The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1898-08-26

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A lieutenant Of those days, major
general later, has left an account of an
escape from New York. 1t seems he
was taken on a foraging expedition i'll
Westchester. The capture of himself
and his comrades, this Mortlaunt states
particularly. was his own fault. His
escape was little less than remarkable
and I will leave him to state it in his
own words. The narrative, you Will
notice, begins rather abruptly:
The little town of gabled roofs broke
at last on my wearied sense, as the
guard troops brought US in, like scene
in play had once seen in Philadel-
phia-as if l should turn from it to a
town of the Canadas, though this was
all unlike; q Dutch town, indeed, with
marks put OH it of a long English occu-
patton, aswe fell among the kings red
coated soldiery
wanted, weary as was to say
word to my poor comrades, but I was
not permitted it, and accused myself,
whose sorry rashness-for 1 had urged
the expejition-had brought them to
this plight of prisoners of war. But
had no chance then, nor later.
AS for myself, l was taken into
building which proved an improvised
Jail, where was given comfortable
room, the circumstances being consider
ed, where at once I fell to sleep.
do not know how long slept when
i was Weakened by sunshine streaming
through barred window and insistent
tones in my ears. A sergeant stood
there, directing man with my break
fast. ate heartily, forgetting all my
misfortune
And this was the beginning of many
days.
At last one day, long past sunset, I
heard a considerable commotion out
side. Ny barred window showed moth
ing against the gathering dusk, though
looking out into street-it was lit
tie side street.
But the commotion continued Pres
emily 1 heard steps in the corridor and
the bolts drawn, when my jailer SER
geant appeared with two soldiers sup
porting young man in a lieutenant's
uniform, from whose pale face saw at
once that he was drunk.
s'The house is filled, and we shall
have to put him in with you," the SER
geant said, the others supporting him to
the bed, where he sank down.
"Why don't hear from Sir Henry
Clinton?" I asked like peevish fool,
as it the sergeant should know. "I ex-
pect a parole, at least. "
He shrugged his shoulders and went
out and closed the door and heard the
fading footballs.
Why, indeed, wasn't some action
taken in my case? I had been now a
prisoner near a week.
The fellow on the bed breathed heav-
lily. He wore the uniform of line regi-
ment and had a young, gentle face,
rather Worn with dissipation. | do not
know to this day what caused the street
noises preceding his appearance Watch
ing his hard breathing, suddenly wish
ed that had his uniform, though did
not think why. The thought was like
an inspiration, for what if the door
had been left unbolted? OF course it
was impossible it should have been
and yet had not heard the rasping of
the bolt against its socket, and tried
it. Will you believe me, that door
swung back, and I was looking into the
corridor?
Quickly closed it and went back to
the hard breathing figure ON the bed.
For moment in the Pickering light
Il had lit my candle-I watched his
face, which reminded me of my own.
Finally, having the courage of my pur-
pose, I shook him roughly, but he did
not SO much as stir. So began to pull
off his coat, his Stock his waistcoat
Still he was unconscious, till he star
tied me by opening his eyes.
"What?" he asked huskily. And then
he rolled over on his side in stupor,