CHAPTER VIII
THE CARNIVAL
I had no idea of being thus cut off from work as a Minute Boy simply because young Chris had decided it was too dangerous for us to continue such service, and speaking perhaps more sharply than I should have done, I said to this man whom we had been instructed to look upon in the light of a superior officer:
“There is no question of our refusing duty simply because of danger. It is for you to say where we shall go, and what we must attempt to do, you knowing all the circumstances. If, peradventure, you send us where there is no chance to escape being taken prisoners, then is the matter on your head rather than ours. Do not be so quick to say that we are no longer of any use to the Cause.”
“And what say you, Master Bowers?” the man asked, turning to Timothy, and the lad replied with a smile, as if he was well content with the entire situation:
“I am of much the same mind as Richard Salter. It does indeed look as though we had little or no chance of gathering information; but I am ready to make a try for it even at this moment.”
“Well said, lads!” the Weaver of Germantown cried, and clapping young Chris on the shoulder in a friendly manner, he added, “I have no doubt but that your backbone will be stiff by the time you have seen your comrades begin work.”
“There is no need of stiffening my backbone,” young Chris replied sulkily. “I want it to be understood that I am no nearer showing the white feather than any other lad in this city; but when it is a matter of our being hounded by all the lobster-backs General Howe has here, then does it seem to me a foolish matter to make any attempt save that of remaining in hiding.”
“Then it shall be you who remains in hiding, and your comrades may go forth to ply their dangerous business. If there was naught of peril in this work of ours while we strive to teach the king a lesson, then could there be no credit attached to what we do.”
“I shall go wherever Richard Salter and Timothy Bowers dare stick their noses,” Chris cried angrily. “Since you are so sharp for us to show whether we are like to be timorous, what is the work you would have us do just now?”
“Remain in hiding three or four days, mayhap, and in less than that time the Britishers will tire of looking for a couple of lads who amused themselves by making the son of a Tory a prisoner.”
“That is exactly the question in our minds,” I interrupted. “I dare not return to my home, for there are lodging British officers who know me full well, and where else may we go?”
“I allow that Master Targe can take care of you for a few days, and here in this inn, unless something unforeseen occurs, you will be almost as safe as at Valley Forge. Content yourselves to remain indoors, and confined to one room, until I shall give the word. Then it is my belief that you may venture out with no more danger than before the Baker lad gave his information; but feeling fairly safe from being taken into custody save you run upon someone who knows you exceeding well.”
Such advice as this was much to my liking; it was exactly that for which I had come, and on the instant I felt as if the greater portion of all my troubles were swept away, save for the fact that I could not let mother know of my safety.
However, as to this last I consoled myself with the thought that she would understand we were not in custody, if she failed of hearing such news from those lobster-backs who lodged in her house. If, peradventure, I had been made prisoner, then they would surely give her information, for, saving the fact that they served the king and were ready to do whatsoever they might to harm us of the colonies, they were fairly decent men so far as ordinary acquaintances go.
Then it was that the Weaver of Germantown made a signal, by knocking upon the wainscoting of the door in a peculiar manner, and straightway, within thirty seconds perhaps, the innkeeper appeared, whereupon the two men held a reasonably long conversation in the passageway, speaking in guarded tones as if it was not their desire we should overhear the words.
When it had come to an end, he whom we had been told to consider our commander, said in a matter-of-fact tone:
“You will remain in this house, and the room next this shall be put in order for you. The three must sleep in one bed, for Master Targe is not troubled with overly much furniture in this inn of his, and it is not well the rooms that are ordinarily occupied by lodgers should be dismantled, lest it appear suspicious to whomsoever might be inclined to play the spy for the benefit of the Britishers.”
That we were to be taken care of in fairly good fashion all of us understood half an hour later, when Master Targe himself came into the room, bringing so much in the way of provisions that the four of us ate a very hearty supper, and I am willing to swear that young Chris and I stood sadly in need of the food.
While we ate the Weaver of Germantown discussed the escape of Skinny Baker, and asked Timothy Bowers many questions concerning it; but, as I have already set down, the lad knew very little beyond the fact that the Tory cur was at liberty, and Jeremy and Sam had disappeared.
