"Go--go, poor wretch, and make your peace with God; for it is
He only that can be of service to you now."
The sergeant took up the lantern, and, with some indignation in his
manner, he left the peddler to sorrowful meditations on his approaching
fate. Birch sank, in momentary despair, on the pallet of Betty, while
his guardian proceeded to give the necessary instructions to the
sentinels for his safe-keeping.
Hollister concluded his injunctions to the man in the shed, by saying,
"Your life will depend on his not escaping. Let none enter or quit the
room till morning."
"But," said the trooper, "my orders are, to let the washerwoman pass in
and out, as she pleases."
"Well, let her then; but be careful that this wily peddler does not get
out in the folds of her petticoats." He then continued his walk, giving
similar orders to each of the sentinels near the spot.
For some time after the departure of the sergeant, silence prevailed
within the solitary prison of the peddler, until the dragoon at his door
heard his loud breathings, which soon rose into the regular cadence of
one in a deep sleep. The man continued walking his post, musing on an
indifference to life which could allow nature its customary rest, even
on the threshold of the grave. Harvey Birch had, however, been a name
too long held in detestation by every man in the corps, to suffer any
feelings of commiseration to mingle with these reflections of the
sentinel; for, notwithstanding the consideration and kindness manifested
by the sergeant, there probably was not another man of his rank in the
whole party who would have discovered equal benevolence to the prisoner,
or who would not have imitated the veteran in rejecting the bribe,
although probably from a less worthy motive.
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