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Copyrighted, [88). by BIADLI AND Alma. Entered M "It! Pout Ofiica at New York, N‘ Y.. A: Md Clans 319.11 MAM-u. June ‘29, 1589.

 

 

 

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No. 271. 3333. u 130‘ 38 fiufmgflmf 32m 5 ’ mk’lfim VOLXXI.

 

 

 

 

“nun muvm A some BOX on THE an Iron. nu PAIRS.

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

a ‘ 01a Gotlieb, the Jolly unsure.

 

[lid flutlieb, the J ally Landlord;
THE DABING BETGH DAMSEL.

A Story of New York 100 years ago.
BY HERRICK J OHNSTONE.

 

CHAPTER I.
A ‘ KNICKERBOCKER HOMESTEAD.

IN the year 1776 —and for many years after-
ward—there stood a quaint old three—gamed
house on the east side of Broadway, New
York, fronting the Bowling Green. It was be-
fore the days of our old palatial storehouses, of
our rumblin throngs of omnibuses, and busy
sidewalks. esidences were mixed up with the
stores, even on lower Broadway, and life itself
was a sluggish stream in contrast with the rush-
ing river of our present existence—albeit, the
tempests of human warfare were then, as now,
upon the surface of the tide.

The old house was evidently a. tavern. For,
thonfih there was nothing to that effect upon
the ngy sign-post, which stood, like a sentinel,
in front of the wooden stoop, on the top of the
post there was a great gilded fish, and immedi~
ater under it, in letters still legible, the words:
“ The Golden Shark;” so we may infer that this
fabulous specimen of natural history was an ec-
centric mode of expressing “Entertainment for
mun and beast. And, acting upon this inference,
strengthened by the stable-yard adjoining the
premises, you would,“ upon entering the house-
door, soon come to a definite conviction by the
appearance of another sign, placed above the
beer-counter within. whereou it was set forth
that “ Gotlieb Von Snooze " was the “ Landlord
of the Golden Shark.”

‘ In the early part of the month of August,
1776, a sturdy young fellow, of prepossessing ap—
pearance, in the partial uniform of a Conti-
nental soldier, might have been observed en-
deavoring to conceal himself behind the shrub-
berfi of the Bowling Green, while he watched
wit wistful eyes the open door of the Golden
Shark. Presently a youn girl-and, let me tell

on she was as sweet and andsome as the emit
mg morning itselfwflitted past the opening of
the door within. ,,

And then the young man immediately left his
covert, and entered t e tavern with a fearless
step. Atthe sound of it she turned, and went
towardhim in glad sur rise. As for the young
man, he took her in h arms and kissed her
in a very lover- like and pleasant manner.

“ Here I am again, you see, Katrina,” said
he, “ healed of my wound. And—pleasaiiter

still—with the ring I promised; Give me your,

finger.”
he girl extended a finger of her little brown
band, and the young man slipped npon it a plain

gold ring which he drew from his waistcoat

Rocket, fondly kissing it before he slid it upon
or hand.

f‘ It is very beautiful, Joe!” said Katrina,
With downcast eyes; “ but I’m half sorry you

, bought it.”

 

“ And wherefore, my darling?”

“ Because we must save our money nOW.” said
she. “I but asked you for a present in a. mo-
ment of thoughtlessness, and you must need the
money which procured it.”

“ You are quite a little housewife already,”
he replied, laughin . “ButI love you all the
more for your go ness. And how is my pearl
of Manhattan?”

“ Well enough Joe: only a little anxious on
your account. But tell me, are you really well
at last?”

“ Perfectly, darling! And, what do you guessi
Iain discharged from the service. Time up,
you know.”

“ Bless me! I am glad of it! You will now
remain in New York, will you not? What will
you do?”

“ Join the army again, of course 1”

Her face fell at these words.

“No, Joe,” she exclaimed. “You have a1-
rend been your year in the army.” ‘

“ ut the red-coats are on Long Island, and
my old comrades confront them w‘ ; -
ranks,” said the young man, res ,
tend to fight for General Washin
he needs me." " . _ 

“Forgive my selfishness,” said the maiden,
with a brighter air. “ Our parting will not be
for long, I hope, and—” ,

She broke oil? with a blush, and drew away
from her lover’s side. He was also confused;
for, at that moment, an inner door Opened,
and Old Gotlieb, the Jolly Landlord, entered
the bar-room, with a cloud of displeasure upon
his red face. The case was clear at a glance.

     
 
 

There was a sxeieton in the closet of our lov—’

ers—-there was a “stern parent ’7 in the hack-
gronnd. ‘

Gotiiebr evidently was quite a’ character.
Good-homered, withal, his effort to be severe
wasa comical exhibition. It would have re—
quired alargei‘ shark than the ilded monster
upon his signpost to have swal owed Gotlieb.
He evidently weighed in the neighborhood of
half flve hundred-Wei bt—more or less. His
iubicund features an ease-loving air gave
token of well-to-do circumstances; and the vast
satin waistcoat, which displayed to every ad-
vantage his lumbering girth o paunch, bespoke
a certain complacency with himself which no
one butasuccessful landlord can assume. He
now had a lordly air, as be advanced toward the
disconcerted lovers, and his broken Erglieh was
imbued with severityas he addre the de-
linqent Joseph:

“ Vat for you goes mit mine Katrina, eh, on
young vagabone?” exclaimed Gotlieb. “ at
for you forgets mine injoonction, eh?" _

The young man suddenly fongot his embar-
rassment, and spoke out boldly:

“I return to Katrina because Illove her and
she loves me, myriheer,” said he. “ You said if
[ distinguished in self in the war you would—”

“Oh, ynhi” sai Gotlieb with a sneer. “ So
you be von general, now, eh? or van colonel?
Vel, vel, v’at do you makes

“I am neither a general nor a colonel, yet,”
said the young man. f‘ But I fought well at
Ticonderoga, if I say it myself; and General
Arnold made me a sergeant for it. And I

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Old Gotlieb, the Jolly Landlord. W, I

fought better at Quebec, was wounded in the
thigh, and am promised a lieutenant’s commis-
sion, next week.”

The proprietor of pretty Katrina and the
Golden Shark shook his head, but there evident-
ly Was a mitigation of his scorn for the young
man’s suit.

“ Pretty vell for a beginning,” said he; “ but
nuttiug but von capting can have Katrina.
Vy, she has already had von offer from a coin—
nel, and vouldn‘t have him. ’Tis de vay mit do
vomans, Joseph. If I vasn’t so old, I vould
shoulder de yager myself, and go mit Vashing-
ton. See, I vould grasp de veapon of mine
faders, and rush to the vars, for de liberty.”

As he spoke, the old man reached over the
counter and took from its stays a formidable
old blunderbuss, of the most ancient type—short
and thick, huge in the butt, with a muzzle like a
funnel—which appeared as if a pound of pow
der and a quart-measure of slugs would be but
a moderate charge. Gotlieb put on a some-
what gludiatorial air as he shouldered this
piece of ordnance, and his tones were of a
martial order as he cried:

“Forvard, march! fight him for de fader-
land!” And he began to strut the bar—room to
go martial music of an imaginary drum and

e.

“Bravo!” cried the young man, with diffi-
culty containing his mirth. “Bravo! And
ngw’ give me a parting kiss, Katrina, for I am
0 .
“Joe, Joe, dear Joel where are you going?”

sobbed Katrina, with her arms about his neck.

“To earn my captain’s commission!” replied
the youth, resolutely: and, with a last lovin
embrace, he sprung through the open door, an
was gone. .

Katrina then sat down on a bench and cried
asif her little heart would break. lier father
returned the blunderbus to its place on the
wall, and then stood before his daughter, look-
ing as it about to bluhber himself.

‘V’at for you make so much cry, my dar-
ling?” he asked. -

“ Because you sent Joe away. He—he’ll be
killed~i-—~I know he will l” sobbed the girl, with
the corners of her white apron at her eyes.

Old Gotlieb sat by her Side, and took her upon
his knees.

“Listen, mine little von,” said he. “Joe is
you fine young teller. You t’inks dat I don’t
like him? Den you don‘t know your fader. I
likes de young man, but I vants him to do more
for do coontry. By keeping you avay from
him, I spurs him onvard. Never fear; he v’ill
makes lory and coom back in von little v’ile.
Derel are!”

His voice was tender and sweet, and Katrina
laid her pretty head upon his massive shoulder,
and began to dry her tears.

CHAPTER II.
coumssmn'.

A snon'r distance from the door of the Golden
Shark, and Joe’s brisk pace slackened percep-
tibiy. until he fell into a moody saunter, and
the cheerfu lness went out of his face in the same
pro rtion.

T 9 young man began to ponder upon the

 

 

captain’s commission. His face grew longer as
he did so; for then, even more than now, a moan
ket in the ranks was much more easily obtained
than the pomp and circumstance of a sword
and sash. In the midst of his despondent mail-
tation, and while he was standing on the curb-
stone, 8. cavalryman, who was riding past, sud-
denly halted and hailed him. Joe looked up
and saw a friend. Mutual greetings were ex-
chan ed.

“ nd how about your lieutenancy’l" asked
the horseman. “You have a blue look for such
a fortunate fellow.”

“ I want to be a captain,” said poor Joe, with
laconic simplicity. I

“ at, already?" exclaimed the other, laugh-
ing. “Nevertheless, I believe there’sachanoe
for one up there at headquarters."

“ Where? How 3” exclaimed Joe, eagerly.

“ The general is in search of a scout for a ser—
vice of extreme danger. But you’d better not
apply. They say that capture and a hempen
cravet is by far the likeliest reward to he won.
I must be off. Good-by." .

And the horseman put spurs to his steed,
while the young man hastened to headquarters.
In a few moments he was there.

So intent was be upon an immediate audi-
ence, that he paid no attention to the throng
upon the pavement, and was about to go up the
steps, when his progress was arrested by the
crossed bayonets of the two guards at the door.

“ Halt! Your business?” "

“ I wish to see General Washington,” said

as.

“ For what?”

“I heard that he wanted a scent for special
service, and I thought—” i

“ Pass in.”

The young man entered the building, and was
ushered upstairs into rm antechamber, where he
was left alone. He had ample time for reflec-
tion, and was soon lost in thought, as he gazed
out upon the water; for the window overlooked
the broad expanse of New York Bay, and you
could see through the Narrows, though the
weather was hazy, with now and then a glimpse
of the topmasts of some British blockader, on
the outside. Presently, a voice of singular depth
and sweetness commingled aroused him from his
reverie. He turned quickly, and a feeling rushed
into his heart to seize the hand of the man be-
fore him and cover it with kisms. As it was, he
made a low oheisance, for he was in the pres-
ence of George Washington.

“ You wished to see me, my friend?”

The general’s voice was so kind and his man
ner s0 reassuring, as well as dignified, that Joe's
embarrassment gave way to confidence, and he
had no hesitation in saying:

“ Yes, general. I desired that honor, because
I heard you were in need of a special scout.”

 

 

“I do need such a emu,” said the  r ‘1;

“Your name and ran . if ou'please?" - ' , ,,
“ My name is Joseph Wi der, ’ said the y nth.

“ 1 am at present convalescent, and out-offiér-K  H

vice, but am in daily expectation otgmy' coma.
mission as lieutenant.” - '

“The special service I have in view ,is‘of ex- '

traordinary risk, lieutenant.”
“ I am fond of danger, general."

   

 

  

4 Old Gotlleb, the Jolly Landlord.

 

The general smiled.

“ Is that the only reason you seek the present
employment?” he inquired.

‘ No, gereral, it is not. To tell the truth, I—
I—in fact, I——”

In a few moments, George Washington knew
allabout pretty Katrina, Gotlieb Von Snooze,
the old Dutch blunderbuss, and everything else
pertaining to the Golden Shark Tavern. _

“ I will gladly engage you, lieutenant,” sald the
commander, still smiling,“ and have no fear
but that a captain’s commission will attend suc-
cess in the enterprise. I am a man of few
words. Listen: the English have landed on the
upper part of the island—Long Island-w1th
their vanguard between Utrecht and Grave—
Bend. There is a place called Bushby Cave
somewhere on the shore behind Utrecht. Do
you know the place?"

“ I was born within a mile of it, general.”

“Good. General Howe has his headquarters
in the vicinity of this place. General De Heiy
ter is not far off. I expect an ttack at any
moment, but desire to know t e moment.
There is, I think, but one mode of obtaining
this information.”

“ And that mode, general?”

“ Is to eavesdrop at General Hows’s tent. or
at De Heister’s—for they are intimate friends,

. and are probably frequently in each other’s
tents. Can you perform this mission?"

“ Yes, general.”

“ I admire your courage; but do not under-
rate the-peril. You must even find out the po-
sition of the British commander’s headquarters.
They are probably in the heart of the enemy’s
iii-ma.”

“ eneml, I am willing to take the chance. I
shall perform the service if possible.” ‘

“ I believe you. When you have obtained all
the information possible, before returning to
me, you must communicate it to General Sulli-l
van, commanding our troops on the island.
Now you know my object, what is your plan of
procedure?"

“To pull ug the bay to—night. land beyond
Utrecht, and t en ush in through their lines.”

“ That is the bol est, therefore the best. How
man men do you desire to accompany you?”

" one.” .

“ What, alone?”

“ Yes, general; the fewer feet the less noise.”

" It is well,” said the commander. “ Do you
desire anythln for an outfit?"

“ Only our leasing, general.”

" You ave it my led, with all my heart,"
said the commander, cordially. “ And—wait a
moment.” ,

He pulled a bell-cord, and a servant appeared.

“ Wine.”

And. in a few moments, the winemlso ap-
peered.

The general filled two glasses, presented one
to Lieutenant Wilder, and took the other him-
self. Then, touching the lieutenant’s glass with
his own, he said, with his beautiful smile:

"‘Iaeutenant, this is to your safe return, and
-to pretty Katrina.”

Joe blushed happily as he drank this pledge.
Then he arose, saluted the general with profound
respect, and left the room.

 

 

CHAPTER III.
THE RIVALS.

THE entrance of the young atriot to the bar-
room of the Golden Shark ha been watched by
Jealous eyes. And scarcely had he quitted the
tavern before the man who observed him so
closely stepped from a pretentious house, and
crossed the street to the tavern, which was im~
mediater opposite. He entered the bar—room,
and called for some beer. By the obsequious—
ness with which old Gotlieb served the bev-
erage, the stranger was evidently of some con-
se uence. His garb and mien also indicated
a uence. There was a military afi'ectation in
his attire, which was of much elegance; never-
theless, he would most likely be taken for a
czvflian.

This man. a Tory, named Gilbert Whipple,
had held office under the king inthe revenue
service. As a natural consequence, his sympa-
thies were wholly, though secretly, with the
royal cause. Some would have called him
handsome. His form was indeed elegant, and
his manners refined; but there was an expres
sion of the eyes and lip which would have ex-
cited distrust in the mind of one capable of
reading the heart of men by their face.

He gazed earnestly at Katrina—who was still
and from her parting with Joe—but seated him-
self in silence at one of the little tables of the
bar-room. Presently he said:

“ Have you any news of what is taking place
on the island, M nheerl"

“ Now, Mr. Vipple. Dey keeps it all to dem-
selves, now-a-days.” ‘

The gentleman evidently had asked the ques-
tion merely to say something, and he relapsed,
for some moments, into is former silence,
though still gazing at the drooping figure of the
girl. Then he again said:

“ Pray, order my horse, mynheer; I must ride
to Harlem. And, while you are about it. please
bug for me that new bridle which I saw in the
sa dler's window, a few doors above here."

“ Certainly, Mr. Vipple,” and Gotlieb left the
room accordingly. -

He had scarcely disappeared, before Katrina
heard the gentleman call her by name. But his
voice was so low that she was not certain.

“lgatrina, come here, I wish to talk with
you.

This time there was no mistaking. but the
voice was singular-Ly low and musical: and
strangely at variance with that with which he
had addressed her father.

She approached with some hesitation; but she
started back, indi nant and alarmed for the
gentleman sudden y drew her toward him, and
kissed her cheek.

“ Pshaw, child! I’m old enough to be our fa-
ther,” id be, soothingly; but the bush. to-
mamed on Katrina's cheek.

“ Come, sit beside me here,” he continued. “ I 4

wish to talk with you."
She drew still further awn . .
“The gentleman can spea With me at this
distance,” she said quietly. \
“ No; come, sit down here.”  ' .
There was a sternum—very slight, yet still
perceptible—in his tone now;.and the gentle
man must have been a Eamon», for he raised

,3?» ~

 

 

..~.——-:-»;~__—.._.«¢_n

Nib»: ‘-

M L..;.:..:__.v, _._.~.-.‘ -

 

Old Gatlieb, the Jolly Landlord. 5

 

his hand, and drew the maiden, still unwilling,
to his side, as a magnet draws the steel. Katrina
hardly knew how she came to the seat at his

Side.

“ I do not like you,” said she, angrily. “ Pray
let me go away.”

“ No; I wish to converse with you.”

“ Of what?"

“ Of the young man who visits you. I do not
like him.”

“ I do not care whether you do or not,” said
Katrina.

The stranger smiled.

“Listen, my child,” said he. “Are you not
tired of this dull existence?”

“ I do not understand you, sir.” ~

“ This life of monotony—thesedragging days,”
Wished the man. “ Do you not sicken of them?

ould you not better your lot?”

“I am very well pleased with my lot,” said
the maiden, tartly. ‘

“ Because you know of no better, my simple
child. There is one, more worthy of beauty
such as yours—one to which I could lead you.
What do you say, Katrina? Would you not like
to share my fortune and name?"

“ Nol" with most unmistakable emphasis.

“I will love you—I will do everything to
make you happy. Come with me, Katrina.
Shake off this vu gar inn life, and I will make
you the queen of a brilliant circle.”

There was something earnest and strange in
the voice of the stranger, but Katrina now
hated its very music.

“ You said dyou were old enough to be my ta-
ther ” she sai , reproachfully.

“ ut not too old to be a lover, my pretty
maid,” said the other, with a laugh, and again
he sought to prove the sincerity of his regard by
a second kiss upon the cheek; but the maiden
repulsed him with vigor,‘,and, as he persisted,
struck him a. stinging box on the ear. A gleam
of anger leaped into his cheek, but it was gone
again as quickly as it came.

Laughing again, he arose and approached her
——-for she had risen indignantly to her feet. But
the sound of Gotlieb’s return, induced the
stranger to resume his seat, and merely to say:

“ Please bring me some more beer, Katrina.”

She meekly dld so, for her anger was gone.
And then her father entered with the new
bridle, and signified to the gentleman that his
horse was ready. Bo Whipple finished his beer,
took the new bridle, and quitted the bar-room.
lIlu x} moment they heard the clatter ot hishorse’s

on s.

Then Katrina. fell to crying very heartily,
and told her father everythin . Gotlieb’s hon-
est face grew darker as she spo e. But, he said
nothing. He merely went to the counter. took
from its place and commenced loading the old
blunderbuss.

“ Oh. father! what are yOu going to do?”
cried Katrina, terrified. _

“Nutting‘, my tear, nuttlng,” said the old
man, quietly. “ Only preparing for de toes, it
we hes attacked,”

. in the mean time, young Wilder, zifter quit‘
ting General Washington's presence, made all
haste to reach his mother’s house, which was

 

situated far up Manhattan Island, at a point on
the East River side, somewhere in the vicinity
of the present junction of Seventyninth street
with Third avenue. Although the arable por-
tions of the island, above the city, were then
taken up as market gardens, there were large
uncultivated and solitary tracts—forest, swamp
and rocky slopes—which appeared as wild asthey
must have done when Hendrik Hudson sailed
slowly up the stream with the adventurous flag
of the Netherlands fluttering to the treeze.

At the edge of a thick forest,which extended in
almost unbroken gloom from the line of Third
avenue to the East River, was the Widow Wil—
der’s cottage; and very pleasant and cheerful it
appeared there, with the dark sweep of the
woodlands in the rear, with its red roof and
prim gables, and the sunny vegetable garden
which surrounded it. '

Joe, obtaining a “ lift ” from a Government
wagon on the road, reached his mother’s arden
gate in good season. She wasa hale, goroua
old lady, who greeted her son with a ki, as he
entered the domicile with a buoyant step.

“ Good fortune, mother! What do you think!"

“ You must have received your heutenancy,
Joe. That’s it!” she replied.

“ No, I havsn’t.”

“ What then ?”

“ I’m to win a captaincy this very night.
But. the best of luck is, that I have seen Gene- .
ral Washington. I have gras ed his hand. I
have drank wine with him. uzzal” ‘

“ Not possible, my boy i”

“ Yes! and he toasted me—he drank my
health l”

“ Now, Joe, you’re joking. No? Well, tell
me what the general said. Do tell me, dear

g ‘ Here‘s to your safe return—and to pretty
Katrinal’ How is that?"

“ Glorious! My boy is rising in the world.
But,” continued the widow, with sudden anxiety,
in her voice, “ but why drink to ‘ our safe re-
turn?’ Where are you going, Joe .

“ Can’t tell, mother. . cret, you know—-
must be ke t. I‘ll tell yo hen I come back.”

He kiss her gayly, and his tone was so light
and easy that the old lady’s anxiety quic ly
gave place to a pleasant pride for the honor
which had come upon her house. And her son
then went ug—stairs to make his preparations.

In doing 1: is, Joe was very circums t. His
first measure was to change his dress or a rude
fisherman’s garb, which he had ire uently worn
before the war. He then put onh belt, placed
two pistols—which he examined carefully to see
that they were loaded and primed—and a hunt-
ing-knife in their several sheaths-his long pea-
jacket completely concealing them.