As a matter of course, we understood that the Britishers were holding them in one place or another as prisoners, and instead of speaking regarding what we were to do to aid him in spying, the man, when he was come to an end of questioning, immediately set about speculating as to how it would be possible for us to lend a hand to our comrades.
Until he had spoken as if it was no more than a matter of business, this rescuing two prisoners from the Britishers, I had not so much as dreamed we might be the means of setting them free; but now, although no plan had been proposed, a great hope sprang up in my heart that before we ourselves had fallen into serious trouble, there was a possibility of showing Jeremy and Sam that the tie which bound us lads together as Minute Boys was a strong one.
“The first task is to find out where the lads are held,” the Weaver of Germantown said as if speaking to himself, “and that much I fancy we can rely upon Master Targe to learn. He has the reputation of being one who would stand neutral in this trouble ’twixt the colonies and the king, and the Tories are of the belief they may soon bring him around to their way of thinking. Surely, they say to themselves, he can be no rebel, otherwise he would not hold himself aloof from them. Therefore it is that within the past two months Master Dingley and I have learned very much from him, he having picked it up here and there when he had as patrons some of the Tory brood.”
It is not possible for me to set down all we said that night, for not until a late hour were we three lads willing to go into the next chamber in order to sleep, so eager had we become over this unformed plan of liberating Jeremy and Sam.
If, however, we thought it was a task which would be set about immediately, then was the mistake a grave one, for on the following morning the Weaver of Germantown flatly refused to discuss the matter with us when we were come into his room for breakfast, saying, as if the matter no longer was of great importance to him:
“We will wait until finding out where the lads are confined, before making overly much talk.”
As a matter of course this did not prevent us lads from talking among ourselves, and we foolishly laid plans one after another, each of which I dare say would have been impossible of execution, while our companion, who it appeared to me, now that daylight had come, was holding himself aloof from us, refused to take any part.
When another night shrouded the city in darkness, however, we had good proof that the Weaver of Germantown had not given over doing whatsoever he might toward aiding our comrades, for then it was, after the innkeeper had called him out into the passage for a private interview, that he came back and said to us, as if the information was something which gave him greatest satisfaction:
“Your lads whom you would aid are confined in the Stone Prison, or, at least, in the work-house portion of the building, and it would seem as if the Britishers were eager to give us an opportunity of freeing them, for there is no place in all the city, so far as I know, that would be so favorable for our plans.”
Now you must know that this Stone Prison was at the corner of High and Third streets. The jail itself fronted on High street, and I have heard it spoken of as the debtors’ prison, while on Third street was another building joined to the first by a high wall, which formed part of the yard enclosure, and this was the work-house. There were, in the garret of this last building, certain rooms set apart for prisoners, in case the High-street jail proved too small to accommodate all who were under arrest.
When General Howe took possession of our city and began clapping into jail all the so-called rebels he came across, he found himself cramped for places in which to confine his captives, therefore even the State House was used for confining prisoners of war. This work-house of the Stone Prison had ordinarily been used by the Britishers as a guard-house; that is to say, a place where they confined their own soldiers who were guilty of some slight misdemeanor.
Now, as a matter of course, all us lads knew the Stone Prison almost as well as we did our own homes, and I could say to within the length of an inch where some of the wall had crumbled away sufficiently to give a fellow a foothold, if he dug his toes in deeply, because more than once had Jeremy Hapgood and I clambered up to the top in order to look over into the work-house, where the lobster-backs were undergoing punishment for having been drunken, or disrespectful to some popinjay of a superior officer.
“If we only knew in what part of the building the lads were held,” Timothy Bowers said reflectively, and the Weaver of Germantown replied promptly:
“They are in the attic of the building, of course, where are the cells, for it does not stand to reason the Britishers would house them with the red-coats who are undergoing punishment.”
“I will undertake to get inside the yard, on any dark night, within half an hour, if so be the sentries have not been doubled since I last saw the place,” I said, and young Chris cried in a tone of derision:
“Much good it would do you to get inside the walls, save you counted on joining Jeremy and Sam.”
“Nay, nay, lad,” the Weaver of Germantown added quickly. “If so be you know a way to get to the top of the wall, it may chance we shall hit upon a plan of going yet further. It should not be a difficult matter on a dark night, unless peradventure unusually strict guard be kept, to gain the roof of the work-house from the wall at the corner of the streets. If I mistake not, it comes well in height to the eaves of the building.”
