- end_line
- 1382
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:05.590Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 1358
- text
- had it not been for the peculiar disinterested fidelity of our
adventurer’s patriotism, he would have soon sported the red coat; and
perhaps under the immediate patronage of his royal friend, been
advanced in time to no mean rank in the army of Britain. Nor in that
case would we have had to follow him, as at last we shall, through
long, long years of obscure and penurious wandering.
Continuing in the service of the king’s gardeners at Kew, until a
season came when the work of the garden required a less number of
laborers, Israel, with several others, was discharged; and the day
after, engaged himself for a few months to a farmer in the neighborhood
where he had been last employed. But hardly a week had gone by, when
the old story of his being a rebel, or a runaway prisoner, or a Yankee,
or a spy, began to be revived with added malignity. Like bloodhounds,
the soldiers were once more on the track. The houses where he harbored
were many times searched; but thanks to the fidelity of a few earnest
well-wishers, and to his own unsleeping vigilance and activity, the
hunted fox still continued to elude apprehension. To such extremities
of harassment, however, did this incessant pursuit subject him, that in
a fit of despair he was about to surrender himself, and submit to his
fate, when Providence seasonably interposed in his favor.
- title
- Chunk 3