and happiness of yourself against 
the life and happiness of myself. Why, if you lose, 
mademoiselle, too, can die, if she wishes, after I have 
taken her back to the Landgrave. So you are no 
worse off for abandoning your position of certain 
destruction for us all, and for allowing chance to save 
one of us for happiness." 

"The issue is too important to leave to chance," 
said Dick, quietly. "Let us determine it by skill." 

" Very well ; but what game of skill have we 
here the means of playing ? " 

'"There is a game of skill that gentlemen play 
with swords," said Dick. 

" Excellent ! " cried Von Sungen, understanding. 
" And the game in our case has this advantage, it 
can be so played that the loser need not survive his 
loss. Let it be a duel to the death, monsieur, so 
that the unfortunate one shall not be under the 
necessity of killing himself." 

"Agreed," said Dick. 

" But I will not consent," cried Catherine. " Even 
if you fight and lose, I will not go back to the Land 
grave ; I will take the poison." 

"In this cause I cannot possibly lose," said Dick, 
pressing her hand. "Give your consent, dearest." 



"THE ROAD TO PARIS." 535 

She looked at his calm eyes, his unmoved counte 
nance, his steady hands, and said, after a moment : 

"Very well." 

" Then, Baron," said Dick, "you may take meas 
ures, regarding the troops out there, to enable us to 
depart unhindered when you are dead." 

"If I send them away ' Von Sungen began, 
but paused. 

" We give you our word of honor, we will not es 
cape from you otherwise than by my killing you in 
this fight," said Dick. 

" Captain von Romberg will not interfere ? " said 
the Baron. 

" Not unless to prevent the intrusion of some pos 
sible third party," answered Romberg. 

"I will return in a minute," then said Von Sungen. 
" You may wish to have a light while I am gone," 
and he handed his torch to Antoine. 

He walked down the lane to the waiting horsemen, 
and ordered the second in command to lead the two 
forces back to a certain junction of roads. " I am 
making some inquiries," he added, "that may help 
us in this search. Meanwhile, keep close watch on 
the by-road till I join you." 

The troops, puzzled but not permitted to question, 
rode off in the direction of Cassel. Von Sungen, 
who had taken from one of them a second torch, now 
strode back to the barn with it. He found Dick 



536 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

ready for the contest, for which the barn floor pre 
sented a sufficient arena. The baron handed the 
second torch to Romberg, and silently made his 
preparations. The four who were to be spectators 
moved to where Antoine had already led the horses, 
at one end of the barn floor. The torches threw an 
uneven red light on the scene, leaving the surround 
ings, here obscure, and there entirely lost in shadow. 

Dick and Von Sungen faced each other, without 
the least hatred, indeed with great esteem, but each 
determined to kill the other. The swords clashed. 
The advantage in duelling experience lay strongly 
with Von Sungen. Dick had fought only one duel, 
but he bad recently resumed practice with the foils 
under a l r rench fencing-master at Cassel. Moreover, 
Von Si gen was still fully under the excitement 
with wh h he had started on the pursuit, while with 
Dick thi incident had been immediately preceded by 
so many scenes of danger that he could now face 
anything with calmness. So he fought cautiously, 
at first only guarding against the other's impetuous 
attack. 

Finally the Baron's exertions began to tell upon 
him, and a wild thrust betrayed either that his eye 
was no longer true, or that his brain had lost perfect 
control of his arm. Dick felt it was now but a mat 
ter of time that the Baron should lay himself open to 
a decisive lunge. 



" THE ROAD TO PARIS." 537 

Suddenly the barn door was flung open from the 
outside, and two men stepped unceremoniously in, 
armed with swords and pistols, and the second one 
bearing a torch. 

"Aha ! " cried the first, flashing up his sword. " I 
thought you might be in danger ! " And he ran to 
the aid of Von Sungen. 

" Curse you for meddling against orders ! " cried 
the Baron, enraged at this assistance. "Don't in 
terfere, I command you ! " 

And the fight went on, between Von Sungen and 
Wetheral. The Baron's officer, who had come back 
with one of the horse-guards, on what pretext was 
never known, stepped aside, amazed. But in a 
few moments this officer whispered something to the 
horse-guard with him, and the latter started for the 
door. By this time Romberg and Antoine had both 
run past the fighters and neared the door. Antoine, 
unwilling to make a noise by firing a shot, thrust his 
torch into the departing soldier's face, and then felled 
the suddenly blinded man to the floor with a blow of 
his pistol. The interfering officer, with a fierce oath, 
instantly ran his sword through Antoine's body, 
drawing it immediately out to defend himself against 
Romberg, who had lost time in finding a place for 
his torch. The old servant fell dead across the 
soldier he had knocked senseless, and the torches of 
the two blazed up from the ground. Romberg and 



THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

the officer now had a rapid exchange of thrusts, the 
two being evenly matched. But a sharp cry, from 
a few feet away, drew for an instant the attention of 
the officer, and Romberg's sword, piercing his lung, 
stretched him on the floor near the other two 
prostrate bodies. 