“And what then?” Chris asked with a sneer.
“We should at least be nearer the lads then than we are now, and the remainder is something to be figured out at a later day.”
Then it was that the man refused to hold further conversation with us, insisting that we go to bed immediately, and, as a matter of fact, we could do no less than obey.
But it was not possible for him to force us to sleep, and we lay there on the bags of straw many hours, speculating as to what might be done if we could gain the roof of the building, or as to how we could come at those cell-like rooms under the eaves where it stood to reason our comrades were held.
I fancied I had a scheme which could be worked, if so be the night was stormy; but I refrained from giving words to it at the time because Chris was ever ready to make sport of plans formed by another, therefore held my peace, letting him throw cold water as he would upon the proposition that we could do anything toward releasing Jeremy and Sam.
On the following day our Weaver of Germantown, had again seemingly become indifferent to that which we would do, and held frequent interviews with Master Targe in the passageway, until we were becoming wearied of inaction.
It may seem strange that after we had escaped such grave peril, there was even the lightest whisper of grumbling from us because we were forced to remain hived up in one room where we were seemingly in safety. Yet did this inaction so weigh upon me, that before eight and forty hours had passed I came almost to believe it would be better we went boldly out on the street, taking the chances of arrest, rather than stay there cooped up like chickens who were being fattened for the killing. So I said petulantly to this man who could be so friendly at times, and again appear so distant that one hesitated to speak to him, whereupon he replied gravely:
“If you are to accomplish anything in this world, lad, whether it be playing the part of a spy, or engaging in what some might call a more honest pursuit, the first thing which you must learn is patience. He who tires quickly because of the sameness of his surroundings, or because of a treadmill-like existence, is not the one to climb high in whatsoever pursuit he follows. To steal from the Britishers their secrets, or to release two lads who are held under heavy guard as prisoners, are not simple matters, and he who expects that either one or the other can be done off-hand without expenditure of time, sets himself down as a simple.”
As a matter of course that silenced me, and during the remainder of the day I strove earnestly to appear patient, as if it mattered little whether I remained there, or went abroad.
One day passed after another, each a weary time of waiting for we knew not what. Again and again would young Chris insist that it was needless for us to be wasting the hours if we counted on making any attempt to aid our comrades, and to all of his complaint and reproaches, for he was not choice of words, this odd man gave no heed.
There were, in fact, moments when you might have said he failed to hear the lad, even when young Chris was complaining the most loudly.
Then on a certain day, however, after we had been cooped up in that small room so long that it seemed to me almost as if I had spent half my life there, the Weaver of Germantown said suddenly, as if the fact had but just been borne in upon him:
“Now, lads, I believe the hour has come when you may make the venture.”
“What venture?” young Chris asked sharply.
“That of striving to be of assistance to our people who are fighting against the king.”
“Do you mean that we may go out from here?” Timothy Bowers asked, and there was a joyous ring in his voice which told how great the relief, and how little he regarded the possible danger.
“Since you have been cooped up here General Clinton has arrived to take command of the troops, and it is to-morrow that this carnival, which they call the Mischianza, is to be given. Now I propose that if you lads are willing to make the venture, you shall set off at nearabout midnight for Southwark, and there loiter around, each taking a different station, to learn what you may from the guests themselves.”
“What?” young Chris cried in amazement. “Are we going to the carnival? We whom the lobster-backs will arrest on sight?”
“Ay, that is my plan; but I am of the mind that you will not be arrested. As a matter of course there will be many servants around the grounds, and Master Targe has secured for you costumes which will prove an effective disguise. If you are sufficiently quick-witted, it should be a simple matter to mingle with the other attendants, waiting upon the guests whenever you are called. It is by no means certain you will gain valuable information, and yet I believe there is so great a possibility that we should take advantage of it. Are you willing to make the trial?”
“Of course we are, sir,” Timothy Bowers replied gleefully. “To say nothing of having a chance to take part in the lobster-backs’ carnival, it will do me solid good to breathe the fresh air once more. There have been times since I came to this inn when it seemed that I would stifle, although there is no reason why I make complaint concerning the accommodations at the Jolly Tar, for he who is in danger of the gallows, as I count that we three are, should be easily satisfied while he is allowed to remain at liberty.”
