"We must dig
deep, where there will be no risk of discovery," said a third.
A cold chill ran through Sam's veins. He fancied he saw before him a
gang of murderers, about to bury their victim. His knees smote
together. In his agitation he shook the branch of a tree with which he
was supporting himself as he looked over the edge of the cliff.
"What's that?" cried one of the gang. "Some one stirs among the
bushes!"
The lanthorn was held up in the direction of the noise. One of the
red-caps cocked a pistol, and pointed it towards the very lace where
Sam was standing. He stood motionless - breathless; expecting the next
moment to be his last. Fortunately, his dingy complexion was in his
favor, and made no glare among the leaves.
"'Tis no one," said the man with the lanthorn. "What a plague! you
would not fire off your pistol and alarm the country."
The pistol was uncocked; the burthen was resumed, and the party slowly
toiled up the bank. Sam watched them as they went; the light sending
back fitful gleams through the dripping bushes, and it was not till
they were fairly out of sight that he ventured to draw breath freely.
He now thought of getting back to his boat, and making his escape out
of the reach of such dangerous neighbors; but curiosity was
all-powerful with poor Sam. He hesitated and lingered and listened. By
and bye he heard the strokes of spades.
"They are digging the grave!" said he to himself; the cold sweat
started upon his forehead. Every stroke of a spade, as it sounded
through the silent groves, went to his heart; it was evident there was
as little noise made as possible; every thing had an air of mystery and
secrecy. Sam had a great relish for the horrible - a tale of murder was
a treat for him; and he was a constant attendant at executions. He
could not, therefore, resist an impulse, in spite of every danger, to
steal nearer, and overlook the villains at their work. He crawled along
cautiously, therefore, inch by inch; stepping with the utmost care
among the dry leaves, lest their rustling should betray him. He came at
length to where a steep rock intervened between him and the gang; he
saw the light of their lanthorn shining up against the branches of the
trees on the other side. Sam slowly and silently clambered up the
surface of the rock, and raising his head above its naked edge, beheld
the villains immediately below him, and so near that though he dreaded
discovery, he dared not withdraw lest the least movement should be
heard. In this way he remained, with his round black face peering over
the edge of the rock, like the sun just emerging above the edge of the
horizon, or the round-cheeked moon on the dial of a clock.
The red-caps had nearly finished their work; the grave was filled up,
and they were carefully replacing the turf. This done, they scattered
dry leaves over the place. "And now," said the leader, "I defy the
devil himself to find it out."
"The murderers!" exclaimed Sam involuntarily.
The whole gang started, and looking up, beheld the round black head of
Sam just above them. His white eyes strained half out of their orbits;
his white teeth chattering, and his whole visage shining with cold
perspiration.
"We're discovered!" cried one.
"Down with him!" cried another.
Sam heard the cocking of a pistol, but did not pause for the report. He
scrambled over rock and stone, through bush and briar; rolled down
banks like a hedgehog; scrambled up others like a catamount. In every
direction he heard some one or other of the gang hemming him in. At
length he reached the rocky ridge along the river; one of the red-caps
was hard behind him. A steep rock like a wall rose directly in his way;
it seemed to cut off all retreat, when he espied the strong cord-like
branch of a grape-vine reaching half way down it. He sprang at it with
the force of a desperate man, seized it with both hands, and being
young and agile, succeeded in swinging himself to the summit of the
cliff. Here he stood in full relief against the sky, when the red-cap
cocked his pistol and fired. The ball whistled by Sam's head. With the
lucky thought of a man in an emergency, he uttered a yell, fell to the
ground, and detached at the same time a fragment of the rock, which
tumbled with a loud splash into the river.
"I've done his business," said the red-cap, to one or two of his
comrades as they arrived panting. "He'll tell no tales, except to the
fishes in the river."
His pursuers now turned off to meet their companions. Sam sliding
silently down the surface of the rock, let himself quietly into his
skiff, cast loose the fastening, and abandoned himself to the rapid
current, which in that place runs like a mill-stream, and soon swept
him off from the neighborhood. It was not, however, until he had
drifted a great distance that he ventured to ply his oars; when he made
his skiff dart like an arrow through the strait of Hell Gate, never
heeding the danger of Pot, Frying-pan, or Hog's-back itself; nor did he
feel himself thoroughly secure until safely nestled in bed in the
cockloft of the ancient farm-house of the Suydams.
Here the worthy Peechy paused to take breath and to take a sip of the
gossip tankard that stood at his elbow. His auditors remained with open
mouths and outstretched necks, gaping like a nest of swallows for an
additional mouthful.
"And is that all?" exclaimed the half-pay officer.