He then sat down and wrote a little note to
his mother, sealed it. and left it on a spot where
he knew it was her custom to visit every few
days. In this note he mentioned the object and
danger of his mission, intending that she should
know his fate, in case’of accident. For the
iyoung man was not without his mls vlngs. He »

ad put on an air or cheerfulness or his mo— ,
thers sake. Nevertheless, he was b no means
despondent. He was simply a son ble fellow,
who made it a point to look at both sides of n

l

   

 
 

 

4,
J :
l;
“y

6 Old Gotlieb, the Jolly Landlord.

 

 

thin , and, if the dark was in excess of the
brig t, to take his precautions accordingly.

Having finished his preparations up-stnirs, he
went below, and got his mother to fill him a
haversack with sandwiches. And, while she was
making them, he lay down upon a lounge in the
comfortable sitting-room, and fell fast asleep.

It was almost dark when he awoke, and he
sprung to his feet, refreshed and alert. Hastin
swallowing his supper, which already awaited
him, he slung his haversack over his shoulder,
embraced his mother, and left the house by the
back door. Then going to a little stable, which
stood a little distance in the rear of the cottage,
he took therefrom a pair of long, slender, beauti-
fully-made oars, threw them over his shoulder,
taking a narrow path which wound in a north-
easterly direction through the forest.

There was a lingering of twilight in the open
country. but Joe seemed to enter a sudden realm
of midnight, so dense wore the woods into which
the path soon led him. But he knew his bear-
ings perfectly, and kept straight on, with no
sound but his own footsteps. As he approached
the river, however he heard voices, and instinc-
tively slackened his pace and proceeded on tip-
toe. The voices momentarily grew louder as he
approached, until they became distinctly audi-
b e. Presently, be perceived the outlines of the
speakers. They were standing in an open glade,
where there was light enough to distinguish
their forms. Joe crept close up where he might
observe and hear what was said. One of the
forms was that of a man he knew—a man in a
riding-habit, with the spurs at his heels. and a
heavy Whip in his hand, with the butt of which
he was gesticulatiog earnestly to his comrade,
who was a person of humbler appearance, but
well armed and powerful withal. With the for-
mer of these men we are already acquainted. It
was Gilbert Whipple. Joe had long suspected
that he was a traitor, and therefore pricked his
ears to catch every sound.

“You must go within an hour,” said Whipple.
“ Be sure and make no delay.”

“I will make a sure thing of it, Mr. Whi ple.
But the British patrol the whole lower ay.
How am I to pass them?”

“B giving the countersign. which is this:
‘ The ing’s cause prospers.’ This will let you
pass everything. Then you are to land on Staten

sland, just this side of the Narrows. I have al—
ready given you directions how to find the old
stone house, after you get there."

“ Very good, 811'. I understand that I am
merely to make preparations for her reception.
tomorrow night. You are not ready to run off
the little baggage till then, and I shall~—”

“ 0f whom do lyou speak. sir?” exclaimed the
other, his voice r sing with anger.

“ Of the little Dutch damsel, Katrina. (Joe
almost started from his hiding—place at the men-
tion of this name.) “ I beg pardon,” continued
the man, “ I meant no disrespect.”

“Take care of your tongue, my lad. or it may
give you trouble. Thqtperson whom I make my
wife is a lady. But have no time to quarrel
now. You understand everything? Is your
boat close at hand?”

“ She lies in the water right at the end of the
pain."

 

.“ Very good. Make your preparations imme-
diately, and do not fail to start before nine
o’clock.”

“ Never fear me, sir.”

And the man left the little glade, and struck
through the wood in a northerly direction, prob—
ably intendng to seek his home before starting
upon his misnon.

When his foeman was out of his reach, Wilder
sat down in the little glade, and so great was his
emotion, that he with difficulty restrained his
tears. His breast had been the theater of a pain-
ful conflict between opposing duties—his duty to
Katrina and his dutv to country. If the latter
had at last triumphed, it was at the expense of a
struggle which left him irresolute and feeble.
He was full of forebodings. If he should meet
With accident—4f he should be captured, what
would become of Katrina? Ile shuddered at the
thought of her falling into the power of the vil-
lain who was plotting her abduction. And there
was not even time to give warning to Old
Gotlicb. If he could have done that. he would
have departed with a lighter heart. But he was
already tardy; he should have been halfvway
down the river by this time. At length he
sprung to his feet with a fierce impulse.

“ By Heaven I” he exclaimed. “ This discov-
ery which I have made must have been provi—
dential. It was meant to 3 ur me onward in
the present undertaking. i uccess was barely
possible before; new I must not, cannot fail.”

He again proceeded toward the river with n
more determined step than ever. One satisfac-
tion, at least, was the countersign, which he had
been so fortunate as to overhear.

He was not long now in reaching the place
where his boat was moored. Arriving there, he
looked around in hopes of discovering the boat
which Whipple‘s minion had spoken of, and was
not long in finding her snugly bid a way up
among the long grass and stunted willows at
the water’s edge.

“I wonder if shels seaworthy,” muttered the
youth to himself, at the same time drawing the
light craft upon the shore and turning her hot-
tom-up.

He then drew his heavy hunting-knife, and
began cutting a hole through her with all spevd.
Havmg succeeded in making quite a respectable
breach in her bottom, be stuffed the aperture
full of the long grass, which he plucked and
twisted in large knots for the purpose. Having
made it temporarily watcr‘ti ht, he again set
her afloat just as he had foun her. He then
threw his haversark and cars into his own boat,
got in himself, and shoved off. Several strokes
of the wellhandled blades, and he was far out
in the stream. There he paused, for he saw a,
man emerge from the wood, and judging that it
must be the proprietor of the boat which he had
manipulated, he wished to see the result.

The man got in his boat, pushed qfl. and, was
soon pulling down the river after Joe at a lively
speed. Joe kept ahead of him, watching ex-
pectantly. A stiff breeze blew up the "very and
the water was rough. Presently Joe had the
satisfaction of seeing the man turn, heard him
curse. and then saw him pull oi! his jacket and
stuff it into the hole. This done, he steered for
the shore at'once.

 

 

" #7-».nM,  

 

 

 

 

“my. .<

 

 

 

Old Gotlieb, the Jolly Landlord. ; 7

 

“ I think his voyage to Staten Island is spoiled
for this night. at any rate,” muttered Joe, and
he bent with vigor to his oars.

The Americans patrolled the river and the
upper melOD of the bay. The spy had been
provided with a password for this emergency,
and, though frequently interrupted in his voy-
age, he was soon on the open buy, beyond Gov-
grnor’s Island, with an apparently free passage

own.

He then drew in one oar, and, seating himself
in the stern used the other after the manner of
a scull, for he wished to see where he was going.

CHAPTER IV.
WHIPPLE’S PROPOSITION.

IN leaving the wood, where he had given his
instructions to his assistant, Gilbert Whipple did
not take a homeward direction, but resumed his
saddle and set out at a hard gallop for the
north. In fifteen minutes he was at Harlem,
where he stable-d his steed and proceeded to the
river’s edge with the air of a man who was on
the lookout for a signaL There were but few
houses in Harlem at that riod, and the shores
of the river, especially 1: at ortion of them in
the vicinity of our present igh Bridge, were
exceeding wild and desolate in appearance.

He looked in vain across the water for the sig-
nal, which he seemed to be expectin , and then
made his way up the shore, now an then cust-
ing his glance anxiously to the opposite side.
Presently he reached that portion of the river-
bank where it becomes precipitous. and con-
tinued his way with much more difficulty than
before, and with ill-concealed dissatisfaction.
But his ill-humor was presently dispelled; for
when he had reached a. high portion of the bank
he saw a little gleam of light shoot up in the
gloom of the opposite shore, and then vanish
away.

He halted and looked again. The signal was
repeated. Apparently satisfied, he hastened
down the steep bankto the water’s edge. Bend-
ing law, he blew a small whistle, and looked
overthe water, as if in confident awaiting. Soon
a little boat shot out into the stream from the
opposite bank, and rapidly ap reached him. It
contained only one oarsman, ut he was a good
one.

When the boat arrived within a few yards of
the bank, the oarsman suddenly laid upon his
cars, and propounded the following question, in
a low distinct tone:

3 glhokxi'uies’ the land?" 1

e n, was ecauto rel.

“ What isghe worth?" u. p y

“ Dying for.”

The oarsman_nppeared satisfied, and backed
the stern of his high craft against the shore.
Whipple stepped into it without a word, and
they glided out upon the starlit stream, toward
the opposite shore, which was soon reached. The
passenger then stepped from the boat, dropped
a piece of money into the boetman’s hand. and
disagpeared among the dense timber with which
the nd was clothed. That side of the river was
rocky, and Whipple had conSIderable difficulty
in making his way up the steep and wooded
bank. ' a
‘7 You would not have supposed there We

 

human habitation within a hundred yards ofthe

lace, it appeared so wild and solitary. But the

ory had not gone a dozen rods before he came
in sight of a rude but substantial building of
stone, located on the summit of the ridge, in the
center of a pleasant little wold, or open glade,
although so thoroughly belted round by timber
as to be completely hid from View, even from‘
the high ground of the opposite shore.

It was a two—story building, large, apparently
commodious, and with an air of aflluence in the
excellence of its outside belongings—the shutters
(which were closed) being heavy and well made,
and the roof a handsome sloping affair of sub-
stantial slate. Everything was quiet about the
place, and not a gleam of light discernible. The
gruff growl of a watch—dog, and the unpleasant
rattling of a chain, informed the approaching
Tory that caution was necessary.

It is an uncomfortable sensation of a. dark
night, at all times—that ominous rattling of a.
watchdog’s chain, as you are blundering over
unfamiliar ways, toward a strange habitation.
Whipple liked it so little, that, before proceed—
ing further, he paused and looked about fora
club of some sort, while the object of his appre-
hension gave utterance to loud barks.

The door of the mansion opened; some one
stepped out, and the low tones of a man’s voice
were heard quieting the dog. The man, who had
issued from the house, however, motioned him

much in the same manner as the boatman h
alread done:

“ 0 wins the fight!”

“ God and the right.”

“ The countersign give.”

“ itine!”

“ ass in, sir,” said the man, and Whipple eu-
tered the hall, which was as dark as the tomb.

The man followed, closing the door, when the
darkness of the hall became impenetrable.

“ What is the meaning of this?” asked Whip-
ple? angrily. “ Are not our friends arrived?"

‘ Yes, sir. But it is necessary to be thus
cautious," was the re ly. “ Pray have a mo-
ment’s tience, sir. here is no fear of stumb-
lin . ere are the stairs. Follow me, and you
wil soon have light.”

Groping forward, Whipple reached the top of

open a door. The Tor started back and cov-

ered his 9 el. for the g are of light which rushr
ed throng the opening was dazzling in the ex-

treme.

He heard anumber of voices in the chamber-
and, afteggradually encountering the glare un-
til it cea to pain him, he entered the apart;
ment, the door being immedle closed bele
him.

It was a large, high-roofed room, magnifi-
cently decorated, and most brilliantly illumin-
ated by a costly candelabrum which hung
from the center of the ceiling. The windows
and shutters were scrupulously closed.
former were superbly gilded, and cal-tamed
with droOpin blue damask of the most mly
description. e ceiling was trescoed with en-
chanting and voluptuous images, and thickly

 

A

hatrewn with gilded stars; while the walls were

a light, bright azure. relieved at regular .

the staircase when his guide suddenly threw '

 

IV.

of! when within a few paces, and questioned mm. L: i

 

 

 

8 01d Gotlieb, the Jolly Landlord.

intervals by pilasters of white and gold. Be-
tween the pilasters, as well as between the win-
dows, were hung paintings, representing land—
scapes of a rich and tropical character, and
surrounded by frames of the most showy and
costly kind.

In the center of this magnificent apartment
was standing a long table, wheroon was hea ed
a feast in keeping with the surrounding splen or,
and there were several gentlemen and ladies
doing it ample gustice. The overty of America
was extreme a this time, w ich made it a mat-
ter of conjecture asto the origin of all this
splendor; for the costumes of the ests were
as rich and brilliant as any thing e se, and the
cost of the banquet alone must have been con-
siderable.

A welcome from many voicss greeted Gil-
bert Whip 19 as he entered: but the gentleman
whohad t 9 head of the board, and who ap-
peared to be the host, uicklv arose from his
seat, and advanced towar the ‘new-comer, with
extended hand:

“ A thousand welcomes, my dear Whipple, to
our humble farel” he exclaimed, as he shook his
hand and led him to a seat at the table next his
own.

The new-comer, evidently, had been a guest
at the house before, for he soon made himself at
ease with every one and especially with the ex-
cellent cheer, which the entertainer had affect-
ed'iy denominated, “humble fare.”

he party was composed of eight persons,
besides Whipple, and the striking appearance of
saline of them deserves more than a. cursory
g uce.

The owner of this princely abode—whom we
have already briefly introduced as “ the host ”—
was an Englishman by birth, but along resident
of America, and one of the most owerful and
influential allies of the royal aut ority in the
land. His existence is a historical fact, but, for
several reasons, we will give him the fictitious
name of Rupert Delaney. He was probably
fifty years of age.

A handsome lady of middle age. seated at
the other extremity of the board, was Mrs.
Delaney, wire of the host. She was attired
with extraordingéxr ele ance, and her hair was
elaborately dres an wdered. They had
no children; hence the ady of that wealthy
household had little else to think of save her
personal appearance.

There were present two other ladies, oung
and very stylish in appearance, who he come
from the South within the last few days, as
fugitive Tories, and were ests of Delaney.

« Nothing was very noticeab e in their appear-
ance, save that they were attired in the hight

' , of the fashion, and with unusual elegance. as,

indeed, were the remainder of the party—four
gentlemen, of whom but one is of sufficient impor-
tones to demand notice. He was scarcely twenty-
flve and of extraordinary personal beauty. Of
medium hi ht but with finely knit frame, he
hadaSpan look in his dark, handsome face.
which was well relieved by the mass of powdered
hair, surmountinghand clustering round it. He
was dressed in t a naval garb of a British
oflicer and were a small ivory-handled pistol 1n

, his belt, which was not considered 

'i' I

 

to the exigencies of the times. This was Gu
Madden, a midshipman of the British ship-o -
war Arethusa, which was at that time lyin in
Long Island Sound, at the junction of the ast
River. He was on her deck not three hours be-
fore his introduction that evening to the man-
sion, and it was not without extreme peril that
he had made the passage of the East and Her-
lem Rivers to enjoy the entertainment of Rupert
Delaney.

One of the young ladies whom we have so
cursorily described—a Miss Wainwright, of
Norfolk, Virginia——possessod a little 0! the lib-
erty-loving enthusiasm in her loyalist composi-
tion; now and then the American spirit would
vindicate itself in a passionate outburst.

“ I think you are too severe, sir,” she said, in
re lyto some jeering partisan remarks which

hipple had just uttered. “ The rebels are not
without many provocations to their insurrection.
They have suifered much—contumel , contempt,
everything. I think they should al be home—
I think the authority of the king is sacred. But,
do not overlook the provocations which have
impelled the Americans to rebellion. Blame, if
you will, but do not heap the blame.”

“ Miss Wainwright is very much American in
her sympathies,” said Whipple, with a smile, in
whic there was a shadow of a sneer.

“It is because I was born in America,” re-
torted the lady. “I love my country, whatso-
ever it be.”

“ I love the sentiment—it is noble,” said Guy
Madden, bowing to her. “ I would love my
countr ~—I would fight for it, if that country
was a esert or a snow waste. For my part, I
am an Englishman— am full of the natural
prejudices longing to in country, and would
die for her. But, before , if I was born in
America, it would be otherwise.”

An expression of displeasure appeared upon
the countenances of the rest of the company-
with the exception of Miss Wainwright’s—at
this declaration.

“What do you mean, Guy?” asked Delaney.
“ You surely cannot pretend to say that it you
were an American—’

“I would fight for America,” exclaimed the
young man, with heat. “What is a country
worth, it it is not worth dying for? I love Al-
bion because I cannot help it. It would be the
same if my lot had been cast on this side of the
ocean.”

“ Bravo!” cried Miss Wainwright, clapping
her hands, to the evident disgust of her young
lady friend who, from her startled demeanor,
must have n born in England.

“ I do not like these sentiments,” said Gilbert
Whipple. “A man should love his sovereign
under all circumstances. King George is as
much the monarch of America as of England.”

“Then should not the Americans have equal
rights with the Englishmen?" asked Mm Wain-
wrig t.

“ Certain] . And do they not!"

“ Not at a 1."

“ In what way?”

“ Wh are they not allowed a representation
in Parlgment?" said the lady. “Englishmen
have this privilege. If America is the same as
England, in ,your sense, why should they be

finish. .. ..   “  “av,” .31...

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

Old Gotlieb, the Jolly Landlord. 9

 

taxed equally with Albion, if they have not
equal representation?"

“ Bravo! Bravcly arguedl” cried the mid-
shipman, with a laugh.

“They should not have equal privileges be-
cause they are colonies,” said Whipple.

“I agree with you, sir, perfectly,” said Mr.
Delaney' and the other four gentlemen signified
approve by their demeanor.

“ The_gentleman has ceased to argue,” said the
lady, With a curlinglip. “ I presented him with
a fair question; he replies in the cant of parti-
san fee ing.”

“ I do not,” exclaimed Whipple, almost angri-
ly. “ ave you a fair answer."

Guy adden was sitting next to Whipple—he
whis red in his ear:

“ ave a care. my friend!
whom you speak is a. lady."

Whipple flushed up, angrily, but subdued his
vexation almost as soon as it appeared.

” To chan e the subject," said he, “ how oes
the war? but are our prospects, mids ip
man?” a _

“ Everything we could wish for, I think,”
said Madden. He now spoke with all the zeal
of a sailor in the British cause. “ The battle
which is to decide the late of your city of Man—
hattan is on the threshold of commencement.
There can be no doubt of the result.”

“ Hardly any,” said Whipple. “ But have
you no ap rehensions of Washington?”

“ I’m a ory,” said Miss Wainright, “ but I’m
a believer in Washington’s abilities. He is a
glorious soldier.”

“My opinion of General Washington.” said
the host, “ is by no means exalted. He is a
rebel-a man of excellent education, if you will,
but, on that very account, so much the more
culpable for being a rebel to the Government of
England."

_‘ I rather agree with Miss Wainwright than
With you,” Midshipman Madden. “ I can-
not understand, from the standpoint which I
occupy as an Englishman, how a man like
George Washington—as well as many others of
the rebel leaders—can bring themselves to this
error of disloyalty. Nevertheless, it is not in
the provmce of a man of my few years to criti-
cise the conduct of an intellect such as is pos-
sessed by men so much my superior as are these
gentlemen. The unquestionably believe that
what they do is or the best. Miss Wainwright
says that he is a ‘ glorious general.’ I concur in
this View. I can appreciate the man, though
his conviction is against my own.”

The host looked displeased at hearing these
sentiments. Whipple replied with considerable
irony in his tones:

“ M. dear fellow, you do not talk as I love to
hear uglishmen talk. There is one thing
about General Washin ton, and about the class
of Americans of which e is the exponent: he is
a traitor. He fights. his lung. That is enough
for me. The crime is without exculpation. It
is transom Every loyalist should fight against

1m. ,

“ Why does not Mr. Whipple do so, then?” ex-
claimed the British midshipman. “I ‘l‘lvght

by

The person to

against him. So do most Englishmen.
do” not Mr. Whipple do the same!”

 

“ I do so—l fight for my king, if I do it in an
indirect way,” was the reply. “My position—-
my wealth is employed against his enemies.”

“ But not your hand. You do not risk the
chance of even a random bullet,” said the mid-
shipman. “ If your belief isgenuine, you should
certainly fight for it.”

Whipple rew very angry for a moment, but
he was real y on good terms with the oflieer,
and he laughed off his own delinquency to the
cause in a. light way.

And now the night grew late, and the ladies
retired. The gentlemen remained with their
wine and their politics until a late hour. Whip- ,
ple then proposed to Madden that he should ex—
change his uniform for a civilian’s dress, and .
accompany him to his own house, where they
would finish the night together, and lie—Madden
—could return to his ship on the followin day.
The invitation was accepted, and after bidding
farewell to their genial host, they departed on
their way to the city.

CHAPTER V.
DANGEROUS GROUND.

OWING to the mode of navigation which ' 3
had adopted, Joe Wilder proceeded but "' 4W1
down the bay. Besides, even this much ofh
voyage was not unattended by danger. The
water was very rough, and it required the ut-
most skill to kee his little craft from fillin .

The night was eautiful, with scarcely ac and.
The camp-fires of the American camp—the right
wing of which rested on the bay, Just beyond
Governor’s Island—were burning brightly. and
the hum of the soldiers, at their evening meal,
came over the waters to the ear of the lonely.
boatman. Far down the bay, to the left of the
Narrows, he could also see the twinkle of the
British camp, with a twinkle here and there on
the Staten Island side, for some of the English
troops still remained there.

He kept on his way, taking the center of the
bay as nearly as possible, as the route least
likely to be interrupted by the patrollin boats»

 

He began to flatter himself that he was a. t to U

escape altogether, when his quick ear caught.
the sound of oarsin their row—locks, and presently
he saw a six—oared pinnace making toward him,-
but at aconsiderabledistance. Bolan was the
only cue, so he pushed forward. .

“ What boat is that?” was sung out from the
bow of the pinnace. ,

“ It’s no difference to you, so long as ‘the
king’s cause prospers,’ " replied our hero, as
as a cucumber.

“ All right! Bound to, lads!" said the
Britisher; and, in a few moments, her six long

swae had carried the pinnace far away.
“ for a beginning," chuckled the young
man. “ What in the deuce would I have done

if I hadn’t met those fellows in the forest?”