“But what about our comrades who are held prisoners in the work-house?” I asked sharply, thinking that the Weaver of Germantown had forgotten them entirely, whereupon he said severely, and in a tone which was much like that of reproof:
“The imprisonment of two lads is but a trifling matter as compared with the needs of the Cause. Many a one must undergo imprisonment, or even give up his life, and thousands upon thousands suffer bitterly in order that we may accomplish that on which we have set our minds. I know to a certainty that up to the time of General Clinton’s arrival nothing had been done in the way of punishing your comrades. I suspect that the Britishers are waiting until you also can be captured. It is equally positive no move will be made immediately; surely not to-morrow during the carnival, and it may be that when the festival has come to an end we shall find time to look after those whom you would free.”
And now it is, in order that you may the better understand what we lads did when we literally thrust our heads into the lion’s mouth, or to what purpose we went this way and that, I must go forward somewhat in my story, telling of what took place on the following day, even before I finish speaking of that which we did at the moment when the Weaver of Germantown set out plainly before us that we were in fact to act the part of spies, and, if taken while thus at work, there would be no question but that the gallows would be our final halting place in this world.
Therefore I propose to set down what was done at this carnival, after which I will come back and explain how we went about our duties. In telling of the gaieties which the lobster-backs indulged in, I count to read from a letter Major Andre himself wrote to his friends in England, and which now lies plainly before me, it having been captured at Monmouth among some of the British camp equipment, though why it was he failed to send the missive I do not understand.
This is what he wrote:
“A grand regatta began the entertainment. It consisted of three divisions. In the first was the Ferret galley, having on board several general officers and a number of ladies. In the centre was the Hussar galley, with Sir William and Lord Howe, Sir Henry Clinton, the officers of their suite, and some ladies. The Cornwallis galley brought up the rear, having on board General Knyphausen and his suite, three British generals and a party of ladies. On each quarter of these galleys, and forming their division, were five flatboats, lined with green cloth and filled with ladies and gentlemen. In front of the whole were three flatboats with a band of music in each. Six barges rowed about each flank to keep off the swarm of boats that covered the river from side to side. The galleys were decked out with a variety of colors and streamers, and in each flatboat was displayed the flag of its own division.
“In the stream opposite the centre of the city the _Fanny_, armed ship, magnificently decorated, was placed at anchor, and at some distance ahead lay his Majesty’s ship _Roebuck_, with the admiral’s flag hoisted at the foretop masthead. The transport ships, extending in line the whole length of the town, appeared with colors flying and crowded with spectators, as were also the openings of several wharves on shore, exhibiting the most picturesque and enlivening scene the eye could desire. The rendezvous was at Knight’s wharf at the northern extremity of the city. By half-past four the whole Company were embarked, and the signal being made by the _Vigilant’s_ manning ship, the three divisions rowed slowly down, preserving their proper intervals, and keeping time to the music that led the fleet.
“Arrived between the _Fanny_ and the Market wharf, a signal was made from one of the boats ahead, and the whole lay upon their oars, while the music played ‘God save the King,’ and three cheers given for the vessels were returned from the multitude on shore. By this time the flood tide became too rapid for the galleys to advance; they were therefore quitted, and the party disposed of in different barges. This alteration broke in upon the order of procession; but was necessary to give sufficient time for displaying the entertainments that were prepared on shore.
“The landing-place was at the Old Fort, a little to the southward of the town, fronting the building prepared for the reception of the company, about four hundred yards from the water by a gentle ascent. As soon as the general’s barge was seen to push from the shore, a salute of seventeen guns was fired from the _Roebuck_, and, after some interval, by the same number from the _Vigilant_. The company, as they disembarked, arranged themselves into a line of procession, and advanced through an avenue formed by two files of grenadiers, and a line of light horse supporting each file. This avenue led to a square lawn of two hundred and fifty yards on each side, lined with troops, and properly prepared for the exhibition of a tilt and tournament, according to the customs and ordinances of ancient chivalry. We proceeded through the centre of the square.
“The music, consisting of all the bands of the army, moved in front. The managers, with favors of white and blue ribbons in their breasts, followed next in order. The general, admiral, and the rest of the company proceeded promiscuously.