The cry that the officer had heard was the death 
cry of Von Sungen, who now lay silent and motion 
less at Dick's feet. 

" Poor Baroness von Liaderwaldt ! " said Dick, 
gently, wiping his sword with a wisp of hay. 

Catherine seized Dick's hand, and pressed it in 
silence, then ran over towards Antoine. 

" He is quite dead," said Romberg, rising from a 
brief examination of the old servant's body. 

Catherine gazed at the prostrate figure a moment, 
with sorrowful but tearless face, and then allowed 
Dick to lead her to a horse. 

When Dick and Romberg, having assisted Cath 
erine to mount, went to help Gretel, the girl refused, 
saying she had thought to be of assistance to 
mademoiselle, but had found herself only an encum 
brance. Therefore, in order that the flight should 
be no more delayed on her account, she would not 
accompany the fugitives further, but would walk to 
her home near Homberg, where she would be safe 
from the inquiries of the Landgrave and his officers. 
As the girl's resolution was not to be overcome, and 



"THE ROAD TO PARIS." 539 

as time was precious, the three went forth without 
her, there being now a horse for each. Catherine 
rode on a man's saddle, of which the gentlemen 
hastily readjusted the stirrups so that she might sit 
in feminine fashion. In leaving the barn, the men 
put out the torches, and Dick possessed himself of 
old Antoine's loaded pistol, as well as of his cloak, 
in place of which he left the scarlet one. 

The fugitives avoided, by a detour through fields, 
the bridge that crossed to Melsungen ; and they con 
tinued southward along the right bank of the Fulda. 
Now and then they stopped to rest their horses. 
Dawn found them suffering from fatigue, but they 
rode on. At a farmhouse they stopped and fed 
their horses, also refreshing themselves with milk 
and eggs. At noon they arrived at the town of 
Fulda, having covered the sixty miles from Cassel, 
without change of horses and over bad roads, in 
eleven hours. 

On entering Fulda they gave the officer of the 
guard false names and a prepared story. They 
learned that a close watch was being kept for an 
officer in a scarlet cloak ; so Dick was thankful for 
having exchanged with poor Antoine. The search 
begun yesterday had, thus, evidently extended as far 
as to Fulda. With the discovery of Von Sungen's 
fate, new parties would be sent in every direction. 
Dick was loath to lose time, but the fatigue of all 



54-O THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

three was so great that dinner and a few hours of 
sleep were taken at the inn at Fulda. Four o'clock 
in the afternoon saw the fugitives again on the 
road. 

The shortest route to France was by way of 
Frankfort, for which city they now made, intending 
to travel by night, and to give a wide berth to what 
ever walled towns might lie in the way. Fortunately, 
their horses were of a stock characterized by great 
endurance. 

They had been about two hours out of Fulda, when 
they saw a horseman galloping up behind them. As 
this cavalier himself looked back frequently, it ap 
peared more likely that he feared pursuit than that 
he was to be feared as a pursuer. When he was 
quite near, Romberg cried out : 

" By God's thunder, it is the traitor, Mesmer ! So 
they have let him escape, after all ! " 

" Escape ? " said Dick, with a grim kind of smile. 
"Do you call his falling into our hands an escape?" 
And Dick turned to go and meet the newcomer. 
But Catherine caught his arm, so that he had to rein 
up to avoid dragging her from her horse. 

" Let this be my affair," said Romberg, and imme 
diately rode towards Mesmer, drawing his sword as 
he did so. 

Mesmer suddenly recognized the two gentlemen 
and divined Romberg' s purpose. Bringing his horse 



"THE ROAD TO PARIS." 54! 

to an abrupt stop, he drew a pistol, with which he had 
in some way provided himself, and fired straight at 
Romberg as the latter came up. Romberg instantly 
tumbled from the horse to the road, and lay still, 
retaining his sword in the rigid grasp of death. 

Dick gave a cry of grief and wrath, tore his arm 
from Catherine's hold, and galloped towards Mesmer, 
drawing his own pistol and firing as he went. A 
shriek cleft the air, and the traitor rolled on the 
earth, close to the body that he himself had bereft 
of life a moment ago. 