Still cautious, he kept on his way. He was
now approaching the Narrows, and not far from
the point at which he had decided to land. This
was a small promontory, a short distance from
where you know turn in between Fort Lafayette
and the Long Island. beach. But he saw thk

romontory was occupied—a camp-fire was
gaining at its extremit -—and he was ob ’
to alter his plan. Quic at a trash

 

 

 

 

 

‘ countering and passing several more

10 Old Gotlieb. the Jolly Landlord.

 

when an old one failed, Joe kept on straight
through the Narrows, though the sea ran high,
and presently rounded into the little bay which
is formed between Coney Island and the main
shore of Long Island, just outside the present
Fort Lafayette. A landing here, he was confi-
dent, would bring him altogether in the rear of
the British position.

He soon made the desired landing, after en-
atrolling

' boats, and making his skiff secure in a ittle jun-

 

 

 

   
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  

\

V than heretofore.
« frontier, and was as familiar with woodcraft as

fle of reeds and stunted trees, proceeded cautious-
y inland, with his faculties strained to their ut-
most capacity.

A perfect solitude seemed to reign over the

. land. Fortunately for the spy, the nature of the
, country was broken and woody, with here and

there a salt marsh, covered with tall weeds,

g which also afforded an excellent concealment.

Joe had a clear head as well as a stout heart.
Whenever he concocted aplan, he did it systemat—
ically. He always had something to determine
first; and this he always satisfied himself u on
[micro proceeding to the next proposition. is
first desideratum in the present instance was
this: the British army countersign. This Was
indispensable, as a preliminary to the accomplish-
ment of his dangerous mission; and he racked
his brains to obtain a means to this end. At
length he decided that the only way was to steal
upon some sentinel, and lie in wait, in hopes
that some officer would come along, from whom
he could catch the precious words.

, Presently he heard the sing—song calls and re-
s of the enemy’s pickets, which apprised
h m that he must exercise even greater caution
He had been much on the

a born backwoodsman. Flinging himself down,
he proceeded on all fours toward the sentry
whose voice had sounded nearest. Fortunately.
he found in this soldier a stupid Hessian. osted
in a small opening in the thicket. e ap-
Emched as near as safety would permit, and

y in wait.

After a long hour of suspense, the ofiicer of
the guard again came round, and Joe had the in—

' finite satisfaction of hearing the countersign,
I i‘." Blenheim,” fall from his lips.

The next consideration was to be able to ap-
pearas a British soldier. This was more dim-

 onlt of accomplishment; for it was evident that

he must first obtain a uniform. There was,
therefore, something critical in the examine:
tion to which the unconscious sentry was sub-
jected by the spy. Evidently he was studying
the German’s figure to see if his clothes would he
0. 00d fit for a Yankee. Having satisfied him-
se f on this point, Joe unbuttoned his pen-

ket, and drew his shining hunting~knife from
ts sheath.

He returned it to his belt, however, and
paused thoughtfully. It was necessary for the
success of his plan that this man should die; and
yet the {01mg American hesitated. He could
not stri e a secret blow, 'in however noble a
cause—it was impossible. Nevertheless, he had
to make up his mind quickly, and this he did.

V “ I will snatch his musket away,” he thought,

 _ i; if he is noiseless, I will give himafair

 

 I That is the best team do”

 

a}

The sentry, who kept up his walk continually,
was, at the half of every round, with his back
to the trees. Noting his chance when the Hes-
sian’s back was turned, he glided from his
covert, and followed him as noiselesslyas his
own shadow. Just as the soldier turned in his
beat, he felt his musket torn from him, and,
wheeling suddenly in his tracks, beheld the
scout, with his hand upon his knife.

Before the sentry could utter a cry. the hand
of his enemy was upon his throat. The fellow
was a man of courage and presence of mind.
His musket gone, he was unarmed; but, he
grappled and fought hard. Wilder had met a
man who was more than his match in physical
power; but the knife, which he held in his grasp,
gave him the advantage. There was a fierce
struggle, and then the hireling fell back, dead,
without a groan.

Pale from the death-struggle, he drew the
lifeless body of the soldier far into the shadow
of the dense forest, and commenced to divest
him of his clothing and to attire himself in the
same. This task was soon completed, and, hav-
ing hidden the body securely and deftly beneath
a pile of old brushwood and brambles, he took
the fallen musket, and kept up the regular
round of the sentry, resolved to wait until a
change of guard. In less than an hour, the ofl‘i-
cer o the guard came around, and relieved him,
ordering him to camp.

Joe followed obodiently. The officer was
very talkative. which made discovery imminent,
for, although the disguised sentry answered as
few questions as possible, and then in the best of
his broken English, he was in great apprehen-
sion that the ofl'lcer would make a discovery.

At length, as they arrived at an exceedingly
lonely spot in the forest, and just as Joe made a
reply to some question of the officer, the latter
turned upon him suddenly, and glanced with
hawk-eyes into his face.

“ You’re a spy i” cried the officer, unsheathing
his sword. . .

“ I am,” said Wilder, desperately. and, quick
as lightning, he drew his dagger from its
sheath.

They closed, with a shock. and rolled ovor on
the ground together, the oflicer’s head striking
a. bowlder so heavily as to completely stun

him.‘

“ There’s but one way,” muttered Joe to him-
self, as he rose upon his knees. “ I. wish there
was another. but there isn’t.” He let drive
with his knife, and the Hessian captairkwas a
dead man.

Having rid himself of this enemy, our sp ’s
next care was to again make an alteration in is
costume. For, he rightly judged that, as an
officer, he would have much larger mar in for
action than" as a soldier. Sohe discarded his
own coat and hat for that of the dead German,

rooeeded on his way more confident than ever.
t seemed to him that he had waded lllS_Wfl.y 11]
blood to this point, so quickly successive had
been these adventures; but the thought of the
stake confirmed his courage and decision to ac-
complish all or die.
Without hesitation he approached the next
. sentry.

 

possessed himself of the sash and sword, and

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Old Gatlieb, the J: lly Landlord. ' 11 V

“ Who goes there?”

“ A friend.”

“ Approach and give the countersi .”

He went nearer, and whispered “ lenheim,”
which did not fail to satisfy the picket.

“ What do you see about here now?” inquired
the officer, in excessively broken English.

“Nutting pe’tic'lar,” said the Hessian, eying
him sharp y. “ De captain is accustomed to
speak to his own soldiers in de German lan-
guage,” he continued.

“ Dat ish true,” said Joe; “ but we’re English-
nliliagg, now; v’y not tries to learn do language,
e

“ I likes do ole coontry talk, jis’ de lame," re-
sponded the other.

“Ah, gootl Shust pe a Sharman as niooch as
ou blease. Vare Sheneral De Heister moved
is tent to, does you t’inks?”

“ V’y, it’s only von mile from here, in von

straidt line jis de vay you stand.”

“ V’ati so near as datl‘ Vol], I moos he go—
in’," andthe pseudo-officer sauntered off through
the woods.

One more sentry was encountered and got rid
of in the same way, when our hero found him-
self, to his great joy, in the vicinity of the tent
of the Hessian commander.

Thence he continued his progress, quite confi-
dent that the next tent would be that of General
Howe. In this he was correct. He soon came. in
the rear of a pavilionvwhosc size and ap arance
left him no room for doubt as to the 0 meter
of the occupant. A light also shone through
this tent, an he could hear low voices convers—
ing within, but a sturdy sentinel stalked up and
down in the interval between it and the wood in
which he lay concealed. Joe studied his man
carefully, and cautiously weighed the opposing
chances of success and defeat in his mind. He
finally came to the conclusion that the tent
must be approached and that the sentry must

die. Having arrived at this determination, he ‘

prepared to act upon it immediately. Looking
to his knife, he stole upon the guard as closely
as practicable and then rushed upon him out of
the darkness like a shadow.

It was a surprise for the Briton, quite com-
plete, and the scout had him by the throat be—
fore a word could be uttered. The musket of
the guard slipped from his hands, and rolled
harmlessly upon the grasa But the fellow
was brave as a lion, and fought desperately,
as his only chance. There was a silent, fierce,
deadly struggle, but it was brief enough, for
the knife di its fatal work quickly.

Hastin dragging the corpse into the woods,
be exchanged his heavy Hessian shako hat of
the sentry, as well as his coat, and then—
after concealing the body—hastened back, took
up the fallen musket, and began to play sentinel
with all his might. Scarcer had this change
been effected, when he heard a step behind him,
and wheeled nickly with presented gun, The
intruder was neral De Heister, on his way to

r General Howe’s tent. Now we must not forget
that Joe was unfamiliar with the counter-sign.
“Blenheim,” evidently was for the German
outposts, and not for the main camp. That
countersign he was yet to learn, and he went
at it lathe right way.

 

At first he felt a sharp, scorching pain, like a w

   
 

" Who goes there?"

“ A friend.”

“ Advance, and give the countersign.”

“ Blenheim."

Joe’s musket was at his shoulder, with the
hammer up, in an instant.

“ If you advance another step, you‘re a dead
man!” be exclaimed.

“Pshawl don’t you know me? I was only
trying your vigilance,” said the officer, with a.
very slight German accent. ” Here’s your
countersign.” And he thereupon whispered
“ Malmes‘bury.” ‘

“ Pass on 1“ said the sentry, in token of satis-
faction; yet not without a tremor in his voice,
for he did not know but that the general was
“ trying him " a second time. ‘

But De Heister evidently was satisfied With
his first experiment,, for he bowed, and passed
on. without another word.

The ofllcer entered the tent and Joe sli
up behind it. Carefully laying aside his mus ct,
he got into the trench. and peeped under the;
canvas. After some difficulty, he managed to
get a fair view of the inside; but, before he
did so, he had the satisfaction of hearing De
Hoister recounting, for the benefit of his fel-
low-officers, his adventure with their faithful
and vigilant sentry, besides hearing the com-
mander—in—chief say that he would see the
fellow duly honored in thamorning. ;

" There’s no use resisting fate," thought Joe.
“ 1 get promoted wherever I serve—the greater ‘
the danger the surer the honors.”

He saw three persons in the tent—two besides
De Heister. One of them he had seen before in
Boston. It was Sir Henry Clinton, the second
in command.

The other officer, whom the spy had never be-
fore seen, he rightly conjectured to be none
other than Sir William Howe.

These ofiicers were having an earnest conver-
sation upon their plans and pros ts. 1

He was not long in learning that the time do- -.
cided upon for the attack was the day after the

morrow—that is, at daylight on the morning of , ’- ' ’

the 27th of August. Having acquired this and
other information of vital importance, the scout ‘-
dared not tarry longer in his present position.
The day was beginning to break. ‘x

Leaving the tent and its occupants undis- >"
turbed, he proceeded toward the forest, resolved '
to make his way into the American lines as that v
as ssible. .‘

at with all Joe’s shrewdness, there was o‘n

thing which he had not calculated upon: while
he was so busily and— apparently—securely bot»
Lliug and corking up information from behind
General Rowe‘s pavilion, he had been wa V
And now. scarcely had he entered the wood, be.-
fore he found himself in an ambuscade of a _
dozen or more British sold iers, who suddenly ‘
arose around him with leveled mnskets, like so
many phantoms. There was but one chance of
escape, and that a slim one, but the desperate
man seized it. Springing back from thetimhsr.
he ran like a deer across the moonlighted open
space toward the marsh, which he knew to be
not many rods beyond the tent. Crack! crack!
went several guns, before he was a rod away.

 

 

 

 

12 . om Gotlleb, the Jolly handlers.

 

red-hot iron, graze his cheek. Then he felt a
 « colder, but more agonizing pain in his left shoul-
der, and he knew that he was badly wounded.
The next moment the entire ack were upon
him, with a about of triumph; ut he turned at
bay and fought with his bayonet like a fiend.
The foremost of his assailants went down from
the bullet with which his piece was charged, and
the next received his bayonet in his breast. But
the next moment he was overpowered, covered
with wounds, bleeding and prostrate at the very
door of General Howe's tent.

They dragged him within, before the officers,
and unceremoniously propped him up against
the center-post.

" A spy, general,” said a sergeant, the leader
of the party.

; 'v “ Where did you discover him?” inquired Gen-

i, oral Howe.

 . “ At the edge of the thicket, sir. We saw him

; looking under your tent, and listening to your

3 conversation. A moment after, just as he was

‘ making off, we grabbed him. He has fought
hard, but here he is.”

7 " Listenin at my tent! Is it possible?” ejacu-
lated the 0 061‘. “ What have you to say to
this, fellow?” he continued, turning sharply
upon Eoor Joe.

“ T e sergeant speaks the truth,” said the lat-
ter, as cool as a cucumber; for he was sensible

;. , anon h to perceive that the game was at last up.

; " ‘ “ ake the man to the guard-house," said Gen-

it" eral Howe, (fluietly. “ Guard him well. There

,; is no need 0 banging him before daylight.” '

 ,1 With these words ringing uncomfortably in

"‘ his ears, Joe was hustled off.

 

~ 7 Quayle.:wg-sxs‘nfxsfirgqflf .  ( 1.:

 

 

CHAPTER VI.
m BLUNDERBUSS SPEAKS.

ON the early morning of that luckless day for
.Joe Wilder, the glimmer of a night-lamp still
. shone in a. chamber of the mansion of Gilbert
Whipple. There was no need of its feeble flame,
,r for the day was bright without; but the occu-
‘ » ant of the room was fast asleep on a sofa, ob-
ivious of beam or shadow. He must have kept
late hours on the receding ni ht, for he had
not troubled himse f to cast off is clothing.

Upon a table in the center of the apartment,
were standing some decanters and tumblers—
; home of the latter broken; and there were other
evidences of a departed feast. Whipple must
V, have been enjoying himself with some friends.
The room itself was furnished with elegance—
even luxuriously.

At length a ne 0 domestic entered to wake
his master. ,xThe atter rolled to a sitting pos«
tur and sléepilifrubbed his eyes.

“ hat is it, ephl”-—short for Mephistoph;
eles— wlod the waker. “ What do you mean
‘ by Wu. ing me so early ?”

“ Dere‘s a gemman down-stairs. Been waitin’
‘ a long time~awful long time,” answered the

 

‘ “ antlemanl At this time in the morning?
Bah! Well, send him 11 , whoever he is.”

The servant vanish . In a few minutes the
door a ain opened, and our aquatic acquain-
tanooo the eaky boat made his appearance,
with a rueful countenance.

 

“ What brings you here?” exclaimed Whipple,
angrily. “ You can’t possibly have accom-
plished my mission by this time.”

“No; you see—«you see—the factis—"stam-
mered the other.

“ What! Do you mean to say you didn’t go?”
in a voice of thunder.

“Yes, that’s it, you see. But it wasn’t my
fault, captain. I hadn’t more’n fairly got to
sea when the all-firedest leak sprung in the
yaw] you ever see’d this side of a water-spout.

was fairly kivered in less’n a minute. The
way I had to make for the beach was a caution.
Then I come down to the quays and tried to
hire another craft; but the hour was late, and I
couldn‘t. Then I tried to steal one, and almost
got my scalp blowed oil? with a load of buck-
shot. So, at last, thinks I, I’ll jist go round to
Mr. Whipple’s and tell him the whole story.”

“But you should have taken precautions be-
fore,” growled Whipple. “ You told me you
had an excellent boat.”

“ There warn’t a better this side of Cape God,”
said the waterman, with retro ctive pride.
“She could beat any two-oared t ing that ever
swum the sea. But how on earth is anything
goin’ to sail with a hole cut in her bottom big
enough for you to ram your head through?"

“ Out! Who cut it?"

“ Wal, you see, that’s nose-work. But there’s
another chap—him that ives with ’his mother,
up at the skirt of the wood—as had a craft
moored near to mine; and I half believe he was
the scamp; for he was standin’ out in the stream,
provisioned for a long v’yage, jist as I left port,
and I thought I heard him snicker when I
sprung aleak. The hole was newly-cut, and
stuffed with grass, so as, jist as soon as I got
well out, the stufiln’ gave way, and the salt wa-
ter flew through higher’n a man’s head. Blast
him, if Iever get a grab on him, you’ll hear
'more blue murder squealed than you ever heard
this side of the brimstone-pit. I half-suspect,
besides, that the rascal overheard our conversa-
tion in the wood."

“ Impossible! His name?”

“ Joe Wilder. I thought you know’d him."

f‘ I should think I did," exclaimed the To .
“And you think it was be? You are probab y
right. It is another mark against the young
rascal.”

“So, you see,” exclaimed the luckless boat-
man, “Ithought I’d jist come round and get
further orders. For I s’pose considerin’ circum-
stances, we can’t run the gal oi! this night no-

ow.

“Yes, we will, by heaven! The risk is
greater, but it shall be done. Be sure to be on
hand at midni ht. Buy another boat if neces-
sary. Here is he money.”

Saying this, the Tory counted some money in-
to the boatman’s hand.

“ Now, remember! Do not fail me!” was his
parting injunction. .

“Never fear, Mr. Whip 1e. I’m spnngy as
hickory, and as true as stee ,"’ and the man want
his way, still mutterin ven sauce on that “.m-
fernal scamp” who scu ed, " the POOtleSt
craft this side of Cape Cod."

Left alone, the Tory the room for some
moments in profoun meditation. He was

 

,IW’,

 

 

 

 

 

 

Old Gotlieb, the Jolly Landlord. r 18 

 

aroused by the sound of a clear voice singing,
across the way, and heard old Van Snooze tak-
ing down the shutters from the windows of the
Golden Shark. He knew the sweet voice to be
Katrina’s, and stepping to the window, threw
open the blinds to gaze without.

Katrina was standing on the tavern-steps, her
face rosy and beautiful, in the fresh morningair.
Then, mending his toilette, he descended to his
morning meal, at the summons of Mephisto—
pheles, read the day’s bulletin, smoked a cigar,
'and then sauntered over to the Golden Shark,
where his horse was kept.

He met the host at the door, and could not
help noticing that there was a change in his dc-
meanor. It was no longer the obsequious salu-
tation of “Good—morning, Mr. Vipple,” but
merely a surly straightening up of the head.
Nevertheless, the Tory fancied he could aflt‘ord
to despise the moods of Old Gotlieb. and, per-

ceiving Katrina in the bar—room, he entered,

under; usual, ordered the old man to have his
horse ot ready.

Go ieh t a suspicious glance at him as he
left the r , but said nothing. No sooner had
Gotlieb dleiparted than he drew the shrinking
form of atrina to him and gave hera kiss.
The maiden again struggled away from him,
and the cavalier received a sound box on the
ear for his pains. v

“ Don’t be a prude my little friend!” he ex-

claimed, angrily. “ JYou may'learn to treat me

more civilly, by-and-by." .

“She’s one lady, Mr.Vipple," said Old Gotlieb,
entering the rooni—for he had not gone to the
stable, but had heard and seen what had passed.

“ She’s not a prude, Mr. Vipple, but von inno-
cent child. V’at for on makes so, eh? V’ot
you t’ink, v’en you ma es belief you vants me to
get your horse, dat you may snatch von kiss
from mine leetle irl.’

“ Pooh i” said hipple; “ is a kiss more or less,

’ articularly from one as old as I, going to harm
trinal"

“ New," exclaimed the old man, angrily.
“ But v’at you makes? dat’s v’at I vant to know:
v’ot for you makes belief to my Katrina, eh 2”

“ Have a care what you say, you old tool,"
said the Tory, haughtily. “ The girl should be
groudfo havo a gentleman salute her, as I have

one. -

“ Look you, Mr. Vipple, I vants to show you
iomething," said the old man, more quietly than

el‘ore.

With that he took down the old blunderbuss
from the wall and carefully examined the prim-
mg.

“ Oh father! what are you going to do?” ex-
claimed Katrina, surprised and terrified.

“ Nutting to hurt any von, my child. I jist
'vants to show de shentlemen somedings. Oblige
me. Mr, Vipple, by stepping to dis vindow for
van moment,”  Gotlxeb, addressing his last
sentence to the Viewer. ,

The latter, with a smile at the cumbrous weap-
on, complied With the request, when Gotlieb
gomted through the open Window to a plain

, fence at the back of the‘yard, at twenty
or thirty steps from their posmon.

“ You sees dat leetleiplack spot in de middle
of do tones, Mr. Vipple "

 

“ Yes,” said the Tory, still eying the wide-
mouthed blunderbuss with humorous scorn.

“ Veil, jist you vatch him vou moment,” said ,
Gotlieb, using both hands to draw back‘ the
rusty hammer of the weapon, and bringing the
butt to his shoulder with a martial air.

Down came the hammer, and hang went the ~
crazy weapon, almost knocking the stout mark} ‘
man off his pins by the vigor of its recoil. The
sourd of the bullets striking the fense somewhat
resembled the emptying of a carload of coarse
gravel down a coarse sieve. When the smoke
cleared away, the fence appeared as if perforat-
ed by a cannon—load ef grapeshot. ’

“ How many slugs were there in that blunder-
buss?” exclaimed Whipple in astonishment. ' ,
“ Von quart, prczactly, ’ was the cool rejoin-
der of the the landlord of the Golden Shark; and
he proceeded to reload the piece. “I jist vant—
ed to show you, Mr. Vi pple,v’ot de ole gun could .
do, you know. I keeps her onder mine pillow,  ‘
ever ni rht. I vish you vou very g}ood~morm - -’

ing, r. ipple. And 1 beliefs I dontvant to -

keep fiour horse any more times. Good-morn—
ing, r. V ipplc," continued Gotlieb; and the
gentleman lett the room, as he was reqmsted, .

Then Gotlieb finished reloading his gun, and
returned it to its place on the wall; after which
he walked calmly to the door, and exhibited '
himself on the stoop, very complacently; for he .
was well satisfied with himself. ' '

As for little Katrina, she sat down in a corner
and 'shed a few tears, no doubt thinking thatthe,
Risof a landlord’s daughter was a very miner?
a cone.

