The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1902-07-04
CHAPTER Xxx.
THE MEETING BY THE vAUXHALL
GARDENS.

THE MEETING BY THE vAUXHALL
GARDENS.
The shrewd chirurgeon no sooner saw
me than he took me into a little back room'
and there we sat most of the afternoon,
laying out the plan for Arnold's abduction.
The house at No. 8, which the traitor oc-
cupied, had a garden that ran down to the
waters of the Hudson and was surrounded
by a high board fence. Low had the whole
plan, though he could not take active part.
as he must be ready in the future for
many such affairs, and had thus to keep
himself above all chance of suspicion. 1t
was a wonder to me how he had done 1t so
long, and l told him so, saying also that 1
marveled how 1 had escaped arrest.
"'Tis simple enough" said he. Il do but
attend to my work as a physician. So en-
ter all houses, even Clinton's, at all times,
and l hear more than any one has the
least hint of. What 1 do for the cause is
done here, and always a visitor has some
such reason as you have now for coming.
If he is arrested, and several have been"
he continued with a serious face, Il am
free, and never yet has man or woman be-
trayed me by the slightest sign. Your case
is not so sure, and 1 have TO tell you that
your episode with that man in the old burnt
house was a bad blunder. He is furious at
you for that, or something else, and were
it not that his work for Clinton is so secret
that few in this city know of it at all-and
l only because / was once treating Clinton
when he arrived and the news of his work
was out before they realized it-you would
be in prison long ago. They must keep the
whole thing quiet, and no doubt they are
trying to find your reason for being here.
Have more care therefore for the rest of
this day and night thought of my APP
pointment for 9-"and do not go out. 1 can
not help you, If you are taken. You will
simply disappear. No public arrest, no exc
cution, no trial for you, man! That was
why no force was sent to arrest you this
morning. Now for the plan"
The plan was simple enough. Ar opening
had already been made in the high board
fence by the water. The boards could be
taken out at a moments notice. We, Act
on, Curtis and ], were TO approach the gar
den in a boat with some trusty oarsmen
proceed through the hole in the fence,
thence through a window into the rear of
the house, opened for us by an American
soldier. who had got himself employed by
Arnold on the ground of desertion from our
lines. Arnold himself was to be taken out
of his bed. gagged, put into a huge bag
and carried out to the boat. Thence to Pau
lus's Hook across the river. and into our
lines.
Twas a simple plan and one that would
nave worked as it has worked before, but
for fatality. that has more to do with MAX
ing history than thousands of great minds.
And so at dusk 1 left Low with a long
shake of the hand and walked slowly and
carefully through the little streets so
muddy and narrow, so foul with the smell
Of the burnt houses and soaked refuse that
it sickened one in those strangely hot and
heavy days. Low lived hard by the corner
of Princess and Broad streets, and directly
opposite the waste of ruins that no hand
had touched since three years before. There
in the novels. for they were nothing bet
ter, burrowed out Of half-ruined houses,
lived the scum of the great town-the poor
wretches who scarcely live, the harlots of
the city-and there were thousands of them,
as there are in the rear of any great camp
who beset you as you strobe along the
narrow, crooked, filthy streets.
Thence l came TO Mrs. Hodges's, and
found Acton just returned again from the
neighborhood of No. 2 Broadway, where he
had been anxiously watching for Curtis.
told him that I fancied 1 had a chance of
catching Hazeltine from something l had
heard by going up TO the top Of the town
the more shame to me again that I looked
into his blue eyes and told him the story
but 1 cannot help it. nor could then.
Twas an affair of my own and another,
and L could not share it with him. So that
he agreed TO wait for Curtis till 10 o'clock,
bringing him on with him: but if he did not
come then, TO follow me himself to Vaux-
hall Gardens, for l told him the place. l, in
turn. was to get back as soon as possible
TO his place in an angle Of two houses
where we watched for our anxiously ex-
pected friend.
l set out and wandered along Broadway
to vesey street, and thence down that mud
dy and unkempt thoroughfare among the
burnt houses up Barclay street 70 the col
lege, now a prison, and thence by Cham
bers street TO vauxhall Gardens. There l
stopped and looked about. 1t must be near
9, and she had selected as deserted a spot
as could be we'll found around the city. Be
yond the gardens all was wilderness and
lIccS anu muuUN IOduSs dhu a nasty HllSl
hung over everything, that made my
clothes limp and wet.
Not a soul appeared TO be anywhere in
sight or hearing, and so / walked slowly
on by the side of the road looking for the
four trees, fearing every minute lest l miss
them. Suddenly l heard a clock somewhere
ring out 9, and just ahead a figure stepped
out into the road. l dropped into the under
brush and looked long at IL, but could not
make the mistake Of forgetting that quick
nervous movement of head and limbs 1 had
grown to know so well.
1t was she fast enough. and my heart
beat a tattoo 10 think l was so near her in
such a spot, and that she had such faith in
me as this. Her sorrow must indeed be a
terrible one. AS | stepped out into the road
she made a quick movement to disappear
and then came towards me slowly.
You have come" said she. under her
breath. This way" And soon we were OF
the road a hundred yards and under the
gloom of four great trees standing close
together. Il know not what l am doing. >
said she ~nervously. IF you should be found
here. 'twould be your ruin"
Would you grieve for that?" l asked.
would a wife grieve for her husband?'
asked she gently.