Dick quickly ascertained that both were dead, then 
remounted his horse, seized the bridle of Catherine's, 
and spurred forward. Not a word passed for some 
time, both indulging in silence the emotions pro 
duced by this latest swift tragedy. Presently Dick 
said, " If we should report to the next town's authori 
ties that those two bodies are back there in the road, 
we should doubtless be detained, and all would be 
lost. So I shall merely tell the first honest-looking 
man we meet, where the bodies lie and whose they 
are. My poor Romberg ! " 

This plan Dick soon carried out, and, as in this 
case his judgment of a face was correct, the two 
bodies were subjected neither to robbery nor to final 
consignment to unknown graves. 

At nightfall Dick and Catherine gave their horses 
rest and food at a village hostelry, and then resumed 



54 2 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

their journey, pretending they had little farther to 
go. But they rode all night, making what battle 
they could against fatigue, and what defence their 
cloaks enabled them to maintain against the cold. 

They entered Frankfort a few minutes after the 
gates were opened for the day. As this was a free 
city, it seemed likely that they were out of danger, 
although it might turn out that the Landgrave's arm 
could reach them here, through his resident, as the 
arm of Frederick of Prussia had reached Voltaire 
twenty-five years before. But it was absolutely 
necessary that they should have sleep, so Dick took 
the risk of riding at once to the inn called the 
Emperor, and ordering rooms and breakfast. As they 
dropped into chairs in the dining-parlor, more dead 
than alive, they heard an exclamation of surprise 
from a man they had vaguely perceived across the 
table. Both, looking up at the same moment, recog 
nized Gerard de St. Valier. 

This meeting revived the worn-out energies of 
Dick and Catherine, and explanations were quickly 
made. Gerard, having been released from Spangen- 
berg some hours before the other two had left Cassel, 
and having taken at Melsungen a shorter route than 
that by way of Fulda, had arrived in Frankfort late 
the previous night. And, a few minutes after his 
arrival, a great event had occurred. He had met at 
this inn a lawyer's clerk, on the way from Paris to 



" THE ROAD TO PARIS. " 543 

Cassel, with papers awarding at last to the St. Valiers 
the bequest that had been disputed in the courts. 
This news made the future look rosy. It assured 
the St. Valiers of a moderate competency, and would 
make it possible for Dick to marry Catherine without 
fear of her being tied to destitution through any 
failure of his own to find fortune. 

It was agreed to remain at the Emperor until 
noon, that some hours of sleep might be had. Then 
the three were to start Parisward on their horses, 
this mode of travel no longer a common one for 
ladies being retained because it was by far the 
most rapid. 

When Dick and Catherine reappeared from their 
rooms, at the time set for taking horse again, they 
met Gerard, whose face wore a look of disquietude. 

" I have paid the bills, and the horses are ready," 
he said to Dick, in a low tone. " Let us lose no time 
in getting out of the city and territory of Frankfort." 

" What is the matter ? " asked Dick. 

" In the street, awhile ago, I saw Wedeker, who 
always bears the Landgrave's important despatches, 
ride up, on a foaming horse, to a house that he 
almost broke his' way into, he was in so great a 
hurry. I asked a passer-by what house it was. It 
was that of the Landgrave's Frankfort resident. 
Wedeker is doubtless straight from Cassel, with 
orders to have you held in Frankfort ; and in a very 



544 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

short time, if the resident can have his way with 
the authorities, the city guard will be on the hunt 
for us." 

" Let us go, then. This running away from au 
thorities seems to have become a fixed habit of 
mine," said Dick, giving his hand to Catherine. 

In a few minutes the three fugitives rode westward 
through the Mainz gate, Dick giving a sigh of relief 
as they emerged to the open suburb bordering the 
river Main. 

" Evidently no orders concerning us have yet 
reached the gates," he said, looking back at the stolid 
guard they had just passed. 

" We are not yet out of the territory appertaining 
to the city of Frankfort," said Gerard. 

"And if we get out of it," said Dick, "we shall 
have to look out for this Wedeker, I suppose, until 
the last foot of German soil is behind us." 

"Probably," replied Gerard ; "but we have the start 
of Wedeker, and, as the local authorities will nowhere 
send their troops or police out of their own terri 
tory, he must travel alone much of the time. If he 
should come up to us alone, between one town and 
another " 

" Some one else would subsequently have the 
honor of carrying the Landgrave's important des 
patches," put in Dick. "We ought to have taken 
fresh horses, Gerard. Catherine's and mine are 



"THE ROAD TO PARIS." 545 

almost run out. They have done incredible service 
already." 