 

  
 
    
 
     
  
 
    
     
  
  
   
   
   
  
  
   
   
 
   
     
    
   
  
   
   

 

CHAPTER VII.
GUY MADDEN’S MISSION.

THERE is still another episode in the drift of
our mainstay, of which it is necessary to treat
before resuming the unraveling of Joe Wilderfs
fate, and that e isode is occasioned by the viszt
of the gay Guy adden to New York.

The naval officer had another object than
more good fellowship for his Tory friend when
he accompanied the latter in his return from the
princely mansion of Delaney to the southern ex.
tremity of the island. He was within the Ameri-
can lines for a purpose similar to that which
brough luckiess Joe, Wilder into those of the A
British. 1

In furtherance of his scheme, the (>an 0E1-
cer, after having passed the night at s, -'

deft his host in the deep slumber wherein we ,
found him in our last chapter, and wan .
through the streets of the town which he was en-
shied to do in safety, under the disguise
he now wore. Nevertheless, his mission was not
unattended by danger. '

It was a marketday, and young Madden
strayed through the throngs, listening inn care-
less way to all conversations touching on the
war, and now and then joining in where he
could do so without exciting suspicion. 'He 
moved along State street, and looked With some
curiosity at the building used as the Amman
head-quarters. The desire to enter was strong,
but prudence forbade. As he stood sur -
the building, an officer threw open oneo the
u per windows, and out uponthe buy.

on never before seen this smear. but

   

 

 

 

 

'14 1 Old Gotlieh, the Jolly Landlord. .

 

he unconscioqu put his hand to his cap and

V saluted him wit profound respect. The salute
was acknowledged and returned with equal

r politeness.

‘ “My friend,” said Madden to a soldier, who
was strolling past him, “ will you be kind enough
to tell me the name of the oflicer who appeared
at that Window a moment ago?”

'l‘he oldier looked at his interrogator in sur—
prise.

“ You must have come from far, not to know

thet‘oificer,” said he. _. '
“ “ I he ve just come from far in the interior,”
returned Madden. “ I was struck with the noble
appearance of the officer in question, and am
curious to know his name.”

“ The person you inquire of is General George
Washington,” replied the soldier, passing down
the street, as he spoke.

, Having obtained all the intelligence he could
by frequenting the taverns and markets, and
ossi ing when he obtained a chance, Madden
oun himself about noon in the vicinity of the
Golden Shark Tavern, and entered the tap—room
to procure refreshment.

r > ‘ What a. different men from Mr. Whip la is
“ this lite gentleman,” thought little Ks tine.
as s 6 served the stranger with the beer and
cheese which he had ordered.

Old Gotlieb was sitting in his easy-chair, look-
ing exceedingly complacent und hep y— for
hardly an hour had elapsed since he he given

I ' (illbert Whipple the specimen of his marksman-

,5 'P-
' “Have you (fly fresh war news this morning,

- friend?” asked edden.

The manner of the stronger was insinuating
and pleasant, and Goblieb condescended to be

’loquacious. After he had talked with Madden
for about ten minutes, it seemed to him as if he
had been pumped completely dry.

“ You have a handsome sign for your tavern,”
said Madden, when it became tolerably evident
that Gotlieb 5 stock of information was com-
pletely exhausted. “ Might I inquire if there is
any legend connected with the origin or your
emblem?”

"‘ A very wonderful story,” said the landlord,
eying the gilded monster of the sign-post with

, is pleased complacency.

‘ - ‘ 0h, tether, do tel it to the gentleman,” said

-K:,c’trina. “ I am sure he will be pleased to hear

, “ I shall be most happy to hear the legend“?
_ said Madden, smiling. ‘ Suppose we have some
. , more beer, to make the thing more social.”
' So Katrine brought them some more beer,
and, when she had resumed her seat, her father
; commenced
THE LEGEND or run GOLDEN SHARK.

 ,"In de virst blece,” said he, “ I vill call,your
attention to de sblendid goon vich you see sus-
;bended from the vall. Dat ploonderpuss ish
ysweihoondred years olt. She pelonged to mine
,foretader, who was an admire] in de Dootch navy
I and vans a very gout man. He vas, likevise, a
'very prove men, indeed. He pought dat ploon-
derpuss in Amsterdam, ven he ves a youn fel-
i‘er shouldered her and to ht prever or de
3 _ «010mm. Aflefldfis,

 

you he vent into

der navy, .1155 von hast midshipman, he dook’
his goon nut him and always kept her oonder
his piller, ven he had von, and oonder his
pare head ven he didn’t got no piller. Veil, he
vos such a goot man, and such a prave teller,
(lull (lay makes him von admiral, and he veers a.
great teal of gold on his hat and coat, and takes
von coatof—arms, vich vas very mine, only he
didn’t know v’at vas de pest t’ing to put on it.
So he says: ‘Vait till I do something prave on
do see, and den I vill put on de coat-of—orms.’
So, you day, ven he vas mil; his ship on von
long voyage, avay off in der Bucific Ocean, :1
teller in de stern sung out: ‘Mine Got, ad-
miral, come and see v‘at a shark dere is oonder
de sternl’ So, do admiral he runs out dere, and
shoost so soon as he gets dere, de feller v'et
sung out, he tumples over de board; and der
admiral he sees von enormous shark, just de
color of gold, vich immediately swallers u der
teller, like von piece of pork and ens. ‘ ow-
er der poatl” cries der admire; ‘lower der
poet, and fight mit der shark!’ So, you whole
lot of men and poys shumps in der post and
rows out to der shark, vich jist rolls over on
der back and swallers der whole compoodle,
vithout so much as having der stomache—ache.
Den der admiral, in you great re 8, pulls off
mit his coat and his shees, an grabs his
sword mit his test, and joomps overboard. Der
shark makes at him, but he swims around so
sbry, dat de pesst couldn’t‘pite him von pit;
ven at last he sees his shnnce, und dives oonder
der shark, and, mit von plow, rips open der
shark’s pelly, so dat der poet and der first feller
all tumples out in to der veter alive and kickin’.
But, you see, day all tumples out oopSIde
down. peaceuse der shark had swallered dem
by turning on his pack, and der admiral, he
lets ’em out by ripping open (is beast’s stomach.
Vell, dey all gets on poard der ship once more,
but der yeller shark, he goes down to der pot-
tom. Den der admiral, he swears von pig out,
and he says: ‘ Py my life, I vill put der gold-
en shark on my scootchen, ven l gets home
vonce more!’ And so he did. And dere’s vere
mine shark and mine ploonderpuss comes from.
CIllerbsstgry is all true, every word of it, mitout
on I '

“ Ho would be incredulous, indeed, who
would doubt it!” cried the stranger, laughing
merrily at the recital. the old man’s solemn
manner in telling it adding considers.ny to its
humor. ,

A soldier now entered the tap-room and called
for some beer. Madden was surprised and 1m—
eesy to recognize in him the same man whom he
had questioned in regard to General Washing-
ton. Hls uneasiness was not diminished when
he remarked that the soldier was studying him
very closely, nor when the former, after paying
for his beer, immediately departed with a. hasty
step. '_
As soon as he was gone, Madden turned to
the landlord and asked, in a pretended careless
tone of voice, it he had horses for sale. Re-
ceiving a. reply in the afllmmtlve, he requested
to be shown to the stables, which was done forth-
with. ‘ ,

“ How much is mutant—the money to be

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 
  

 

 

 

 

   

 
   

‘ severe but

 

 

one Gotlieb. the swimmers. 1' 15'

 

paid in golden guineas?" he asked, singling out
the best animal from amonga. half-dozen.

“ Forty guineas,” said Gotlieb, driving a. hard
bar ain, for the horse was dear at twenty.

“ will take him,” said Madden. “What is
the price of this saddle, and other gear?”

“ Ten gnineas,” said Gotlieb.

“Have the beast saddled immediately, and
here is your money.” »

The hosiler came, and, in a few moments, the
sailor was mounted, and riding up Broadway at
a. careless pace. VH5 felts strong inclination to set
01? at the utmost speed, but thought it best to be
governed by rudence.

“ Pshawl ’ e muttered, upon perceivin that
he was not pursued; “ I might have spare time
to go over the way to Whip le’s stables after the
steed that brought me from elaney’s last night.

'No i might not!” he continued, for now, upon

loohing back, be perceived a squad of a. dozen
or soot American troopers issuing from State
street into Broadway. ,

H e still, however, kept a tolerable pace,
until, convinced that he was to be pursued, he
struck his spurs deep, and drove along at awild

allop.

The road to Harlem at that period—or, at
least, one of the roads to that point—branched
01! from Broadway in a northeasterly direction,
commencing at Canal street and turning into
the present Third avenue, when it was a pretty
straight stretch all the way to Harlem.

The Briton pressed his steed into this turn at
a mad gallop, throwing a glance behind as he
did so, and thereby judging that the intervalbe—
tween him "and his pursuers could be little more
than a quarter of a mile.

“ I am fortunate in my horse, at least,”
thought Madden.

But the men behind him evidently were as
well mounted as he, and he pressed his beast
forward to the utmost.

As he wheeled into the straight road (now
Third avenue), one of his pursuers discharged a
carbine. The young oflicer laughed defiance as
he heard the slug whistle far above his head.
But the report of that 11 had more meaning
than to wing a bullet. t was fired to attract
the attention of three cavalrymen riding a
short distance in front .of the hunted man.
Madden soon was alarmed to perceivevthat their
attention was arrested.

In fact, they turned, and stood abreast across
the road, to bar his way.

The young Briton was brave and hard , and
was- not unarmed. Clutching his piste with
his left hand and a concealed han er, or short
sword, with his right, he droppae the rein on
his courser’s neck guiding him y the pressure
of his knees as well as he could, and resolved to
sell his life as dearly as possible.

They awmtedhim With drawn sabers, but his
rush was irresistible. One of the Americans
was unhorsed by the shock, another fell beneath
the unerrin bullet of his pistol, and, after a
rief hand-to—hand, fight, the third
was disabled in the sword—arm, and called for

quarter.

“ Take it!” cried Guy Madden, and he again
sped on his way»bleeding from a slight wound
which he had received in the temple.

, , \

._/

 

 

 

, blind bow with his hanger. But a dam:

The necessary speed was maintained until the
church-spire of the village of Harlem came in
si ht. r

he purming troopers now commenced firing I
as they rode, and the range was short. Twice -
did Madden feel that stinging, mortal anguish
—never to be forgotten when once experienced
—which tells the sufferer that he is heavier than
before by half an ounce of lead. But they were
not mortal wounds, and the fugitive pressed
forward without a cry.

“ If I can reach the river, the cold plunge will
revive the brute, at least enoughtoswim me
over, when I have a fair chanoeto reach De—
laney’s for a hiding-place.” , .

These were the forlornly hopeful reflections
of the midshipman, as be swept into the by-
road, which turned a little to the left—leaving
tho village on the rightwand which he knew ’
would strike the Harlem River, nearlylopposite
Delaney’s, where a rift in the big ground
would permit him to reach the water.

The mericans were close behind. They had'
ceased flrin , and now pressed forward with
confidence, or they had marked theblood of
their flying victim in the white dust of the
road. -

But, he was strong with the hope of youth,

and had plenty of vigor in him yet. When 5

about a rod from the water’s edge, however, his
horse sta gered blindly, and seemed on the
point of ailing. Madden put his lips to the
animal’s ear, and spoke in trembling tonei‘to
him. The noble creature uttered a shrill neigh
of unconquerable pluck, and pressed forward.
The river was reached, and in they plun ed
with a great splash. The cold element refres ,
the steed amazingly, and he struck out for the ,
opposite shore, with the vim of a stro ‘
swimmer. _  _
Madden heard his pumuers dash in after him, ,
but did not turn’his head. I .
“The splash will, at least, dampen their in»: 
femal carbines,” he muttered to himself. . " ,_,
It was a novel and exciting scene, this time , .
for life upon the broad river“, The troopers?
steeds evidentliy understood aquatics also, and 7 ‘
pushed for-war ambitiously. , ‘ .'
The shore, on the northern side, as wanna:
already described it, was rocky and  ,
cipitous. There was, however, one place w are '
the steep bank did not sheer into the waves, but
resented at its feet a little cove of yellow sand,
rely a dozen yards broad. This was a poor
landing, but the best. , 
Madden guided‘his steed toward it, and after ’
very hard swimming, gained it. His horde
reached the hard sand, staggered up the beach-
a few paces, and fell down dead. Throwing

one glance otprofound admiration u the _

creature which had borne him so no ly, the
young man sprung into the forest and began to
climb the steep bank, though very faint from >
loss of blood, and snflering many pangs from ,
his wounds. ' ' -
But the troopers were at his very heels; inhis ,

their, pantisntgmbfi‘eattlh. b3 t m
COWBOUSI a med‘ at yamoxta_
doorkste of the mansion, and struck outwild, w

  

    

  

5.1%,},

.fl j. 

9': “are: 4:;

.. .515.“st 3 (514‘s. when?“

,. j ’¥y’<.‘f>§.~' a“

 

 

 

16 Old Gotlieb, the Jolly Landlord. '

 

swords were against him, and he fell in the
midst of his toes, covered with wounds.

The house was by this time aroused, and
Delaney stood on the stoop with his guests. Then
they all were startled by a piercing shriek, and
the form of the lady, whom we have mentioned as
Miss Wainwright, rushed wildly to the side of
the dying man.

“Guyl Guy! you are not dying? Speak to
me! speak to me, Guyl” she exclaimed in
a onizing accents, as she drooped above her
b ceding friends

Madden assed his feeble hand across his eyes.
and partia yraised himself by the support of
her arm. ,

“Helen! Helen!” he gasped huskily; “my
own Helenl tell me that you love me, for my

‘ ’ time is brief i”

"Idol I do, with all my heart, Guy! Oh,

' God. he is dying!”

The young man put up his lips feebly, and
she stooped and kissed them with passionate
fervor; the head of the sufferer dropped back,
and Guy Madden was no more.

CHAPTER VIII.
THE FLAG OF TRUOE.

THERE were few earlier risers in Gotham, in
the year 1776, than General Washington. On
the same morning on which Gilbert Whipple
had been convinced of the destructive efiiciency
of the Golden Shark’s blunderbuss, the com-
mander-iu-chief was pacing the floor of that
chamber in which Joe Wilder made ‘his per-
sonal acquaintance. Every now and then he
would glance out of the window across the bay:
and to those who were familiar with the usual

/ composure which characterized his department,

the general, upon this morning, might have ap-
redatrifle anxious and out of sorts. The
is, it was time to hear something of Joe.
Not a doubt of the sincerity of the spy crossed
the general’s mind.
But his patience being nearly exhausted,

. he prepared to cross over to Sullivan’s head-

quarters in hopes of hearing something which
would re ieve him of his anxiety.

General Sullivan was encamped, with a strong
force, at Brooklyn, within earth works, a few
miles from Utrecht. From the eastern side at
the Narrows extends a ridge of hills for about
six miles, covered with a thick wood, and ter—
minating near Jamaica. Through these hills are
only three passes: one near the Narrows, a. sec-

’ ' and on the Flatbush road, and a. third called the

Bedford road, running across from Bedford to
Elgtbush, which lies on the southern side of the
ri go.

At the moment of which we write, the Amer-
cau army—about twen thousand strong—was
in daoiily expectation 0 an attack. Its camp
form a vast crescent, with the bulge of the
horn oonfrontin the enemy.

As General ashington rode through the

\ - lines of the vigilant'troo 3, cheer after cheer of

hearty welcome him; but he galloped

f rapidly, attend ,by a single member of his

w , and maden‘opause until the tent of Gen-
oral ullivsn was reached.
Genera

l-Slfllivan was not within. Only a,

' welcomed the oozpmandwin-chief as ,

 

fit his country’s cause.
R

he entered. Washington had scarcely drawn
of! his gloves before Sullivan entered.

A few words upon the situation of affairs, and
the superior inquired if the scout had appeared.

“ I am afraid he is taken,” he muttered, upon
receiving an answer in the negative; and he
took up that reflective, pensive pace of the
apartment which was customary with him upon
being harassed with thought.

General Sullivan could give little encourage-

'ment to less gloomy conjectures, for he himself

felt that the capture of the scout was more than
probable.

There were some moments of profound silence
——only broken b the regular footfalls of the
commander in-c ief as he continued his restless
pacing. Sullivan was not willing to break in
upon the generel’s thoughts, and therefore fell
to studying some charts upon the table, with
the officer of his stafl’.

In a few moments, however, an orderly en-
tered the tent, and said something to the gene—
ral in a low tone. {l‘he latter, thereupon, imme-
diately got up and spoke to his superior.

“ A deserter has just arrived in our lines,
general. Shall I have him brought in here?”

“ Yes," said General Washington. “ We may
be able to learn something of our scout,” he
added, after a pause, tben resuming his walk.

General Washington took a seat and eyed the
man closely as he entered. The deserter had
entered the tent with much confidence of do-
meanor; but, his eyes unconsciously fell when
they confronted the calm dignity of the Ameri~
can commander. The fatigue dress of the British
regulation, in which the deserter was attired,
was somewhat ragged and stained. He had a
large scar on his cheek, and was otherwise rather
on repossessing upon a first acquaintance.

he general's anxiety upon young Wilder’s
account prompted his first question to the de-
serter.

“ I am told that you bring us information,”
said he. 4 “ Tell me, first, if any one was cap-
tured within your lines, last night or early this
morning?" ‘

“ Yes. sir.”

“ Who was it?" ,

“ A spy, who gave his name as Joseph Wilder. "

The general put up his hand to his brow, as
it upon a careless impulse; but General Sulli-
van, who was sitting at his side, saw that the
hand was raised to conceal a momentary ex-
pression of pain.

“ What is to be done with the spy?” resumed
the eneral.

“ no will be hung at the boom of the sunset

un.
g “ When taken, did he reveal anything further
than his name!”

“ No, sir. He was taken while listening to a
council-of-war, which was going on in General
Howe’s tent. He boldly acknowledged that he
was a spy,when he saw that there was no use in
denying, it and gave his name; but General Howe
threatened to hang him at noon, instead of at
sunset, unless he told who sent him and the nav
ture of his mission. and the fellow laughed in
his faces—merely saying that he would sooner
die at noon than any other timed! it would bene-

.

 

 

 

 

 

 

. scout’s capture, let me have them.

 

Old. Gotlieb, the Jolly Landlord.

1"

 

“ Noble fellow!”

Again General Washington’s broad hand went
Up before his face in that seemingly careless
way. and again there was a moment of silence.

“ You seem to be well posted about this af—
fair,forainere private,” resumed the comman-
der, fixing a keen gaze upon the deserter’s face.

" l was not a private, sir,” was the reply;
“ but an orderly to General Clinton. You can
See where the chevron was sewed on my sleeve,”
he continued, pointing to the sleeve of his coat.
“ I out off the emblems before I started to desert
to your lines.”

“ You appear to be truthful thus far, at least.
If you are informed of all the details of the
It seems,
that he succeeded in stealing through your lines
to General Howe's tent?”

“Stealing through them!” exclaimed the de-
serter, with the emphasis with which we admire
a desperate deed. “Steal through them!” be
repeated. “ Why, by Heaven, sir, I would al-
most say that he waded through blood to the
commander's pavilion. He literally hewed his
way to the heart of the army. It was a glori—
ous deed, if I say it myself 1” '

Washington resumed his former thoughtful
walk, for he was sorely troubled at the impend—
ing fate of the brave man, who had almost won
his promised commission by such matchless
valor. There seemed to be little hope that he
could be saved. At length, the general paused
suddenly, and threw a; keen glance at the de-
serter. He then resumed his seat, and again
the man’s eyes fell, for there was suspicion in
the general’s gaze. _

“ I wish to ask a few more questions of you,”
said the commander. “ In the first place, why
do you desert to our lines? I perceive that you
are a born Briton.”

The man seemed somewhat confused; but an-
swered quite readily:

“ Yes, sir I am an Englishman, but—the fact
is, I’m tired of things over there. They don’t
trsat’me right; and thought I would try your
51 e.

“ I do not like deserters, in any garb,” said
the general, uietly. “ You must give a better
reason than t t for your defection.”

The man was more confused than before. He
felt the eneralls eyes upon him, and they
seemed to urn like fire.

“ I don’t know of any better reason,” he stam-
mere‘d. “ Seems to me that’s a good enough

“No, it is not,” exclaimed the general, his

voice rismg shriller and sharper as he spoke.
“ You keep your hand over our left—hand
pocket more than is natural. Tghat have you
got there? You have a paper. Let me see it. ’7
I “II haven’t any paper,” said the other, sul-
en .
The commander coolly put his hand in the
“ deserter’s ” pocket, and drew forth a. scrap of
paper. upon which was written—and the ink
was not old:

“ Pass Private Grimbsby (the bearer).
“(Signed), HENRY CLINTON,
“General Commanding.

. "3! Guam: Wm, A. A. G."

 

“When was this pass given you?" questioned
the eneral, in a stern veice.

“ ester-day morning.”

“You lie, sir.”

The deserter shrunk back and trembled visi-

X You received this pass this morning,” con-
tinued the Chieftain. ‘ You are a spy, sent into
our lines by Sir Henry Clinton.”

The “ descrter ” flung himself on his knees.
His confidence and hardihood melted like snow

before the mighty will by which he wm con— "

fronted, and he made a confession of the truth.

General Washington turned to General Sulli-
van, and said:

“ General, you will be kind enough to put-this
man under guard and have made the necessary
preparations to ang him at the boom of the
sunset gun, unless Private Wilder, now in the
hands of the enemy, shall have his sentence re-

voked. In the mean time, dispatch a. flag of _

truce to General Howe, with a message to this
effect. I will wait here for the answer. '
oner, follow your guard."

