Argosy, Vol. 85, No. 3 — page 147: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

PLAYING THE MAN. with love and heartrending messages of farewell. He bade her seek happiness in the world, as soon as the first shock of parting was over, and cherish him only as a tender memory of early life. Death, he declared, was nothing to him but the killing pain of parting from his love. He wrote affectionate messages to the Murrays and to Mr. and Mrs. Winning- ton, and a rather ceremonious, cousinly note to Godfrey and Caroline Treves. The letters were finished in the after- noon, and he sealed them with wax and left them on the table. | The officer of the guard offered him the attendance of a clergyman, but he asked to be left alone to his own prepara- tions until an hour before the dawn. It was. very quiet now around the barns and the headquarters. The rebel army had been spread out over the coun- try to the north, to fortify the banks of the Hudson and prepare for possible win- ter quarters at the upper end of the island. Mounted orderlies arrived and departed at intervals, but there was. no more passing of wagon trains or. march- ing of troops. As the sun went down, gradually fad- ing from the tiny window, David covered his eyes with his’ hands that he might not see the last ray disappear. When darkness came he shook off his spell of gloom, lighted his candle, and fell to reading in the Bible. He was counting the galloping hours now, and his most stunning shock came with midnight—the beginning of his last day! one adding the familiar “ All’s well!” and he bowed his head on the table and groaned. It was the way of the world: he was to die at sunrise, to leave life and love and the happiness of living, yet the rest of the world was crying “ All’s well!” Directly afterward the guard was changed for the next three hours, and the broad back of a new sentinel blocked the. still open door. -be sharp about it. He heard the sentinels along the scattered posts cry the hour in turn, each . 489 Another hour sped on flying feet, and just after one o’clock a tall, fierce-mus- tached sergeant of the guard, with clank- ing saber and bayoneted musket, came through the barn and spoke to the sen- tinel gruffly. ‘“There’s not men enough here to fur- nish ord’lies,” he grumbled; “half the guard’s on outpost duty to-night. Look you! You're to run with this despatch to Gen’ral Putnam’s headquarters, and It ‘ll take you an hour, an’ it’s my job to take your place here till you’re back.” The sentinel seemed glad of the chance to go into the open air. He took the des- patch and was off directly at a dog-trot, and the tall sergeant blocked the door- way in his place. David feared that he would assume, by superior authority, a solicitous and talk- ative attitude, but he cast no more than a sympathetic glance within; and within five minutes he yawned and leaned his great bulk against the door-frame while he fanned himself with his cocked hat. The prisoner applied ‘himself devotedly to the Bible, and read steadily, with no thought of sleep, until a strange noise brought him up with a start. The noise was repeated, and it was a sterterous, hearty snore. David leaned forward, vaguely agitated, and peered over the flickering candle to the door. The sergeant was propped like a dum- my against the side of the opening his head was supported by the muzzle of his musket and his breast, and he was snooz- ing like a man utterly free from care and responsibility. Instantly, like a flash of inspiration, came back the words of the debonair Captain Hamilton: ‘ Worse men than you, sir, have escaped from under the very noose — from the most vigilant of captors.” And here was, of all things, the leas vigilant of captors. David stood for a moment, poised on his toes, breathing hard with excitement. But the opportunity was- too rare, too CO DOOK AMUC C©