A quarter of an hour later Catherine's mount 
staggered, stumbled, and lay panting on its side. Its 
rider slid from the saddle in time to escape injury. 

Gerard and Dick came to a quick stop. " My 
beast is fresh," said Gerard. "You'd best ride 
behind me." 

Dick got off his own horse, and assisted Catherine 
upon Gerard's. Then he remounted his own ; but 
he had no sooner done so than the animal sank under 
him, the last bit of strength having passed from its 
trembling limbs. 

" The deuce ! " exclaimed Dick. " I imagine your 
beast is hardly fresh enough to carry three, Gerard ? " 

Gerard laughed, in spite of this setback, at the 
droll manner in which Dick asked this question. 

Then Dick turned his eyes back towards Frankfort, 
took on a peculiar smile, and said, in the coolest and 
mildest of voices : 

" It is a pity, because I see a number of soldiers 
or police riding out of the gate we rode through a 
few minutes ago." 

Gerard looked around, and turned pale. " My 
God ! " said he. " It is the city guard ! And don't 
you recognize Wedeker by his uniform, with the 
officer at their head ? " 

Dick heaved a gentle sigh, then looked at his 



THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

empty pistol and his sword. " This is an occasion 
for horses, not for weapons," he said, with his former 
quietness. "To think that, after all the flying, the 
fighting, and the killing, a man should be nabbed at 
last, merely for want of a fresh horse. Why do you 
wait, Gerard ? You can easily escape with Catherine. 
You must save her." 

" And leave you ? Never ! " 

"Well said, my brother," whispered Catherine. 

" I see yonder a kind of country inn, to judge 
from the horse-shed near it," said Dick, indicating a 
low building a short distance ahead on their road. 

He started towards it afoot, followed by the two 
who were mounted. When he reached the shed, 
he saw therein, to his amazement, two horses. A 
peasant was in the act of giving them grain. 

"Whose animals are these, my friend?" queried 
Dick. 

" They belong to a soldier, mein herr, who arrived 
last night with the black, and won the gray from 
another guest, at cards." 

" And where is this fortunate person to be found ? " 

" In the house, mein herr ; in the first room at the 
head of the stairs." 

" I'll go and try to make a bargain with him," 
said Dick. 

"No," said Gerard, "let me go. I am now better 
able to make bargains than you are." And he leaped 



" THE ROAD TO PARIS." 547 

off his horse and ran to the house. He desired 
that he, not Dick, should be at the expense of the 
purchase. 

Dick stood waiting beside Catherine, looking now 
into her anxious eyes with a reassuring smile, now 
towards the distant troops that were steadily drawing 
nearer on the road. 

Soon Gerard reappeared from the house, with a 
dejected face. " The fellow refuses to sell," he said. 
" He sat playing a violin, and blamed me for inter 
rupting his music. I think we should be justified in 
taking one of his horses, in spite of him." 

" You cannot do that, mein herr," said the peas 
ant, looking towards the inn, from which came the 
sounds of men gambling and drinking. 

" What sort of a man is this horse-owner ? " asked 
Dick, not as if with any hope, but as if duty required 
the last possible effort. 

" A gaunt rascal," said Gerard, " who began to 
answer me in French, and then veered into a kind of 
Scotch-English, with an Irish phrase or two." 

A strange, wondering look came over Dick's face. 
" Let me try," he said, in a barely audible voice, and 
made hastily for the house. 

He flung open the door, rushed up the rickety 
stairs, and stopped before a chamber at their head. 
From within came the sound of a fiddle scraping out 
the tune of " Over the hills and far away." 



54 8 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

Dick burst into the room, crying out, " Tom Mac- 
Alister, dear old Tom, / am the man that wants to 
buy your horse ! " 

"'Tis no sic a vast warld, they that do a mickle 
travelling will discover," said MacAlister, as he and 
"the three fugitives cantered westward towards Ma- 
yence, having left the Frankfort territory, and, conse 
quently, the Frankfort city guard, far behind them. 

The two St. Valiers rode one of Tom's horses, 
which were both stronger and fresher than the ani 
mal on which Gerard had come out of Frankfort. 
The latter beast now carried MacAlister, who had 
nothing to fear from being overtaken, and whose sec 
ond horse was ridden by Wetheral. The piper's 
son had not expressed any great surprise at seeing 
Dick, a fact explained by him in the words already 
quoted. 

" I mak' nae doot your ain presence in these parts 
was brought aboot in the most likely way," he con 
tinued ; " and, sure, there's devil a bit extraordinary 
in my being here." 