And the spy was, forthwith, conducted away,

CHAPTER IX.
JOE PROMOTED. ,
11' soon became noised through the American

 

camp that a spy was to be hung at sunset, and'

the few loungers of the busy camp were soon
gathered about the tree which was undergoing a
conversion into a gallows; and speculation was
everywhere busy with the prisoner.

Meantime, the flag of truce had been duly
sent to the British camp—- which was but a few
miles distant—and General Washington was
anxiously awaiting the result in General Sulli—
van’s tent.

Not quite two hours had elapsed when the flag
of truce returned with a notification that the
Yankee scout would meet his fate at sunset, in
spite of whatever retaliation the American com-
mander might see fit to institute. Accompany-
ing this intelligence, was a brief note i from

Pris- ’

General Howe, informing General Washington 

that it was not so much the fact of Wilder be'
a spy, as it was the bloody career, which
led him into the British lines, for which he was

condemned to death. The note then briefl ro- , "

cited the number of Joe’s victims, and c osed.

with a protest against retaliation upon the Brit-
is y.
wor

renewing his threat of re ’ation; and

then returned to New York—first promising to I

return before sundown; for he was determined

to witness the execution in case J oe’s fate was v

not averted. ,

The throngs continued to increase about the
scaffold as the hour drew nigh. tly there
was another burn through the crowd, and, short;
1y afterward the commanding figure of the
general-in-chief, attended by numerous stair-
officers appeared upon the scene slowly riding

throu h the throng to a little eminence.“ ' I 1.

Lord terling’s position.
Shortly afterward the beat of the muffled drum
was again heard. It was from the guard who

was escorting the prisoner to the soaflold. 'HQ’
walked bareheaded in the square which they. -

reschsdthe

firmed around him. When they
i \

 

General Washington mere] sent back ’

   
   
      

 

.. .u..,.sn......4~.,..l an“;

“in; m...

‘2;
y,

 

 

 

;.
I‘

 

 

. trembled as
w dismounted by the side of the unconscious scout.

 

13 01a Gotneb, the ion,- Landlord.

 

foot of the scaflold, the soldiers filed off and
stood on each side of the steps, with theirmuskets
at “present arms.” The risoner was attendedby
Captain Harker, of the bird Virginia Riflemen,
and also by the chaplain of the same regiment.
He declined their assistance, and mounted the
scaffold unaided, with a firm, dignified step.

The Briton took his position on the platform
with folded arms. He saw the executioner go
beneath, in order to be ready with the bolt
which upheld the trap-door, but be exhibited
no sign of emotion. Upon being asked if he had
any thing to say, he simply shook his head and
was silent.

At length the signal came—the long, deep
boom of the sunset un, and there was a. stir
through the crowd. The prisoner started at the
sound of the signal, but he quickly recovered his
composure,and remained as implacable as before.

Captain Harker and the chaplain stepped for—
ward and conducted him upon the fatal trap.
The white cap was placed upon his head, dram
over his eyes, his arms inioned, and the noose
quickly adjusted about is throat. The execu-
tioner—a man obtained from one of the Connecti-
cut reglments in a choice by lot—stood ready be-
neath. In another instant Captain Harker
would have given the signal; but now a horse-

' man was seen galloping toward them, shouting

vociferously and waving a white handkerchief;
and a sign from General Sullivan caused the
fatal signal to be deferred.

Greatexcitement was manifested by the assem-
bly as the rider made his way through their midst
to General Washington.

“ What is it?" asked the latter, in hasty tones,
for he symathized with the dreadful suspense of
the delay upon the mind of the prisoner.

“ Wilder is saved,” gasped the horseman. “ He
has just escaped into our lines, general."

, In a moment Washington ordered the prison-
er to be returned to prison, there to await fur-

' ther orders.

The spy received this intelli ence with as much
bravery and composure as 9 had confronted
death. He was conducted from the scaffold,

V and passed away in silence.

But the crowd did not disperse immediatly,

‘ for a group was observed approaching, support-

ing the form of the young patriot, Joe Wilder.
A long, wild, joyous shout, in which even the
general officers heartily joined, greeted the
return of the valiant scout. Joe was hardly
recognizable. His clothes were in tatters, an ,
in many places, red and dark with the blood
from his many wounds. His face was emaciated
andes white as snow. His left arm was in a
sling; and he ' .mped painfully as he quitted the
support of his companions and staggered toward
the commander-in-chief. But his strength
failed him, and he swooned quite away, pros—
trate, at the white charger’s feet.
General Washington hastil dismounted, and
caught the r ellow b t 6 hand. His lip
Edid so. eneral Sullivan also
“General,”, said the commander-inchief,
“have the brave fellow token to your own tent.

.And Doctor Whittaker "—turning to the chief

surgeon—“ ray accompany them and attend to
his wounds been.” ,,

 

These orders were promptl obeyed. Joe was
carefull lifted and convey to the comfortable
tent of eneral Sullivan, where he was soon re-
stored to comparative ease, and his wounds-
none of them Very serious—skillfully attended
to by the surgeongeneml.

As the scout was borne through the throngs
of soldiers, cheer upon cheer arose around him;
for the story of his desperate adventures had
by this time been made known to the entire
army.

About nine o’clock of that evening, Joe awoke
from a refreshing slumber. Shortly afterward

Generals Washington and Sullivan were by his -

side, and as he told them the result of the con-
ference in General Howe’s tent, he had the
satisfaction to perceive, by the eager attention
which it excited the vital importance of that
{ntformation which had so nearly cost him his
1 e.

“ Now, rest again, my brave fellow,” said the
commander-in-chief, when the brief recital was
finished. “We have already heard of your
wonderful adventures and your splendid cour-
age. The whole army thanks you for it.” ‘

“But my commission, general, have I won
my commission?" asked the young man, eager,
even in his suffering, for the rize.

“Fairly, noblyi” was t e hearty reply.
“Your information is of incalculable value.

You shall be upon my own staff, with the rank,

of captain. I will do more. I will recommend
you to Congress for a brevet-major."

Too happy to speak, Joe pressed the hand of
the generous Chieftain, and was silent for some
moments. ,

Then, sudden] recollecting the danger in
which his belov Katrina was left, he started
up in aflright, and would have risen from the
couch, had he not been restrained. He hastily
recounted what was overheard in the wood, be-
tween Whipple and his mission.

A dark shade passed over the general’s be-
nevolent face as he obtained this convincin
proof of the treachery of a man whom he hag
long suspected. Assuring the . anxious lover
that the plot should be duly frustrated, he left
the tent, accompanied by Sullivan; and Joe,
left alone, and much easier in his mind, again
fell into a quiet slumber.

CHAPTER X. ‘
How JOE DID IT.

Jon: WIme was ready with his 11, and it
was his custom to keep a regular iary of his
adventures throughout the war. In that diary
we find a very interesting and detailed account
of his escape from the hands of the British; and,
as we must, sooner or later, satisfy the curious
reader upon that point, we might as well tell it
at once, and in Joe’s own language.

“At first I despaired completely (sa s be in
his journal), when found In self woun ed and
in the enemy's hands. But resolved to ‘die

game,’ since die I must, and therefore put as
cheerful a face upon the affair as the exceeding-
ly doleful circumstances would allow.

‘ The prison to which [was conveyed consist-
ed of a small, one-storied, one-roamed stone
house, not far from the bay, which had evident~
1y been used originally as smile-house. Since

 

g
e.

 

l
3,
)

 

Old Gotlieb, the Jolly Landlord.

   

 

the British had crossed from Staten Island, the
commander had had the door of this building
strengthened and supplied with heavy bolts,
and the single window barred with iron~intend~
ingto use it as an extraordinary guard-house
on special occasions. I was not its first occu-
pant, however. For there were numerous char-
coal inscriptions and drawings upon the wall,
which must have been the work of some pre-
vious prisoner. I remember that one of these
inscriptions appeared to be in some dead lan-
guage—Latin, I suppose. The drawings, too,
as far as I can judge, were not devoid of a cer-
tain merit. I fancy the prisoner must have been
of some rank—~or, perhaps, some poor devil of a
scholar, who had been impressed in England,
and had endeavored to run off as soon as he
reached this side. At any rate, the place was
desolate enough. There was not a vestige of
furniture in the apartment—simply a miserable
heap of straw, for a bed, in one corner, on
earthen jug, and a tin plate, with a rusty knife.
They took all my weapons away from me be-
fore they thrust me into the dungeon. Then a
young surgeon came and dressed my wounds—
not caringa farthing how much he hurt me—
and I was left alone to reflections gloomy enough,
I can assure you.

“Knowing that it could not belong before
the bodies of the men I had slain would be dis-
covered, I had not a. particle of doubt that Gen-
eral Howe’s promise to hang me some time dur-
ing the day would be piously fulfilled. Then
there was that incessant, harassing thought of
what would become of Katrina. in my absence,
which was enough to drive a fellow mad.

“But my feelings are as buoyant as a soap-
bubble. I believe I was never totally hopeless,
for an hour on the stretch, in the course of my
life. And now, after lyin for some time on
my back, I began to feela 1ttle more cheerful,
and fancied that it wouldn’t do any harm to
examine the premises, at least, I was further
encouraged to find that my wounds were all
mere flesh-wounds,and that I had not lost so
much blood as I had supposed.

“ The day was just breaking over the hills, as
I looked out of the grated window, with every
promise of a. glorious day. I could only see one
sentinel—the one who was tramping up and
down before the window, and who saw me look-
ing out—but I could hear the tramp of another
one on the other side.

“ ‘Take your head back from that window,
you Yankee villain, or I'll blow your head oflf,’

owled the sentinel, with an oath.

“ ‘ It’s better to be shot than hung,’ I replied,
without movmg from my position; and the sen-
try lowered his threatening musket, and con-
tinued his round. growling something which I
could not hear._ .

“ After admlring the morning landscape suf-
flciently, I drew back from the window and be-
gan to examine with more attention the interior
of the apartment.

“ The room was uite small. barely twenty-
feet square I shoul judge. The walls were
thick, of rough granite, but smooth and partially
plastered on the inside. The rafters above were

are of any- ceiling, which enabled me to look
up into the top of the peaked roof.

 

“ There wasn’t much to see in the room, and I
wasn’t long in seeing it all. I picked up the
miserable case-knife—the only edged tool 1 could
find—with a glimmering hope that it might
avail me something. But I soon saw that it was
of no account. I could [end the wretched metal
in my fingers like a piece of tin. There were
some large hOnks in the rafters above. They
had evidently been used to suspend the meat in
the old smoke~house. If I could reach and draw
out one of the largest of the staples, 1 fancied
that I would find the other end strong and sharp
enough to work my way through the wall. But
there was nothing to stand on, and the rafters
were far above my head. After all, what good
would it do to pick a hole through the wall,
even if that were possible? It was already al-
most broad daylight, and if 1 was to be hanged
on that day, it would be necessary to work by
day, which would almost certainly insure detec- -
tion. Again I became despondent.

“ I was aroused from my reflections by some
one fingering at the bolts, and had just time to
throw myself on the heap of straw and feign to
be utterly exhausted, when the door opened,
and a soldier entered, bringing me some food
and water. I pretended the utmost difliculty in
getting at the food from its position on the floor,
where he placed it, and begged for something to
place it upon—a stool or anything. The man
was good-natured, and promised to procure me
one if he could get permission to do so. He went
out. Although as hungry as a bear—cub, I did
not touch the food till he returned. bringing
with him, to my great joy, a roughly-fashioned '
three-legged stool. I thanked him kindly,,a
he went away.

“I ate my breakfast with an excellent appe—
tite. A long pull at the jug of water refreshed
me still more. I then got u n the stool and
found that I could easily race one of the larger
hooks. But to draw it out of the beam was an-
other matter. I forgot to mention that my left r
shoult‘g‘, very near the arm-pit, where I had ‘
been under] the most severely, was the great-

. o t obstacle to making use of my whole powers.

I could use my left arm a little, but it was attend.
ed with excessive pain, especially when I raised .
it up, as I was now compelled to do in workin
at the hook. I soon had the mortiflcation ,
confessing to myself that the extraction of the
book was, under the circumstances, an impossi‘
bility. I tried some of the other books and
staples, but they were all firmly imbedded in the
hard, smoke-seasoned timber.

“ I was about to give up all hope of escape,
and resign myself to my fate, when my eye
caught sight of something on the edge of the
wall, between the top of the wall “and the com—
mencement of the rismg roof. It looked like the
edge of a scythe-blade, or some other strong, keen
instrument. But again my heart sunk.

“ The ledge was far above my head. To reach
it, it would be necessary to draw myself up by
main force of arms, and throw myself over one
of the beams, whence I should pro bly be ena—

bled to work my way along to the led e of the .

wall. With sound body and limbs should .- .

have laughed at such a feat-as this. But now my

left arm was almost powerless. I tried in vain
to get upon the beam, and at length returned to

\ _ .

 

i7

 

, long and tedious.

 

20 - Old Gotlieb, the Jolly Landlord.

 

my pallet of straw, exhausted with repeated ef—
forts, and my left arm considerably swollen and

' very painful.

“I thought of the persevering spider which
had encouraged Baron Trenck to renewed efforts
in his prison. But if there had been a dozen of
the cheerful and persistent Insects in my cell,
I don’t think their example could have awak—
ened my exhausted poweis to another effort. I
would willingly have exchanged the trouble-
some mosquitos, however, for a regiment of
spiders.

“ But, at length, I thought of Katrina, and
the agonizing reflections of what might be the
cons uence of my continued absence to her
seem to inspire me with superhuman vigor. I
was never a sincere believer in special provi-
dences until that moment. But I can ascribe to
no natural agency the wondrous energy with
which I was suddenly imbued.

“ I s oak the truth when I say that, with one
hand, drew myself up to my chin, and flung
myself over the beam. It was still adiflicult

> task to work my way along the rafter, but I ac-

complished it, and reached the ledge of the wall.
To my gratification, I found it to be a depository
of various tools, which had probably been hid-

. den there upon the approach of the invading

army. 1 secured a spade, a stout hatchet. and
a mallet and chisel. Deeming these sumcient,
I dropped them down—their fall upon the
floor, which was nothing but the ground, pre-
cluding their making a noise—and then de-
scended myself, much faster than I had clams
bered up.

“I now set to work, behind the heap of straw,-

to mine my way through the wall—selecting
this spot because I believed it would give me
egress between the sentinels, instead of at right
an 195 to the up-and—down tramp of either. I
ju god of this by the sound of their steps, and
thought that I might then choose my time, and
make a rush for the marsh. which was situated
a short distance below General How tent,
and not very far, I judged, from In place of
incarceration.

“I set to work perseveringly at the foot of
the wall—picking out the mortar with my chisel
and prying at the stones with my hatchet and
spade. But the job ave promise of being both
I out of ear-shot, I could
have breached the foundation in an hour. But
the close proximity of the sentries necessitated
light blows and the utmost caution.

" However, by about ten o’clock, as I judged
by the sun. I had picked out a large block, when
some one at the door again alarmed me. Hastily
covering in ,tools and the loosened mortar with
the straw, again resumed my painful attitude
of recumbenc with,’now and then, a groan or
two to make t ings more natural.

“ I was surprised b the entrance of General
Howe. He was atten ed by one of his ofilcers,
and spoke rather harshly, I thought, considering

‘the itiable figure I cut.

“ It has been decided, prisoner, that you
shall be executed on the evening of this day, at
sunset,’ said he. ‘ Have you anything to say in
regard to our sentence?

‘ I sboo my head feebly.

L“‘But haveyou nothing to say, he can:

 

 

an?» i‘; ‘

tinned, with some heat, ‘of the ruthless assas-
sinations which have marked your course in my
camp? How can you reconcile your own con~
science to these hideous crimes?7

“‘I do not consider myself guilty of any}.

crimes,’ I replied, not caring how boldly

spoke. ‘ I am no assassin. The men whom I
slew in your camp could, each of them, have
been stricken down by me from behind, and
never have seen the hand that felled them.
Each one of them I confronted before I struck,
and with each I had a fair, free fight. I con-
sider it no crime to take the lives of my coun-
try’s foes in fair contest. If what I have done
shall have contributed but a hair’s breadth to
the success of our cause, I shall die contented.’

“ The general knit his brows and paced the
flooir for a few moments in silence. Then he
sai :
“ ‘Who sent you upon this missionl’

“ ‘ My superior.’ ‘

“ ‘ His name'!’

“ ‘ You will not obtain it from me.’

“ ‘ You must answer my queries,’ said the
general, angrily. ‘ It is in my power to have
your sentence carried out upon this instant if I
choose. It may be found more expedient to fix
your execution at noon,’ he added, with a slight
sneer.

“ ‘ If you are sufficiently mean to rob a
doomed man of any portion of his little lease of
life, you are welcome to do so,’ I replied; ‘ but
I shall certainly not answer the question you
have propounded.’

“ He knit his brows again, but did not renew
his threat.

“ ‘Are you acquainted in New Yorki’ was his
next inquiry. 4

“ ‘ To a considerable extent, sir ' I replied.

“ ‘ What do you know of Genera Washington?"

“‘Nothing more than that he is a Christian
gentleman and a glorious soldier.’

1‘}: What do you know of a Mr. Gilbert Whip-
p e

“‘I know him for a moan—scaled, white-liv-
ered Tory dog; and one whose lease of life will
probably be materially strengthened by my de-
cease.’

“ ‘A personal enemy, ehl’

“ ‘ Yes, sir. When we meet, he dies.’

“ ‘ It is not at all robable that you will meet
-—in this world,’ sai General Howe.

“ He relapsed into silence, and presently de-
parted, saying nothing more; but I thought
that he did not seem so stern when he went
away.

“ Left alone, I again fell to work on my min-
ing operation, and continued it for hours with-
out interruption. But it was a trying task.
Sometimes I would peg away for half an hour,
and hardly succeed even in loosening a frag-

ment. Then again I would roll out a hu 3.

block with comparatively little exertion, on y
to be stalled immediately afterward by a more
difficult obstruction.

“ It must have been five o’clock when I reach-
ed the outer layer of the thick wall. To that
distance I had succeeded in making a very wide
breach—so large, indeed, that I was fearful of
being unable to conceal it, should I be again in-
terrupted. But no one came. '

of

 

 

 

is

WWW”;

,.. immunw a» s .

u: «r arm . m .. w

. wounded

 

 

Old Gotlleb. the Jolly Landlord.~ 21

 

“ This outer stratum. which I had now reach-
ed, was the thinnest of all. My object was to
loosen this completely without detaching a
stone, until I was ready for my attempt; when
I intended to seize the hatchet fora weapon,
suddenly burst through the wall by an impetu-
ous rush, and make for the marsh. If Ionce
reached that I was confident of escape, for I
was familiar with its intricacies, having been
reared within a short distance of it. It was an
exceedingly treacherous soil, with a little island
of firm land in the midst, be and which was an
extensive jungle of tangle reeds and alder
bushes, which I had frequentl§ explored, as a.
boy, in search of water-fowl. ut one path led
to this island, and that was tortuous, and, in
many places, concealed, and as quaky as a bowl
of stiff jelly. A stranger in attempting to pur-
sue it would mire before half way across. Once
upon this island, I felt positive that 1 could
reach the Continental lines without interrup-
tion from human foes, at least, for the marsh
extended for up the shore, and grew more
treacherous at every rod.

“ But this last part of my ‘ running operation’
was by far the most delicate and dangerous of
all. If a. single stone should happen to fall out
in the course of my manipulation of the inter—
stices, the attention of the guard would most
likely be attracted, and my death by the hang-

' man insured. Then. again, if I should miscal—

culate the weakness of the wall—if I should, un-
fortunately, make my rush against it too soon,
then but an insufficient breach would be made,
and my plot nipped in the bud.

“ Nevertheless, there was no time to spare. I
feared every instant to bee r the comings,r of some
one to prepare me for the scaffold. Therefore,
I worked with a will—cautiously, but with trem-
bling hands.

“ At length I got the layer of stones almost
destitute of mortar, and concluded that it was
about time to make my attempt. I listened at—
tentively, till I thought the two sentinels were
furthest away, and then, seizing my hatchet, I
burst against the wall with such force as to
bruise myself connderably. The wall yielded as
by magic, and my sheer momentum rolled me
out with the fragments.

“For a second or two the dust of the tumbling
fabric concealed me; besides this the guards, for
a few seconds, must have been transfixed with
astonishment at the sudden opening of the solid
wall.  was on my legs in an instant and away
like a bird, with a. ringin cry, for I saw free-
dom in the far distance li a a signal of hope.

“ Crack! went one of their muskets in my
rear, and I wasunhurt; crack! went the other
and ‘I was hit Jist where he misséxd me before,l
as the Irishman said. The drums beat, the
bugles brayed, the whole camp was aroused.
But I was beyond, gun-shot of most of them.
The marsh was in Sight. With a wild shout I
dashed toward it, when a Single soldier rose in
my path and cocked his gun. I had learned to

‘fling the tomahawk, and I let him have m

hatchet, like a. flying bolt. He went down wit
a cloven skull; but I tripped in passing over his
body, and fell full length, thereby bruising my
' shoulder to such a degree that I
shneked for pain. Quickly regaining my feet,

 

however, I recovered my weapon, and, a mo—
ment after, was fleeing across the quaking bog
—followed by a shower of bullets, but fortunate-
ly receiving no further wounds.

“ Reachin the little island I rolled over on
the firm tur , completel spent. I had the. sat-
isfaction of witnessing ve or six dragoons, who
had pursued me, floundering in the marsh, up to
their horses’ bellies, and surpassing their fellow-
soldiers in Flanders, in point of oath-taking,
while the remainder of the army—to all appear-
ances— were collecting on the verge of the
treacherous mire, shouting and jawing each
other to their hearts’ content.