“In front appeared the building, bounding the view through a vista formed by two triumphal arches erected at proper intervals in a line with the landing-place. Two pavilions with rows of benches rising one above the other, and serving as the wings of the first triumphal arch, received the ladies, while the gentlemen arranged themselves in convenient order on each side. On the front seat of each pavilion were placed seven of the principal young ladies of the country, dressed in Turkish habits and wearing in their turbans the favors with which they meant to reward the several knights who were to contend in their honor. These arrangements were scarce made, when the sound of trumpets was heard in the distance, and a band of knights, dressed in ancient habits of white and red silk, and mounted on gray horses richly caparisoned in trappings of the same colors, entered the lists, attended by their esquires on foot, in suitable apparel.”
Now then, in this letter of Major Andre’s, he writes many pages concerning what they did when the knights rode into the field and fought with lances, and blunt swords, and all that sort of thing, which it is not necessary I set down. It is this last which is most important, for in it did young Chris, Timothy and I figure in great shape, according to our own belief:
Here is the remainder of General Andre’s letter:
“The company were regaled with tea, lemonade, and other cooling liquors when they entered the house. On the same floor with the ball-room were four drawing-rooms, with sideboards of refreshments. Dancing continued until ten o’clock, when the windows were thrown open and the display of fireworks began. At twelve o’clock supper was announced, and large folding doors, hitherto artfully concealed, being suddenly thrown open, discovered a magnificent saloon with three alcoves on each side which served as sideboards. Fifty-six large pier glasses, ornamented with green silk artificial flowers and ribbons; one hundred branches with three lights in each, trimmed in the same manner as the mirrors; eighteen lustres, each with twenty-four lights, suspended from the ceiling, and ornamented as the branches; three hundred wax tapers disposed along the supper table; four hundred and thirty covers, twelve hundred dishes, twenty-four black slaves in Oriental dresses, with silver collars and bracelets, ranged in two lines, and bending to the ground as the general and admiral approached the saloon. Then came the drinking of healths, and the toasts, and after supper the dancing was continued until four o’clock.”
That letter gives a pretty good account of the entertainment, so I have been told. But we three lads who were at the risk of our lives, saw very little of what was going on, because we were chiefly among the servants, save when called upon by the gentlemen or ladies to bring them this or that in the way of refreshments.
You must not suppose that we were among the “twenty-four black slaves in Oriental dresses,” for our station was not so high. However it had been brought about, I know not; but certain it is that the innkeeper of the Jolly Tar had provided us with costumes such as the ordinary servant wore, and we were told how we should present ourselves at Master Wharton’s mansion in order to be admitted.
You may say that a person who is telling a story has no right to go ahead in the narrative in order to describe something which happened in the future; but I have striven several times to relate it in a different fashion, failing utterly, therefore must I do as I have and let you put it down to the truth, which is, that I am but a poor apology for a story-teller.
Now let me hark back to that room in the Jolly Tar inn where we three lads were gathered with the Weaver of Germantown, when he astounded us by announcing that if we were willing to take the chances, then might we go to this carnival of the lobster-backs.
We all knew full well where was Master Wharton’s country house at Southwark, and were told that when midnight was come, we must, having made up in parcels the dresses which we were to wear for the occasion, set off, and, if possible, conceal ourselves nearabout the mansion.
Then at daylight we were to put on our disguises, which I may say here consisted simply of what I fancied was a Turkish style of dress, made of some green and black stuff that completely enveloped the body, being brought up tightly around each ankle, forming thereby a most comical kind of trousers and tunic all in one piece.
As a matter of course, the clothing would not serve to hide our faces, and therein the danger lay.
If so be we did not come upon any who were acquainted with us, and there was little chance of such an unfortunate happening save in the case of those officers who lodged with my mother, then were we safe in embarking upon the venture.
We were to present ourselves boldly at the rear of the house, after having put on our odd clothing, and from that on it would be the duty of Master Wharton’s upper servants, or the master of ceremonies, to direct us to what we should do.
The only matter of which we were absolutely positive was, that in event of our being discovered, then was death almost certain, for there could be no question but that we had gone there as spies, and would be dealt with accordingly.