He then gave account of his movements since the 
attack on Quebec. Exchanged, with Morgan and 
the other prisoners, he served under that gallant 
commander in the glorious campaign of Saratoga. 
His term of enlistment expiring on the very day of 
Burgoyne's surrender, he voluntarily accompanied the 



"THE ROAD TO PARIS." 549 

troops that escorted the defeated British and Hessian 
army to Boston. In that town he met a Virginia 
Scotchman, whose people he had known in Scotland. 
This man, who had added the name of Jones to that 
of John Paul, held the rank of captain in the newly 
projected navy of the United States of America, and 
was on the very eve of sailing from Portsmouth, New 
Hampshire, in a vessel called the Ranger. Love of 
diversity impelled Tom to ship for the cruise across 
the Atlantic. Sailing November i, 1777, the Ranger 
captured two prizes, sent them to the port of Malaga, 
and arrived on the second of December at Nantes, in 
the harbor of which Captain Jones caused the new 
flag of the United States to receive its first salute in 
European waters, as its white stars set in blue and 
its red and white stripes fluttered high above the 
Ranger's deck. MacAlister accompanied Jones to 
Paris, where he grew weary of inaction while the 
captain was trying, with the aid of the American 
commissioners, to obtain a certain fine frigate for 
the new navy. So Tom, in whom a returning incli 
nation for some more European service had begun 
to assert itself, started for Germany, with a thought 
of finding employment in the war that Frederick of 
Prussia had been conducting against Austria, since 
the first of the present year of 1778, over the Bava 
rian succession. 

" But now that I've met you," MacAlister said 



55 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

to Dick, " it's devil an inch further I'll gang east 
ward. Sure, 'tis nae self-sacrifice to turn aboot and 
trot back to Paris, for that war has been plodding 
along sin' 'most a year agone, and never a battle yet, 
for whilk I should think the King of Prussia, auld as 
he is, would be ashamed, as nae doot he is. Weel, 
weel, so 'tis the young lady of Quebec ye are, miss ! 
Sure, Dickie, lad, do ye mind what I tauld ye once, 
aboot the wind of circumstance ? " 

"Ay, Tom, but if we had left all to the wind of 
circumstance, we should not be this moment riding 
free towards Paris." 

" No more ye should, lad. Tis one part circum 
stance, and three parts wark and fight, that lands a 
man safe and sound in the snug harbors of this 
warld." 

They tarried briefly at Mayence, keeping the while 
an eye on the gate by which Wedeker would enter if 
he should continue his efforts. But, if Wedeker 
entered at all, it was after the four travellers had 
departed from the city of priests and were on their 
way to Birkenfeld. 

From Birkenfeld they went to Metz, where they 
disposed of their horses and hired a coach and four 
to convey them onward by easy stages. Once on 
French ground, they breathed with perfect freedom. 

"And when ye do get to Paris, lad," asked Tom, 
"what then? If ye have a mind to serve your 



"THE ROAD TO PARTS." 551 

country in the way of sea-fighting, we can do nae 
better than seek out Captain Jones." 

"I think," was the answer, "after I see Paris, 
for I never have seen it, though I have passed 
through it, I would like to have a look at my own 
country again. But it is for others to say." 

" No," said Catherine, gently. " It is for you to 
say. Is it not, Gerard ? " 

"When my affairs in France are settled," replied 
Gerard, " I am sure the other side of the Atlantic 
will be good enough for me." 

Verdun, Chalons, Epernay, one after another, 
were left behind ; then Meaux, and, at last, one cold 
but sunny afternoon late in December, the coach 
rolled through a faubourg, passed under an arch, and 
rumbled along the Rue St. Martin, whence it was to 
take its passengers to a hotel in the Rue St. Honore. 
But, at Dick's desire, the coachman drove first to the 
Pont Neuf, and there stopped. Through the right- 
hand window the four passengers could see the 
Louvre and the Tuileries, as well as the buildings at 
the opposite side of the Seine ; through the left-hand 
window they could see, above the mass of roofs and 
spires, the towers of Notre Dame, flashing back the 
horizontal sun-rays. 

" It is like in the picture-book," said Dick, softly, 

for his fancy had long since transfigured the stiff 

engravings he had studied in his childhood. Then 



552 THE ROAD TO PARIS. 

he turned and looked at the friendly faces within the 
coach, Gerard's, old Tom's ; last of all, the face 
beside him, whose dark eyes met his. 

" Do you know, I was always sure," he said, "that 
the road to Paris was to be my road to happiness." 



THE END. 



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An historical romance, being an account of the life of an 
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Cavalleria Rusticana; or, Under the 
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Translated from the Italian of Giovanni Verga, by 
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