“ I lay until somewhat rested—not at all fear-
ful that any of them would succeed in reaching
me. When I got upon my legs again I was sur-
prised to find that I was very lame. This .was
from one of my wounds of the morning. The
excitement had prevented my noticing it for the
while; but now, when my blood was cooling, it
began to bite like a. thousand scorpions, and I
could only walk with the greatest difliculty.

“ However, walk I must, and walk I did. I
proceeded to pick my way through the reeds to
the northward, and after an hour or more of in-
describable suffering succeeded in reaching the
American pickets, who were grumbling at not
being able to be present with the rest of the
army, at the execution of the British spy.
duty of them helped me into camp, but I

twice on the way.”

CHAPTER XI.
run BLUNDERBUSS BLUNDEB.

To return to New York and the Golden

Shark.
Old Gotlieb Van Snooze had felt peculiarly
satisfied with himself ever since his triumphant
vindication of the efficacy of his funnel-mouthed
blunderbuss.

“ I guess Mr. Vipple von’t vent to makes my
leetle gal cry do next time, ven he makes nut-
ting,” was his amhi ous yet complacent reflec-
tion, as he stood has in in the beams of the set- ‘
ting sun, at his tavern oor.

But Gotlieb would have thought difierently, if
he had been more conversant With the character
of Katrina’s “ gentleman” suitor. ‘

Whi ple really was moved by a deep and
war n1 passion for the landlord's daughter.

esigning to make her his wife at all hazards, a.
forcible abduction was deemed necessary. He
was just shallow enough to imagine that she
would forgive, when he should beenabled to sur-
round her with the splendor of a position foreign
:3 3:31 beyond that to which she ad been accus-

m .

We have only introduced him to the reader as
a gay gentleman, endeavoring to steal a kiss or
two from a. pretty girl. But there was more
than this. It rankled in his breast that he had a
once asked Katrina to be his wife, and had met
with a refusal.

Had Whipple made his first advances to the
father, instead of the daughter, it is possible that
he would have found a powerful all] in the for-
mer; for, as we have already seen, Gotlieb’s van-
ity was greatJand it does not seem likely that he
would have been able to resist a suitor of Whip-

 

(I
fain

ple‘s position and opulence. But the old man’s _

 

 

 

 

 

28 Old Gotlieb. the Jolly Landlord.

 

prejudices were as strong as his vanity, and now
the distrust he had naturally conceived for the
rich man was implacable.

We left the Dutch landlord standing on the
steps of his tavern. He felt very contented with
all the world. He was well to—do; he hadn’t a
shadow of a. doubt that General Washington was
going to drive “ tor Pritishers,” as he called
them, into the Atlantic Ocean, in a very short
time; the bay looked beautiful, as it danced in
the mellow splendor of the sinking sun; the
Golden Shark on the top of the sign also gleamed
as if it were gold indeed; the war brought the
tavern plenty of profitable custom; and, in fact,
Gotlieb was very well pleased with himself and
every thing else. He was not even, at present,
especially put out with Whipple, as he remem-
bered the Tory’s astonishment at the elfects of
the blunderbuss.

But now, as he looked across the street, he shw
a man enter Whipple’s house, whose appearance
served to recall his suspicions. This was the
m-Ln whom we have already introduced to the
reader—~the hero of the leaky boat. Gotlieb
knew him, and for no good. He knew him for
an unscrupulous‘tool of the bad man over the
way, and he, therefore, experienced a change in
his current of thought. It was for this reason
that, when he entered his bar-room, he said to
Katrina:

-“ My tear, I shall sit up in de bar-room all
night, mit him.“

Katrina’s wide eyes grew wider with astonish—
ment.

' “ Sit up, father! With who—with what?” she
exclaimed.

“ Mit mine goon,” said Gotlieb, quietly reach—
intr for the blunderbuss.,

f §0 his daughter sziid nothing more, but merely
went to superintend the serving up of the sup-
er, leaving her father attentively examining
is gun, ‘to see if its priming powder and unit
measure of bullets were in their proper p aces.
And, after tea was over, Gotlieb could do little
of anything else than manipulate and play with
his favorite weapon. Katrina felt a certain
sense of oppression at the novelty of the thing,
when she went to bed, in the evening, after the
house was closed, and left her father, sitting in
his easy-chair, caressing his blunder-buss between
his knees, and with a bright light burning at his
side. But the sense of the ridiculous took pos-
session of her mind, and, an hour or so later, she
was induced to steal down from her chamber to
see how her protector was progressing in his
guard-duty.

The light was still burning brightly, but the
old man was fast and sound asleep in his chair,
with the blunderbuss lying harmlessly across his
knees. Katrina spoke to him, but he did not
stir. So she returned to her room, not appre-
hending danger, and inwardly laughing at the
manner in which her doughty guardian was ful—
filling his self-imposed duty of an armed sentinel.

But the old Dutchman was a better protector
than even his little daughter gave him credit

, for. There was one thing which never failed to
awake him, and that was the deep voice of his
watch-dog, which was kept in the back-yard of
the tavern. A cannon might have been fired

under his Window, without arousing him, but

 

the bark of old Blok would startle him out of the
deepest slumber. It was not more than an hour
after Katrina’s visit that the landlord was
awakened by this trusty summons. He started,
rubbed his eyes, and listened again, almost

doubting his hearing had served him correctly.”

He heard the bark again, and this time there
was no mistaking it. It was the harsh, savage
bark of the watch-(log, which was premonitory
of danger. Then there came the sharp crack of
a pistol, a wild, agonizing bowl of pain and
anger, and all was silent again.

By this time the jolly landlord was thor-
oughly alarmed. He hastened into the entry
with the light in his hand. Pausiug at the foot
of the stairs, he called out nervously:

“ Katrina! Katrina i”

There was no answer.

With a cold, sick feeling about his fatherly
heart, he hurried up the staircase to the cham—
ber. The door was locked, but he burst it in by
a. single push of his massive shoulder. Katrina
was not there! The window was opeu, looking
out upon the porch roof. Above the gutter-
trough of this roof projected a. ladder. The
room gav a evidence of a struggle, for the fur»
nitnre was overturned, the clothes scattered
about, and Katrina’s dress dangled from the
high bed-post, showing that she must have been
taken out in great haste.

Now old Gotlieb was not by nature a brave
man, but, when he saw that his life’s treasure-
his darling daughter—bad really been torn from
him, and when he surmised that the author of
the deed must be none other than the “ gentle-
man "‘ over the way, he became another man,
and as courageous as a lion; his teeth came to-
gether sharply and firmly, and, with an inward
vow of vengeance, be rushed down-stairs and
out of the house, with the blundexbuss in his
hands.

The first thing he stumbled over in the yard
was the dead body of his faithful Blok, which
explained the meaning of the istol-shot and the
bowl which he had heard. otlieb also caught
a glimpse in the distance of the disappearing
forms of several men, one of whom he thought
bore Katrina in his arms. With a shout of
vengeance, the old man started in pursuit. His
unwieldy figure seemed to he suddenly gifted
with wings, as he plunged down the long:i dark
alley, leading directly to the river, from road-
way. The men were evidently badly scared,
for they had not fled far before the one who
carried the maiden laid down his burden, and
went on without it. But Gotlieb was not to be
stayed by the recovery of his child alone. He
pursued the villains further, and, just as the
turned into the river street, he brought his
blunderbuss to his shoulder, and blazed away,
bringing down the man who had borne Katrina.

Almost simultaneously with tbe‘discharge of
his weapon, he heard the tramp, tramp of sol-
diers, and had the satisfaction, upon arrivmg 1n
the open street, of seeing the remainder of tho
rnfilans brought to a stand-still by a squad of
Washington’s own guard. V

“ Holt ’em, holt ’em, till I loads mine ploonder-
puss vonce more!” shouted the innkeeper, ashe
came panting up to the group.

A few words explained every thing to the

 

 

 

Old Gotlie'b, the Jolly Landlord.

     

 

corporal of the squad, and the men were taken
into custody.

The party then proceeded to the fallen body
of the man whom the blunderbuss had brought
to earth. It proved to he that of Gilbert
Whipple himself. H.» was stone~dead, and the
ghastly appearance oi the corpse caused an ex-
clamation of wonder from the soldiers. The
Tory had received the entire charge of the
blunderbuss in his back, between the shoulders,
and was absolutely riddled with balls.

“ There’s not much danger of his waking up 1”
observed one of the men.

“ Nein! and it vos all t’rough mine prave old
ploonderpuss—de goon of mine foréfadersl” said
Gotlieb, proudly patting the stock of his
weapon.

He then proceeded homeward, and gently
lifted from the ground the still senseless form of
poor Katrina. She had been surprised in her
deep sleep, gagged, and borne away, and bad
fainted through excess of terror, but was not
harmed. She was 11 revived, and recovered
her vivacity, both of y and mind; but there
was very little further slee ing done upon that
night in the Golden Shark avern.

CHAPTER XII.
TH]: BATTLE or LONG ISLAND.

AN hour before the dawn of the 27th of Aug-
ust, 1776, the attack upon the American lines
was in active preparation—indeed, more than
half of the British Army was already on the
move.

At the same time, and before the guns of
either army were heard, Old Gotlieb Von Snooze
electrified his pretty daughter by shouldering
his blunderbuss and signifying his intention to
participate in the fight. All entreaties, upon her
part, had no effect in altering the stern resolve
of her father.

“ V’otl” he exclaimed, “ shall do descendant of
do great admiral keep de plonnderpuss of his
forefaders silent ven de Pritish makes fight on
Sheneral Washington? Never! V’ot for you
makes ven you makes nutting? Farevell, mine
child! I goes to (18 fight. I may makes myself
von major-sheneral or von cold and silent dead
man, but I goes and does mine duty 1”

And he did. He crossed at Fulton street, and
was soon in line with a body of minute-men,
who had preceded him from the city but a few
moments before. That blunderbuss was the
wonder of the soldiers. Many were the curious
9 es which examined it in Old Gotlieb‘s hands.

he officers, in fact, had much trouble in keep-
ing the not too orderly volunteers in line, so
eager were. they to explore the mystery of the
queer old piece.

' “ One pound of bullets to a load i” cried one.
“Why don’t you go into the flying artiller l”

“ Guess we’ll let the old chap do all the ght-
ing today,” said another “ because there won’t
be many red-coats left it he works well."

“ I vill works well—so potter as nopody, and
vi]! kill every nasty Hessian v’ot comes over de
hills!" was Gotlieb’s patriotic reply.

But the fighting landlord was not permitted
to show his rowess. Much to his chagrin, he
was orde out of the ranks and given in
charge at an orderly-sergeant, jgho_condgcted

 

 

 

him, with every res to the fa - and Get-
lieb, despite his thregetgtto report :llytb the com-
mander-in-chief——despite his assertions that the
blunderbuss would destroy a whole regiment at
a shot—was ushered into the ferry, with orders
to $0“ at once to the Golden Shark. Be a!"
riv at the inn too indignant and crestfallen to
“ report ” anything, even to the inquisitive and
anxious Katrina. The martial flintrlock was
hung up on its pegs in the wall, and Gotlieb
heaved a Sigh like the running down of a fur-
:ace-blower as he thought of the glory denied

1m.

The valuable information, obtained throu h
the agency of Joe Wilder, had enabled 1; e
American chieftains to materially strengthen
their position by an advantageous posting of
certain divisions. General Washington is re—
ported to have said, that, were it not for the
antici tion of the mode and exact time of the
Britis attack, which he received from his dar-
ing young scout it was very probable the Amer-
ican Army would have been utterly annihilated.
As it was, he was enabled to use his largely in-
ferior force to such advantage that, in the event
of disaster, the integrity of the army was pre—
served.

The battle of Long Island was a most impor-
tant one, if we judge battles, as we should do,
by their immediate consequences. In the tre-
mendous civil war of 1861—4, an affair like that
of which this chapter treats, would be consid-
ered as nothing more than an extensive skirmish
——-so powerful is the consideration of the num-
bers engaged. But, viewed in the light of his
tory, the humble but sanguinary battle of Long
Island was more important in its bearings upon
the destinies of a people than either of the ter-
rific and stupendous struggles of Chickamauga
and Chattanooga. The two latter decided the
occupation of a few—compare ti vely few—acres
of an enemy’s territory, whose acres were to be ‘
numbered by millions. The former decided the.
occupation of an extensive commercial port—the
entrepot of a. budding nation, with its harbors,
shi 5, houses and stores.

he battle appeared at hand so early as the
25d. Everything lzad been prepared as well as
possible, for the attack at that time. ’The orders
were admirably calculated to awaken a martial
spirit in the American troops. The parole was -
Charleston, and the counter-sign, Lee—the for— _
nier inspiring a recollection of the successful de-
fense of Fort Moultrie and Sullivan Islands,
from which the enemy had been repulsed but a
short time before.

The passage of the East River, at this time,
was so obstructed by booms, chains, and chevaw
tie-fries as to quiet, in a. great measure, all up3
prehensions on that side.

On the 24th, Washington detached four addi-
tional regiments to the support 01 General Sulli- ‘
van, with boats, to be ready either to reinforce .
him or to return to New York, if the remainder ‘
of the fleet, then at the watering-place, should
menace the city.

Reinforcements were constantly passing to
Long Island, and occasionally a little skirmishe
ing took place between small parties, in the
course of which Colonel Manning, of the Jersey
levies, received a mortal wound and some few

 

 

 

 

 

 

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L.
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.zw
if,
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24 A 0111 Gotlleb. the Jolly Landlord.

 

men were lost. Nine out of fourteen regiments,
expected from Connecticut, had now arrived,
averagin about three hundred and fifty men
each, an making the entire numerical force of
Washington about twenty thousand. But of
these, a heavy proportion were in the hospitals
and on furlough. .

The hour of battle at length arrived-at
daylight of the 27th, as we have already in
timated

Altholigh the American forces numbered-

twenty thousand, the eflectives, probably, did
not exceed sixteen thousand five hundred.

The operations of the enemy had been delayed
from day to day in expectation of reinforce-
ments, until the é2d, when, by the accession of
the South Carolina troops, with others from
Boston, Florida, and the West Indies, their
arm amounted to nearly thirty thousand.
Wit these it was determined to make the at-
tempt. On this day, the 22d, the fleet being so
stationed as to cover the troops, they were land-
ed without op sition on Long Island, between
Utrecht and ravesend, two small villages not
far from the Narrows, on the side nearest to
Staten Island.

It is necessary, in order that the reader may
clearly comprehend the battle which followed.
that we should thus particularize the details of
movements immediately preceding it.

The American works as already stated, ex-
tended, in horseshoe form, across a narrow
peninsula, having the East River on the left, a
marsh on the right, with the Bay and Governor’s
Island in the rear. A great ortion of what is
now the city of Booklyn woul thus be inclosed
in the concave ot the semi-circular line.

This position was not naturally of great
strength. We have already mentioned the ap—
proaches to it, through the hills at the Narrows;
the one nearest the Bay; the Flatbush road; and

the Bedford road.

These passes are very narrow—the sides ex-

" - needineg steep and rugged, so as to be main-
' tained by a small number against any force

whatever, until dislodged from the hights.
An early attention had been paid to these
so passes through the hills, and a body of
eight undred men were stationed for the pro—
tection of each of them: while Colonel Miles,

, with a battalion of rlflemen, was placed a little

to the eastward, in the wood, to guard the road

* to Jamaica, in order to watch the enemy and

keep up a constant communication with the
other corps stationed at the passes.

0n"the approach of the enemy’s boats, the
patrolling arties on the coast had retired to the

'guard at t 8 second pass on the Flathush road.

Lord Cornwallis followed at their heels, with his
reserVe and some hastily collected troops, in the
hope of securing the pass; ,but. finding it already
occupied by the Americans, he, in obedience to
his orders, made no attempt to dislodge them.

Three days afterward, on the 25th. these
forces. of the British were reinforced by General
De Holster, with two brigades of Hessians, from
Staten Island.

On the 26th, General Howe, having fully ma-

" ‘ , tured a plan for the surprise of General Sulli-

van. directed General De Heisterto post himself
at Flathush in the evening.

 

This division composed the center. About
nine o’clock in the evening, the main body, led
by General Clinton, Earl Percy and Lord Corn-
wallis, formed of the best tree 5 in the army,
attempted to gain the road, lea ing round the
eastern end of the hills of Jamaica, with a view
of turning the American left wing. On this
road Colonel Miles was stationed; but, by some
unfortunate chance, the enemy were not discov-
ered until they had gained two miles in his rear,
when the alarm was instantly given.

Just before daylight, on the 27th, Sir Henry
Clinton, having advanced within half a mile of the
road, halted his forces, and made his dispositions
for an immediate attack. Everything conspired
to favor his enterprise. One of his parties fell
in with a patrol of mounted American ofliers,
and took every man of them prisoners; and
General Sullivan, depending on them for intelli-
gence, neglected to send out another patrol. He
was thus left in complete ignorance of the
enemy’s approach.

At the first appearance of light, General Cline
ton, with a battalion of light infantry, took pos-
session of the hights which commanded the
road. Some hours before, about midnight, his
left wing, under General Grant, which had
been advanced to alarm the Americansand con-
ceal his own advance on their left, had been dis-
covered by the guard. This guard, composed
entirely of New York and Pennsylvania troops,
instantly abandoned the road and fled in the ut-
most consteruation, without firing a gun, and
carried to General Parsons the first intelligence
of the enemy—who, at that moment, were seen
descending the northern side of the hill. About
twenty of the fugitives were fortunately rallied,
and posted on a ight about a mile in front of
General Grant, who halted and formed his
columns for the attack. This gave time to
Lord Stirling, with about fifteen hundred men,
to get possession of a hill about two miles from
the American camp, and in front of General
Grant.

The general on agement be an, soon after
daylight, by the essians, un or General De
Heister, from Flatbush, and by General Grant,
along the coast, and was supported by the
Americans with great resolution for a. consider-
able time.

Those who Were first met by General De
Heister fought with determined gallantry, until
they found that General Clinton had gained
their left, when they immediately broke and fled
toward their camp. It was already too late.
General Clinton was in their rear, with the
whole body of the British right.

He had passed the hights, halted and refreshed
his army, and now charged the Americans, with
his dragoons and infantry, just as theyhad aban-
doned the hills and were flying to their lines.
His attack was irresistible; they were forced
back upon the Hessians—the Hessians folloWed
up their charge. And thus were the Americans
hemmed in on all sides; driven alternately from
the British to the Hessians, from the Resume to
the British, until, growing desperate, they end-
denly concentrated — charged the enemy in
turn, and cut their way through to their own
camp. , .

The troops under Lord Stirling, composed

 

2
ii
3
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.

 

Old Gotlieb. the Jolly Landlord. 25

 

of Colonel Atlee’s, Smallwood’s and Hatch’s
regiments, with two battalions, under Colonel
Miles, were engaged for six hours with the
whole British fleet, under General Grant.
These advanced poaitions of the Amercans had
been well chosen on the preceding evening.
Their disposition was the result of the valuable
information brought by Joe Wilder, the scout.
But, the on] able sur rise and unforseen defec-
tion of the merican eft wing, ruined the well-
digested plans of the commander-in—chief. Never-
theless, he is reported to have said, that, with-
out that information upon which he formed
his outposts, he would never have been able to
save his army from annihilation, by the
Eagerly retreat which followed the disastrous

a e.

Lord Stirling’s force fought with the deter-
mination of veterans. But, owing to the cap-
ture of the signal party, so deficient were these
fine troops in the means of intelligence, that
they were only apprized of the movements of
General Clinton by his approach, havin tra-
versed the whole country in their rear. heir
retreat being thus intercepted, a desperate effort
was the only chance of escape; and a large propor-
tion, after breaking through the enemy’s ranks,
succeeded in gaining the woods. Many threw
themselves into the marsh in Gowan’s Cove.
Some were drowned and others perished in the
woods: but a considerable number eventually
reached their lntrenchments.

The royal troops fought valiantly the entire
day. The memory of former defeats, and a.
desire of retrieving their reputation, stimulated
them to their utmost.

The nature of the ground broke up both
parties into detachments, and, of course, gave a
greater opportunity for distinction. So full of
ardor and impetuosity were they after their
Victory that the could hardly be withheld
from mmediate y storming the American
works.

The victorious army encamped in front of the
American works on the evening after the bat-
tle; and, on the 28th, broke ground in form
about five hundred yards in front of Putnam‘s
redout, which covered the American left. A

siege was begun”.

/ CHAPTER XIII. ,
TEE RETREAT.

ON the day following the battle, General
Mifiliu reinforced the Americans with one thou-
sand fresh troops. The next morning, August
29th, in a conversation with the commander-in-
chief on the subject, he observed:

“ You must either fight or retreat immediate-
1y_ What is your strength?” t '

“ Nine thousand,” was the reply.

“ It is not sufficienka must retreat.”

Such had been Washington’s opinion. He
never designed to sustain the regular approach
of his enemy. His Works were only calculated
for temporary defense. It was agreed that a
council of war should be convened—that Gen-
eral Mlfllin should propose a retreat. But, as he
“was to make the proposal, and his reputation

 

was at stake, he stipulated that, if a retreat
should be resolved upon, he should command
the rear; if an action, the van. These measures,
among others, were urged in council:

“ The heavy rains which have fallen for two
days and nights, with but little intermission,
have injured the arms and spoiled a great part
of the ammunition. and the soldiers, being with-
out cover and obliged to lie in their lines, are
Worn out. From the time the enemy moved
from Flatbush, seve al large ships have attempt»
ed to get up, as sup , into the East River,
to cut off our communication, by which the
whole army would be destroyed; but the wind
being northeast, they have not been able to ef—
fect it. The troops have become dispirited by
their incessant duty and watchfulness.” Upon
this representation of the state of affairs, it was
unanimously resolved to abandon the island.

At the commencement of the battle, Joe
Wilder had been removed far within the earth—
works, out of reach of the danger, which none
more than he desired to share. But his
wounds had, of course, kept him inactive during
the day of battle. His coveted commission as
captain was not delayed, however, and he was
particularly anxious to cross the river to sur-
prise old Grotlieb, and to kiss his sweetheart. As
his wounds were more ugly than serious, he was,
at the time the retreat was determined upon,
able to be about and to make himself useful. He
managed to procure a captain’s uniform, and as
General Washin ton gave him plenty to do in
connection with t e preparations for retreat, he
hoped soon to surprise the Golden Shark with a
real live captain for a guest, as well as to see his
:loar mother once more. The retreat having been
determined upon, preparations were put on foot
immediately.

Colonel Glover, with his regiment, was order-
ed to take command of the fiathottomed boats
and other vessels, in order to superintend the
embarkation, General McDougal and Colonel
Knox were stationed at the upper and lower
ferries on the East River.

The former was on the ground at eight o’clock;
but the militia had not then embarked. Many
difficulties occurred,which would, at any time,
have been thought remarkable; but, at that
time, they were thought to be the interposition
of that Providence which had suffered them to
be so cruelly defeated.

While the troops were assembling on the‘shore,
the tide began to ebb; the wind blew 511ng
from the northwest, and the rapidity of the cur- ,
rent made it appearto be im ible to effect
the retreat in the course of t enight, as they
had but few row-boats, and sailboats could not
be used. Under this distressin embarrassment
General McDougal sent Colone Grayson, one o
Washington’s aids, to get instmctions from the
commander-inobief—at the same time pronoun-
Cing the retreat to be impracticable for that~
night. The colonel was unable to find the gm
a1, and, immediame on his return, the embark-
ation was commenced underall those discopr-
agements. But, about eleven o’clock. the Wind
died away, and, soon after, a breeze sprung up
from the southwest, enabling them to use the -
sail-boats. Thus, their retreat was rendered.
safe, easyand expeditious. Theembarkafionwas ~

 

 

 

 

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_ Springing up the steps, and jostling past ‘
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' 28 Old Gotlieb. the Jolly Landlord.

 

still further protected by a fog (so uncommon
for the season, that one of the citizens of New
York declared he had not known one at that sea‘
son for twenty or thirty years) which came in
a remarkably thick mist about twoin the morn-
ing, and hovered like a cloud over the Long
Island shore, while the New York side was
bright and clear.

The fog and wind continued propitious till the
whole army—amounting to nine thousand men
—-with all their field-artillery, such heavy ord-
nance as was most value le, ammunition. pro-
visions and stores were safely brought off the

I island. All this was effected over a river more

than a mile in width, in thirteen hours, most of
the timein a violent rain, without the knowledge
of the enemy, who were hard at work within six
hundred yards.

The water was so remarkably smooth as to
admit of the boats being loaded within a few
inches of their gunwales.

Searcer Were the works abandoned, and the
rear-guard fairly embarked, when the fog clear-
ed away, and four of the American boats were
discovered on the river——three about half-we.
over, full of troops; and the fourth, in whlc
were a few persons, who had stayed for plunder,
was so near the shore that it was captured.
Shortly afterward, the enemy were seen to take
possession of the works.

Governor’s Island, where the two regiments
were stationed, was also abandoned at the same
time, without loss. The removal of the military
stores was completed on the second of September,
when nothing was left but a few heavy cannon,
notwithstanding several of the enemy’s ships-of-

, war lay within a quarter of a mile.

CHAPTER XIV.
ooerB’s WEDDING PRESENT.

OPPRESSED as General Washington was by the
ocean of details which necessarily devolved up-
on him by the concentration of the army within
the limits of New York City, and the consequent
anxieties, he did not for et Joe Wilder. The
latter had been indefatiga le in his attention to
his new duties ever since' he had got upon his
legs again. And, before noon of that day which
smiled upon the rescued army, the general had
given his aid permission to be absent for a few
hours.

Scarcely was the permission received before
Joe bounded along State street and up Broad-
way by the Bowling Green. it seemed to him
as If weeks instead of days had elapsed since
his departure on his dangerous mission. He
half-expected to find all the gilding worn 01f

'the Golden Shark, and to see the tavern which

it represented, moldering away from very old

a e.

gBut these un leasant illusions were dissipated
as he approac ed his goal. Everything was
as tidy and bright as formerl . Old Gotlieb
was standing in the doorway, at, and hearty,
opal dignified as usual. It was the same 0 d
pace.

 

 

Gotlieb with little ceremony, Joe gained the
inside of the tap—room, and, the next instant,
with a little scream of delight, Katrina was in
his arms.

The rapture was so exuberant—Abe kisses
flew so thick, that old Gotlieb was positively
alarmed.

" Dunder und Blitzen! V’ot you makes when
you makes nutting?” he exclaimed. “Didn‘t I
tell you, young teller, dat until you vas von
captmg—"

“ I am a captain!” exclaimed Joe, scinting -

tothe insignia on his shoulder. “An what’s
more,” he continued, “ I’m an aid-de—camp to
General Washington! And what’s more, I’m to
be named to Congress for a brevet major !”

“ She’s yours! Take her! Take her! Got
pless you both!" said the parent, with an ex-
pression of perfect satisfaction. " But, v’ot you
makes? Vere you been? Dot is von ques-
tion!

“Yes, Joe,” said Katrina, through the tears
which her joy had induced. “ Tell us the whole
stor ."

“ t’s a longer one than you think for,” replied
her lover.

But he nevertheless sat down, with his sweet—
heart on his knee, and, while the old man
brought the beer, commenced the tale of adven-
ture with‘which the reader is familiar. '

When the story was finished, Katrina laid her
little head upon Joe’s breast, with an inward
prayer of thankfulness for his wonderful deliv-
ery from death.

As for her father, he had listened to the re—
cital with gaping eyes and mouth, hard! cred-

iting what he heard. When it was finis ed, he ‘

quietly took the young soldier’s hand, looked at
him doubtingly, and merely ejaculated:

“ Is it drue, my poyl It it all drue?"

“True as gospel!” cried the exultant Joe.
“ Gengral Washington will tell you the same
thin .

H ‘ - -

peheve you, my po ,1 lieve you,” said
the honest landlord, shakth hi: warmly by the
hand. “But tell me, is de Shenernl—de real
Sheneral Vashington your frienti”

“ You will have no doubt on that score before
long,” said Joe, “ for General Washington has
promised to bepresent‘at m wedding, and to
give the bride away to me. hat_do you think
of that?“

“V’ot! Sheneral Vashington! He give de
Bride avayl Hooray! Hooray!” shouted the

utchman, dancing round the room in the ex—
cess of his joy. ‘

Presently, however, he grew more composed,
drank two great “ scheppens" of beer in quick
succession, and, leaning over the counter, took
down the old blunderhuss. Bringing it to a
“ shoulder-arms,” and assuming his most heroic
air;i be halted before the young couple, and
sax : 6

“Mine prave poy, ‘none but do prave de—
serves de fair,’ do breacher he says; nnd dat is
v’ot I told mine frau ven we vere courtin’, und
dat is de reason we vere married. You don’t
know v’at I vas like ven 1 vas young, eh? I
vas young once, I vas; und vus so gay und
footy dat all do galls in de country vented me
or a Vite. I only took von fraulein, and

 

 

 

 

‘ mama-w: Lu

 

 

 

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Old Gotlieb, the Jolly Landlord.

 

87

 

dat vas de pootiest of all do time, mit a foot
so little as my hant, und sheeks so red as
bricks. You don’t know how prave I vas to
deserve that fair one! You vas almost as prave
as me. Katrina is Von gout girl. She is prave
und you is fair. You vill make veil of it or I
makes notting. If I vas young I would go in
vonce more, and vin von Oder fair. I vood
shoulder mine goot gun, as I now shoulders it,
und as I did on Long Island, und vood fight
like—”

“ What! Was you on Long Island?” exclaimed
the young soldier.

Old Gotlieb evidently had forgotten himself
in the enthusiasm of the moment. Katrina
now expected to hear the story of her fa—
ther’s service and sudden return, but was disap-
pointed. Without noticing Joe’s question, he
proceeded: ~

“Vould fight shust like von hundred dogs
and cats. V'at if we 110,8 vipped on do Long
Island. Ve can vip dem von oder dime. Rely
on me, my poy. Call on me ven you vants a
regiment. Forward-arms] Shoulder—march!”
And Gotlieb began promeneduig the room, with
his young cannon on his shoulder, evidently
thinking he was as “ prave ‘-‘ and ” pooty " as in
his younger days.

It was arranged that Joe’s marriage with
Ks triua should take place upon the second day
following this re—union,,as it was very uncer-
tain how long the Americans would be able to
stay in the city.

 

The day of days came to find everything in
readiness. The honor of Katrina’s father was
involved, as well as the reputation of the Golden
Shark inn. The landlord had made great
preparations for the bride and the bridal feast,
and his efforts were a signal success.

We have only, thus far, introduced the reader
to the bar-room of the Golden Shark. He has,
doubtless, conjectured that there were cozy
chambers above that sand-floored tap-room,
with a royal kitchen, dining-room and drawing-
room around and behind it. So there were.
And upon their weddingday, before a guest had
made his appearance, the long deal-tables of the
dining-room were beginning to groan beneath
their weight of edibles. The beer-barrels—they
put it in barrels in those days—were rolled upon
the trucks: the sideboard was pretentious with
its rows of decanters; the Dutch waiters were
hurrying to and fro, and evei thing ave token
of ihe approaching feast. 1d Go ieb was in
his lory.

Tne drawing-room was dressed out in or-
geous array, anticipatory of the occasion. he
floor was duly waxed; the dark old furniture
rubbed up till it shone again; and the prim
array of Dutch admirals and other dignitaries
on the walls, looked more pompous than ever,
with wreaths of green foliage round their gilded
frames. And there was the improvised altar,
behind which the Lutheran preacher was to
itancll, and before which the lovers were to

use .

Katrina had also been over the house, looking
at the preparations. But it was now ten o’clock
in the morning; she was to become apart of

f.

 

 

Joe at eleven, and she was upstairs with her
lover’s mother and her bridemaids.

Joe himself had been out and in the house a
dozen times, fluttering nervously about, but
looking exceedingly bright and happy, in spite
of his unhealed wounds. At length the hour
drew near. The guests began to arrive.

The old Knickerbockers, with their wives and
daughters, came in promiscuously with the
multitude of officers and soldiers, most of whom
would have come from far off to see brave Joe
Wilder united with tpretty Katrina, of the
Golden Shark. For e fame of our hero had
spread far. The gazettes had chronicled the
story of his wonderful adventures. He was
quite a lion, and considered a man of rising
fortunes.

At length there was a. rustle, as of descending
wings, upon the stair, and a hum of admiration
grew among the assembled guests of the draw-
ing-room, as the bride appeared, followed by
her maids and J oe's mother. -

Katrina seemed like a visitant from other
spheres. The glistening vail tell almost to her
feet, in floating folds, and her dress was simpler
but beautiful, and white as the maiden’s soul.
Her blushing face was seen through the veil,
her perturbation struggling with her smiles.
And in many a magic knot and shining. twist,
her beautiful hair, with its wreath of white roses
and orangeflowers, was also seen through the
val .

Out step our hero from man his friends,
to meet t e bride. He was also lushing, but
manly and handsome as he only could be, with
his new uniform so resplendent that his mother
hardly knew him for her son.

The clock struck eleven, but, before the last
stroke sounded, the last of the guests entered
the apartment; and there was a general obel-
sauce of respectful heads, for that guest was
General George Washington.

With the weight of the new Reputh upon
his shoulders, the commander-inchiet could
vet find timeto attend the wedding of a. man
like Joe Wilder.

Up to this time, Gotlieb had done the honors
of the 00088101], with the approbation of every
one and with much complacency to himself, no
doubt. But suddenly, as the door was flung
open and the name of “ General Washington
announced, the worthy proprietor of the Golden

Shark was stricken with an unaccountable ‘
His vanity melted like snow in the April -

chill.
sun. He wondered how he should greet this
illustrious guest. His own rsonal defects,
which he had never acknow edged tohimself
before, suddenly arose before his mind’s eye in
exaggerated proportions. He thought of his
burly, lumbering form, his red nose, his broken
English. He suddenly became a monster of de-
formity to himself. It is thus that the truly
small are self-humbled in the presence of the
truly great.
But, the honors had to be done. Mus

up his courage to the utmost, the landlord ap—
proached the general, and, with downcast eyes.

began to stammer forth words of welcome; ..

when Washington relieved him of all diflidence,
by grasping his hand and shaking it warmly.
T at hand-shake lived in Goflieb’s memory like

 

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88 Old Gotlieb. the Jolly Landlord.

 

an angel’s visit in the remembrance of a saint.
It was his boast for the remnant of his days. It
servedtoplace him entirely at his ease. The
bride was presented to the general with all the
dignity of a proud and happy parent. The
general wasso kind and cordial to her and to
every one else, thata most delightful feeling per-
vaded the apartment. Especially to Joe’s old
mother, was the general kind and communicative,
speaking of her son’s services with eulogy and
of his future with hope, until the old lady was
quite beside herself with joy and pride.

We halve not time to describe the wedding
minutely. The ceremony was performed, the
bride given away, and the ample feast in the
adjoining apartment devoured with redoubled

zest.

After it all was over, then came the grateful
ceremony of presenting the bridal gifts. Katrina
:gciood by, surprised and delighted with every-

ng.

But Joe was also to have a surprise. For, at
this time,'General Washington stepped into the
hall, and immediately returned, with a hand-
some sword in his hand. This he presented to
Wilder, in the following words:

“ My friend, I wish to testify to you, by some
present. my appreciation of your services to
your country. I can think of no fitter testi-
monial to a soldier than a sword. Pra accept
this one from me. " The scabbard is simp e and the
hilt Without a gem: but the blade is stout and
of perfect steel. May you ever wear it with
honor and use it with effect—as I have no doubt
you will.”

Joe was surprised and embarrassed. But his
confidence quickly returned, and he answerd
simply:

“ share], I am grateful, deeply grateful for
our present. Trust me, I sha 1 do my best to
char the weapon.”

Joe looked manlier than ever, as he made this
little speech, and every one admired his bear—

in .

The aflair was now almost over, but the finale
was to come.

Gotlieb step out of the room, and returned,
bearing the o blunderbuss. This he solemnly
presented to his son-in-law, with the following
dignified speech: V

‘Mine poy, Got pless' you. I also prings mit
me you bresent to makes you. V‘ot more ap-
propriate dan de goon of mine forefaders. Take
this ploonder as, mine pay. May you vars it
mit glory an use it in your coontry’s cause.”

Every one smiled at the honest landlord. But,
J we accepted the present with becoming‘gravity,
and promised never to dim its glory.

CHAPTER XV.

A PARADE THROUGH BROADWAY ONE HUNDRED
YEARS AGO.

SEVERAL years after the occurrence of the
events We have been narrating, astranger would
gill/’1 delighted totraverse the streets of New

(‘1' ,

N at that there were not many signs of deso-
lation still. Blackened ruins remained of the
great fire that had raged so fiercely soon after

   

 

the occupation by the British. There were plenty
of tokens of the invader’s wantonness remaining.
But what it was that would have delighteda
stranger, was the expression of joy and en-
thusiasm in the faces of the people.

it was a galaday in the streets. Thousands
of the inhabitants lined the sidewalks. There
was evidently some pageant expected; for, now
and then, certain little Knickerbocker urchins
perched upon lamp and awning-posts, would
sing out: “ Here they come!" “ No, they don’t!”
“ I tell you, I see the flags!” “ And I hear the
drums!’ “ No, you don’t, it wants an hour of
the time,” etc., etc. Children of an older
grewth were also looking up the streets, with
similar exclamations of impatient expectation.

Let us walk down Broadway to the Bowling
Green. Here, especially, the crowds are dense.
The tap-room stoop of the Golden Shark is
crowded with waiting spectators. And there,
as I live, is Old Gotlieb Von Snooze, looking
balder, fatter and more good—humored than
ever.

He stands in the doorway of the tap—room,
and is uting his lips in a comical way, to
make a ittle fellow of five years old, or there-
abouts, laugh at him. And who is that hand—
some, matronly-looking young lady, who has
the aforesaid little fellow by the hand? That is
not Katrina, surely? Yes, i. is. And she is
twice as pretty as she ever was before. There
may be a little sadder expression than of old——
a toning of the exuberance of youth, but her
eyes are deep and holy with the cares of mother-
hood, though very bright at present with the
1same expectation which enthuses the entire popu-
ace. .

“ There they come i" for the fiftieth time cried
an urchin perched in a locust tree of the Bowl—
ing Green. And this time he spoke the truth.

What was coming? “’hat was the meaning
of all this hubbub?

It meant that the American army or a por-
tion of it were about to enter New York once
more. The British had evacuated some time
before. The war is almost over: and the golden
dawn of. freedom was brightening in the hori-
son.

And now the drums of the advancing troo
are indeed audible, and, from the shouts of t e

ple far up the street, it is evident that they
me already entered the town, And here they
come, at last, filing past the Golden Shark—
bronzed veterans of freedom’s fight, every man
a hero, with life and drum in victorious strains,
and the battle-baptized banners undulating in
the fresh morning sea—breeze.

First came the Connecticut troops. filing past,
and then halting on either side of the street,
with a hollow square between their ranks. The
Rhode Island veterans followed, then the Haw
Yorkers—the latter, especially, being received
with tumultuous cheers. .

When the lines were thus formed inalong
hollow square, the ap reuse of the troops,
from astandpoint in t e center of the street,
looking up, was very striking. You saw no
holiday soldiers. there. They were all veterans
—some of them listless. many of them shoeless
and ragged, but all of them hard! and fearless,
gun in hand. The redcoats woul

have laughed '

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Old Gotlleb, the Jolly Landlord. 99

 

at their nondescript, forlorn appearance, but
you, gentle reader, for whom they fought, you
would not have laughed, I am sure.

The citizens ran out with great pails of soup,
and other good things, and it was not long be-
fore the men were enjoying themselves, though
forbidden, as yet, to break ranks.

Gotlieb contributed to their comfort. Cask
after cask of creaming beer was rolled into the
street, broached and served, Katrina moving
about among the rude veterans, and serving
them with tears in her eyes.

At length the grand band was heard coming
down the street, with bray of brass instrument
and roll of drum: the quick word of command
went along the somewhat disordered ranks,
which thereupon immediately closed up at a
“ resent arms.” «,_

on could hear the cheering swell down upon
you much louder than before, and presently‘tbe
band made its appearance. Then ascended the
thankful cheers of the multitude, civilians and
soldiers joining in, for the tried generals and
other Chieftains of the American Army are fol-
lowing the band.

General Washington comes first. He looks
much older than when we first made his ac-
quaintance—but nobler, grander. sublimer, in
his majestic mien than ever. The sounds of
these greetings must be grateful to his ears.

On his le t rides General Mifiiin. On his
right, waving a hand to his wife, rides Joe Wil—
der. We must call him colonel now. He is a
splendid fellow, but he has only one armto wave
with—the other was shorn oil at the shoulder.

Katrina was standin on the stoo when she
saw her husband. At rst she wav her hand
feebly in reply to his distant greeting, and
smiled; then she leaned her retty hea upon
Old Gotlieb’s shoulder and urst into tears.
Poor, lone1y~hearted Katrina! She had waited
six long years to see her husband, and now the
joy is too great to bear, without the relief of
tears—joyous tears. , ’

The procession moved on. Chieftain after chief-
tain pamed, their careworn features wreatth
with smiles.

Then the troops filed in after them, and the
entire pageant swept st to turn up some
other street, and grati y the thousands whom
Broadway could not contain. The crowds fol—
lowed the procession, and in an hour or so, the
space in front of the Golden Shark was almost
deserted.

Then Katrina Wilder retired into the parlor
of the tavern, alon with her little son, and had
another good cry-— er panacea for everything.
Presently old Mrs. Wilderventered the apart-
ment. She had viewed the procession from an
upper window, and had ascribed a rtion of
Joe’s hand—wave as intended for horse] -as very
probably it was. _ . _

“ Did you see him, Kitty? Did you see him?”
she exclaimed, sitting down by atrina's side,
and ciasping her in her arms in the exuberance
of her emotion.

The happy wife could only press her mother’s
hand in reply.

“I saw him. too,” cried the little lad. “I
know’d it was daddy, if I never did see him be-
fore. Golly! he wasa nice maul“

/

 

The old lady smiled, and took him in her lap.

But now Old Gotlieb’s voice was heard in a
greeting which there was no mistaking. A light
foot was heard to spring into the tap-room—a
clear voice to exclaim: “ Where is she?" and
then the same step bounded into the parlor and
Katrina was in her husband’s embrace.

“ My darling! my wifei” was all he could
say.
hen came the mother’s turn. Then Old Got—
lieb entered, with his blunder-buss at shoulder-
arms, and immediately commenced one of his
“ forward-marches ” up and down the room. and
in a manner demoralized by jo ' while the little
lad, whose name was George ashington Wil-
der danced round his father, tugging at the tail
of his coat, and bawling at the top of excellent
lungs: “ Daddy, daddy, give usa kiss! Hooray!
hooray! here’s daddy l”

“ My dear little fellow !"‘ exclaimed the de-
lighted colonel, catching the urchin with his
Single arm. “ Why, Kitty, what a big, fine
fellow he is. And to think of a father with a
boy like that, and not to have seen him! Come,
darling, let us improve our acquaintance. What’s
your name?” I

“ George Washington Wilder!” was the
straightforward reply. “ Where’s your other
arm, daddy?”

“ Moldering in the sod of the Cowpens, my
boy,” re lied the colonel, laughing. “ But
there’s a ong story about that arm, which you
shall some time hear."

“ Yes, if George isa good boy,” said his grand-
mother. ! '

“ He always is goot,” exclaimed his grand-
father. “ I tells you, sheneral, dat dat dere lee-
tle poy is de gayest leetle pay you ever did saw.
He’s der pleasing of der household, and vill
be vell vorthy to possess der goon of mine faders,

ve_n ve bees all kerstauben.”

 

There is little more to add. Our hero servod
through the entire war with credit and fame.
Long after peace was declared he lived with his
beloved wife in New York City, respected and
honored by all, and upon terms of intimacy
with General Washington—holding several of-
fices of trust and dignity, under special appoint-
ment, when the general became the chief magis-
trate of the land. The happy pair were blessed
with other children, and the sun of their pros-
perity was cloudless to the close.

Old Gotlieb, the jolly landlord, gave up' his
tavern, and took up his residence in his daugh-
ter’s house, at the close of the war. There he
doubtless danced his grandchildren on his knee
to his heart’s content, telling them over and
over again the history of the blunderbuss, and
the account of that immortal hand-shake which
he received from the Father of his Country.

In END.

 

 

 

BEADLE'S BOY’S LIBRARY.

 

78 The Young Moose-Enters; or, Trail and Cainp-
Fire in the New Brunswick Woods. By William
H. Manning.

74 The Boy Coral-Fishers: or, The Sea Cavern
Scourge. By Roger Starbuck.

75 Revolver Billy, the Boy Ranger of Texas. By
Col. Prentiss Ingrnham.

=5 76 The Condor-Killers: or. Wild Adventures at the

 Equator. By T. C. Herbaugh.

v. v ‘ 77 Lud Lionheels, the Young Tiger—Fighter. By

 ' Roger Starbuck.

78 Flatboat Fred: or, The Voyage of the Experi-
ment. By Edward Willett.

79 Boone, the Hunter; or, The Backwoods Brothers.
By Captain F. Whittaker.

80 Kentucky Ben, the Long Rifle of the Cascades.
By R. Starbuck.

~ 81 The Kit Carson Club; or, The Young Hawkeyes

i in the Northwest. By T. C. Harbaugh.

v,- z ‘ 82 Little Buck, the Boy Guide; or, The Gold “ Eye "

. . of Montana. By Barry Ringgold.

83 Pony Bob, the Reckless Rider of the Rockies. By
Col. P. Ingraham.

84 Captain Fly-byNight; or, The Colorado Boys on
the War-Path. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

85 giiptain Ralph, the Young Explorer. By C. D.

ark.

 

 

86 Little Dan Rocks; or, The Mountain Kid's Mis-
sion. By Morris Redwing.
87 The Menagerie Hunters; or, Funny Hobart, the
Animal Queen. By Maj. H. Grenvflle.
88 The Bo Tramps; or, Life Among the Gipsies.
By J. A . Hoffman.
89 'Longshore Lige' or How aRough Boy Won His
Way. By c. D. (51a -. I
90 Roving Rifle, Custer's Little Scout. By T. C.
Harbaugh.
91 tOregon Josh, the Wizard Rifle. By Roger Ster-
uc .
92 Hurricane Kit; or, Old Lightning on the Rump-
age. By A. F. Holt.
93 J um ing Jake, the 0010er Circus Boy. By B.
Bain ridge.
94 Sam Spence, the Broadhorn Boy. By Ed. Willott.
95 Moscow to Siberia; or. A Yankee Boy to the
Rescue. By Charles Morris.
96 Fighting Fred: or. The Castaways of Grizzly
Camp. By T. C Harbaugh.
97 Cruise of the Flyaway; or, Yankee Boys in Cey-
lon. By C. Dunning Clark.
98 The Boy Vigilantes; or, King Cole and His Band.
By Major B. B. Stoddard.
99 TheWhite Tigers; or, SilverRifle, the Girl Track-
er of Lake Superior. By Capt. Chas. Howard.
100 The Snow‘Shoe Trail; or, The Forest Desper-
adoes. By St George Rnthbone.
101 Mariano, the Ottawa Girl; 01-, The Mysterious
Canoe. By Edward S. Ellis. ,
102 The Flyawafi Admit; or, Yankee Boys Round
the World. y L. Dunning Clark.
108 Pet Mulloney‘s Adventures- 01'. Silver Tongue,
the Dacotah Queen. By C. L. Edwards.
104 The Boy Pros ctor; or, The Secret of the Sierra.
Ravine. By oger Starbuck. -
105 Minonee, the Wood Witch; or, The Squatter’s
Secret. By Edwin Emerson.
106 The Boy Cruisers; 01-, Joe and Jap‘s Big Find.
By Edward Willett.
lid/The Border R’Wel‘s: or. Lost on the Overland
Trail. By J. Milton Homnan.

  

 

108 Alaska, the Wolf-Queen. By Captain Howard
Lincoln.

109 Christian Jim, the White Men‘s Friend. By Ed
ward S. E is. t

110 Plucky Joe, the Boy Avenger. By J. M. Hoffman.

111 The Border Gunmaker; or, The Hunted Maiden.
By James L. Bowen. ~

112 Left-Handed Pete, the Double—Knife. By Jos.
E. Badger, Jr.

113 The River Rifles; or, The Fate of the Flatboat.
By Capt. J. F. 0. Adams.

114 Alone on the Plains; or, The She~Eagle’s Venge~
once. By Edward Willett.

115 Silver Horn. and His Rifle Firedenth. By Roger
Sterhuck. I

116 Ex loits of Hezekiah Smith, the Backwoodsman.
By merson Rodmsn.

117 The Young Mustangers; or Dick Me ‘3 Ran»
gers. By C. Dunning Clark'. my

118 Oltlid'l‘raps; or, The Boy Rivals. ByBarry Ring-
go .

119 Center Shot, the White Crow. By T. 0. Rar-
baugh.

120 A Hot Trail; or, Clark Cloverly Among the Tar-
tnrs. By Charles Morris.

121 Hunter Pard Ben; or, The Wakashjs Blind_Lead.
By Roger Sterbuck.

122 The Esquimnux Queen; or, The Mystery of the
Lone Hut. By G. Waldo Browne.

123 Tim, the Boy Acrobat: or, Life in the Circus
Ring. By Charles Morris.

124 Queen Bessie, the Border Girl. By Henry J.
Thomas.

125 Tom Tabor, the Boy Fugitive: or, The Young
Lynch Gang Wolves. By Barry Binggold.

126 Mink Coat, the Death-Shot; or, The Spring of
the Tiger. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.

127 The Deer Hunter; or. Life in the Ottawa. Conn
try. By John J. Marshall.

128 Wolf-Ca ; or, the Night-Hawks of the Fire-
Lnnds. ' y Capt. Chas. Howard.

129 Silvers ur; or, The Mountain Heroine. By Ed-

~ ward \\ illett.

130 Keetsea, Queen of the Plains. By Percy B. St.
John. '

131 Wistsh, the Child Spy. By George Gleason.
132 The Island Tra per: or, The Young White-Buf-
falo Hunters. y Charles Howard.
133 The Forest Specter or, The Young Hunter's
Foe. By Edward Willett. .
134 Wild Not, the Trooper; or, The Cedar Swamp
Brigade. By Wm. R. Eyster. *

135 The Silver Bugle; or. The Indian Maiden of St.
Croix. By Lieut. Col. Hazeltine.

136 The Prairie Tra. per; 01', The Child or the
Brigade. By C. unmng Clark.

137 The Antelo Boy ;- or, Smoholler, the Medicine-
Man. By eo. L. Aiken.

138 Long Shot; or, The Dwarf Guide. By Captain
001115th

139 Colonel Crockett, the Bear King. By C. E.
Lesa. e. ,

140 Old Pegs, the Mountaineer; or, The Trapper
Rivals. By Lewis W. Carson.

141 The Giant Hunter; or, The Mad Scourge of the
Kickapoos. By Barry Hazard.

142 Black Panther, the Half-Blood: or. The Slave:
of the Silver Mines. By J. E. Badger, Jr.

143 Carson the Guide' or. The Perils of the Fron
tier. By Lieut. J: H. Randolph. '

 

 

 

 

 

BEADLE’S BOY’S LIBRARY.

 

 

LI ' 144 Kent, the Ranger; or, The Fuoitivcs of the Bor—
3' tier. By Edward S. Ellis.
145 Bill Robbins. Hunter; or, The Man in Green. By

.. Edward Willett.

146 The Half—Breed Rival; or, The Tangled Trail.
By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.

147 The Masked Avenger; or, Death on the Trail.
By Col. P. lngraham.

.5 148 Not? the Trapper and Indian Fighter.

‘ J. Prescott.

119 The Elk Demon; or, The Giant Brothers. By
T. C. Harbaugh.

150 The Boy Mustang-Hunter; or, Eulalie, the

t; Beautiful Amazon. By Frederick Whittaker.

151 Frank Yates, the Young Trapfier; or, Mountain
Kate’s Warning. By Joseph . Badger, Jr.

152 Wild Raven, the S rout; or. Blanche, the Over-
land Maiden. By 011 Coomes.

153 Lynx-Cap; or, Four Trappers Among the Sioux.
By Paul Bibbs.

154 The Champion Texan Rider; or, Red Buflalo
and the Hercules Hunter. By Harry St. George.

155 Dusky Dick’s Doom; or. Tobe Castor, the 01d
Scout. By Joe. E. Badger. Jr.

156 Frank Bell. the Boy Spy; or. The Mystery of
Crystal Lake. By 011 Coomes.

157 Nick Doyle. the Gold-Hunter. By P. H. Myers.

158 Kidnapped Dick; or. The Fate of the Fire-Fly.
By J. Stanley Henderson.

159 Sam's LongTriil; or, The Twin Scouts. By W.
J. Hamilton.

160 Hank Triplet’s Vow; or, The Old Guide’s Wrong
Trail. By Harry Hazard.

161 The Mad Skipper; or. The Cruise of the Monon-
gahela. By Roger Starbuck.

162 The Trapper King; or. O‘d BearvPaw, the Yan-
kee Scout. By Maj. Max Martine.

163 Simon Kenton. Hunter; or. The Renagade’s
Doom. By Emerson Rodman.

161 The BoyChief; or, Frank Bell’s Compact. By
Oll Coomes.

165 The Trader Traitor: or, Old Bark the Marksman.
By J. Stanley Henderson. ‘

166 Old Jupe’s Clew: or, The Darky Detective. By
Mrs. Orrin James.

167 The Youngr Trailer;or,'The Black League's Plot.
By W. J. Hamilton.

168 The Specter S y; or, The Wizard Canoe. By

By Paul

Maj. Lewis W. arson.
169 Lank Lute, the Old Colorado Hunter. By E.
W. Archer.

170 The White Wolf; or. Following a. Trail.
Edward Willett.

171 The Swam‘pr'Guide; or. Canebrake Mose and his
Dog. By . N Mc ell.

172 The Yankee Peddler; or. Jabez Hawk, the Spy.

r By C. Dunning Clark.

’ 173 The Scout and HisYoung Chum. By Warren

.‘ St. John.

174 Blacksmith Tom‘s Mask;
Rival. By Geo. D. Gilbert.

1 175 The Buckskin Rider; or, The White Scourge. By
v” Guy Greenwood.

176 The . untter‘s Surprise; or. Frontier Life at
Squire oknr’s. By Mrs. H. J. Thomas.

177' Four Follow Scouts; or The Unseen Hand. By
J. Stanley Henderson.

178 Old Kit and His Comrades; or. The Long Trail.
By .703. E. r, I. "

By

 

or, The Renegade

 

  

 

179 Uncle Grill‘s Disguise: or, Tom Drain, the Young
Ranger. By Harry Hazard.

180 The Marked Miner: 01'. Jolly Jan the Dutch
Trailer. By Lieut. Col. Hazeltine.

181 The Wild Huntress; or, Old Grizzly the Bear
Tamer. By Capt. Bruin Adams.

182 The Dwarf Decoy; or, The White Steed Rider.
By Marc 0. Rolfe.

183 Job Dean’s Tactics; or. The Captain’s
Rescuer. By Ingoldsby North.

184 Yankee Eph‘s Dilemma; or, the Scheming Suitor
Foiled. By J. R. Worcester. %

185 The Wily Witch‘s Ward. By Edwin E. Ew'n.
186 Frank, the Furrier: or. The Yankee Magical
Medicine Arrow. By J. Stanley Henderson.

187 Diana, the Fair Mountaineer. By Capt. F. \Vllli‘
taker.

188 Jack’s Snare; or, The Kent Boys’ Plot. By Mrs.
Ann E. Porter.

189 Sam. the Swamp Scout. A Romance of 1779.
By W. J. H ilton. .

190 The Dashing Trooper; or, The Half-Breed’s
Revenge. By Frederick Dewey. .,./

191 The Boy Brave; or. Stone Castle‘s
Schemer. By James L. Bowen.

192 Sandy Bill, of Texas; or. The White Apache’s
Doom. By Edward Willett.

193 Harry Winkle’s Lona Chase; or, the Haunted
Hunter. By Wm. R. Eyster. \

194 Creeper Cato, the Shadow Swamp Trailer.
F. Dewey.

195 The Ranger Detective; or. The Scalpless Hunter.
By Barry Hazard.

196 Gypsy Mag. the Mountain Witch; or, The Mys-
terious Mute. By C. D. Clark.

Fair

shrewd

By

197 The Branded Captain; or, The Silent Slayer. By

W. J. Hamilton.

198 Old Crossfire‘s Crisis; or. Frank Nesbit. the
Young Trailer. By Capt. Charles Howard.

199 Zebra Zack, the Texan. By W. J. Hamilton.

200 The Nameless Hunter; or, the Dacotah Scourge.
By George W. Robinson.

201 The Yankee Captives. By Edward Willett.

202 Teddy’s Long TraiL By Edward S. Ellis.

208 Old Hank. the Hermit; or. The Capture of the
Cave. By Edward W. A' cher.

204 Goosebead’s Best Shot. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.

205 The Dutchman‘s Dread: or. Gottlieh and his 4

Hunter Pard. By Capt. Charles Howard.

206 Kit Burt’s Mask; or, Nick the Scout. By W. J.
Hamilton.

5!)? Eagle-Eyed Tim; or. The Crafty Captain's Plot.
By C. Dunning Clark.

208 The Villa e Sport; or, The Young Mechanic‘s
Muster. y James L. Bowen.

209 Buck Burt’s Pluck; or, The Scouts of the Scioto.
By Edward Willett.

210 The Tell-Tale Bullet; or, The Ouflaws‘ Fate. By
J. Stanley Henderson.

211 The Boy Surveyor; or. Rugy, the Daring Rider,

By W. J. Hamilton.

Rider. By Seeliu Robins.

213 Silver City Tom; or. Blue Belt's Barter.
J tunes L. Bowen. .

214 Nick, the Detective‘ or. The Border Vagabond’u
Doom. By Edwin Emerson.  

By

212 Yankee Drover Swipes; or, The Young Mustang

7

 

 

 

 

 

 

BEADLE’S BOY’S LIBRARY.

 

215 Mustang Rider Boy; or. The Brigands of Texas.
By Albert W. Aiken. l

216 The Dakota Dutchman; or. Sharp Eye’s Brave
Band. By Maj. Max Martine.

217 Yankee Josh. tlle Rover; or. Two Adventurers
in the Tropics. By B. H. Belknap. M. D.

218 New York Ned in California: or. The BI‘OlhOl‘S of
the League. By W. J. Hamilton.

219 Kentucky Kate’s Shot: or. Border Foes‘ Frays.

- By Edward Willett.

220 ’Frisco Frank’s Rival; or. The Gold Cave of
Death Valley. By Paul J. Prescott.

221 DoctorBa , Detective; or, Trailer Tom‘s Tact.
By Lewis ay Swift.

222 Sly Sam’s Snare' or. The Boy Hunter’s Vow.
By Louis Legrand. M. D.

W3 Old Nancy’s Ward; or. The Rustic Rifle Ran»
gers. By Lieut. Col. Hazeltine.

224 Rattle ate, the Nabob; a Story of New York in
Early llimes. By Scott R. Sherwood.

225 Night-Hawk Bill; or. The New York Sportsmen‘s
Claw. By W. J. Hamilton.

226 The Masked Maniac; or. The Old Man’s Mission.
By Metro 0. Rolfe. -

227 Barney's Bold Brush; or. Three Youths in Idaho.
By James L Bowen.

228 The Deadwood Sports or. Diamond Dick’s De‘
liverance. By Lleut. . Gr. Lansing.

229 Hans Schmidt, Jr.; or, The Disguised Yankee.
By W. J. Hamilton.

230 Lone Star’s Sure Shot; or, The One-Armed Rival.
By Harry Hazard.

231 Mark Morgan's Mask; or, The Girl Avenger. By
Capt. Charles Howard,

232 Billy Broom’s First Cruise: or. Tom Pintle. the
Pilot. By H. Minor Klapp.

'28:! The Girl Rifle—Shot. By W. J. Hamilton.
234 Old Kyle’s Long Tramp; or, Zeke. the Reno e.
ByrHenry J. Thomas.

S86 Old Bill Syce’s Pledge; or, The Temll Unmasked.
By Edward Willett. , '

286 The On-the-Wing Detective; or. Tracking a New
York Bank Robber. By Ed. S, Ellis.

237 The Do] hin's Young Skipger; or, Will Wing,
the Pear Pirate. By Roger ‘tarhuck.

Y 288 Josh’s Bog Yards; or. The Mysterious Sky Ran.
‘ ger. By . G. Lansmg. .

289 Lee Dakin's Disguise; or. The Madman”: Re

venge. By Marc 0. Rolfe.

240 During Dick’s Race; or. The Yankee Peddlor‘s
Surprise. By Arthur L. Meserve.

241Uncle Ephe's Boys; or, Archy Gordon’s Grit.
By J. Stanley Henderson.

5M2 ’chlist Bob Snared; or, The Champion’s Rival.
By Capt. R. M. Hawthorne.

243 Flash-Light Joe; or, Brave, the Canine Scout.
By Charles P. Isley.

244 Bob Baker’s Last Leag; or Old Reuben‘s Re-
venge. By T. Benton hields. U. S. A.

245 North Woods Nat; or. The Young Mountain
Captain. By W. J. Hamilton.

' 846 The Girl Chief“ or, Doll ’9 Droll Dl '56. B
J. M. Merrill. ’ y am y

247 Denver Dick, the Rattler: or The Miners of
Deadflod Gulch. By Barry rd.

9

. Landauasmrb.‘ matrix, c“:

 

248 Black Jim’s Doom; or. Billy Bowlegs‘s Revenge.
By Lleut-Col. Hezeltine.

249 Morgan. the Sva Rover; or. The Shi'er Scotch-
man 5 Scheme. By John S. Warner.

250 Zach’s Ghost Trap; or. The Haunted House. By
George Applegate.

251 Kyd‘s Bold Game; or. the Death Trail Mystery.
By Paul Bibbs.

252 Sancho Sam's Shot; or. Fort Binkky's Specter
Riders. By George Gleason.

253 Crafty Crazy Slack; or, The French Fugitive.
By Harry Hazard. ‘

254 The Fighting Quaker; or. The Droll Darky's
Dismay. By Edward S. Ellis.

255 The Ranger’s First Cruise; or. The Yankee Tar
Abroad. By John S. Warner.

256 Bob Gage’s Crew; or, The Bo sot Lo ear-Cam .
By John Neal. y gg p

257 Tommy's Fast Pacer: or. Searching for “Uncle
Josiah." By W. J. Hamilton.

258 Doc Bell’s Pluck' or, The Frenchman’s Fate.
By Capt. Charles Howard.

259 Rocky Mountain Burt; or, Harry, the Furrier's
Son. By Edward Willett.

260 Reckless Ralph’s Risk; 01', The Tell-Tale Clew.
By Jamvs L. Bowen.

261 Gold Nugget Dick: or. Two Boys’ Good Luck.
By Tom P. Morgan.

5362 Ira’s Big Bonanza: or. Mysterious Crazy Tom.
By Harry Hazard.

263 Josh M'lrsten, Detective; or. The Crafty Agent’s
Crime. By Mary A. Denison.

264 Uncle Jerry, the maker; or, the Schoolmaster's
Trial. By John ea].

265 $119 Skip er‘s Mate; or, The Cruise of the Fire-

ly. By glal‘ry Cavendish.
266 The Girl ('owhoy Captain; or. The Skinners of
the Carolina Swamps. By Jon. E. Badger. Jr.
267 Epll. the Mimic Spy: or, The Frenchman’s Doom.
lly W. J. Hamilton.

268 Ralph‘s Last Tramp; or. The Woodman’s Recre-
ant Rival. By Edward S. Ellis.

20.) Sol Steele’s Grudge; or. The Madman of the
Mi 1mi. By Edward Willett I

270 Jack. the Coast Detective; or. The Disguised
Captain’s Clerk. By‘ Roger Starbuck.

271 Old Gotlieb, the Jolly Landlord; or. The
Daring Dutch Damsel. By Merrick Jobnstone.

272 Tue Boy Boomer; or, Pawnee Bill’s Protege.
By Howard M. Iloynton.
Ready June 29.

273 Roll Mike‘s Ruse. By W. J. Hamilton.
Ready July 6.
274 B mm, the Dutch Dame;or The Alderman’s Lita
tlg Prom  By Decatur fauldlng, U. S. N.
Ready uly 13.

BEiDLE'S BOY 9 Linux? is for sale by all New
dealers. flve cents per copy. or sent by mail on re.
ceipt of six cents each.

Bunnn AND ADAMS, Publishers,

98 William Street. New York.