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- 1448
- text
- account of his adventures since he first took up arms for his country.
To this Israel had no objections in the world, since all men love to
tell the tale of hardships endured in a righteous cause. But ere
beginning his story, the Squire refreshed him with some cold beef, laid
in a snowy napkin, and a glass of Perry, and thrice during the
narration of the adventures, pressed him with additional draughts.
But after his second glass, Israel declined to drink more, mild as the
beverage was. For he noticed, that not only did the three gentlemen
listen with the utmost interest to his story, but likewise interrupted
him with questions and cross-questions in the most pertinacious manner.
So this led him to be on his guard, not being absolutely certain yet,
as to who they might really be, or what was their real design. But as
it turned out, Squire Woodcock and his friends only sought to satisfy
themselves thoroughly, before making their final disclosures, that the
exile was one in whom implicit confidence might be placed.
And to this desirable conclusion they eventually came, for upon the
ending of Israel’s story, after expressing their sympathies for his
hardships, and applauding his generous patriotism in so patiently
enduring adversity, as well as singing the praises of his gallant
fellow-soldiers of Bunker Hill, they openly revealed their scheme. They
wished to know whether Israel would undertake a trip to Paris, to carry
an important message—shortly to be received for transmission through
them—to Doctor Franklin, then in that capital.
“All your expenses shall be paid, not to speak of a compensation
besides,” said the Squire; “will you go?”
“I must think of it,” said Israel, not yet wholly confirmed in his
mind. But once more he cast his glance on Horne Tooke, and his
irresolution was gone.
The Squire now informed Israel that, to avoid suspicions, it would be
necessary for him to remove to another place until the hour at which he
should start for Paris. They enjoined upon him the profoundest secresy,
gave him a guinea, with a letter for a gentleman in White Waltham, a
town some miles from Brentford, which point they begged him to reach as
soon as possible, there to tarry for further instructions.
Having informed him of thus much, Squire Woodcock asked him to hold out
his right foot.
“What for?” said Israel.
“Why, would you not like to have a pair of new boots against your
return?” smiled Home Tooke.
“Oh, yes; no objection at all,” said, Israel.
“Well, then, let the bootmaker measure you,” smiled Horne Tooke.
“Do _you_ do it, Mr. Tooke,” said the Squire; “you measure men’s parts
better than I.”
“Hold out your foot, my good friend,” said Horne Tooke—“there—now let’s
measure your heart.”
“For that, measure me round the chest,” said Israel.
“Just the man we want,” said Mr. Bridges, triumphantly.
“Give him another glass of wine, Squire,” said Horne Tooke.
Exchanging the farmer’s clothes for still another disguise, Israel now
set out immediately, on foot, for his destination, having received
minute directions as to his road, and arriving in White Waltham on the
following morning was very cordially received by the gentleman to whom
he carried the letter. This person, another of the active English
friends of America, possessed a particular knowledge of late events in
that land. To him Israel was indebted for much entertaining
information. After remaining some ten days at this place, word came
from Squire Woodcock, requiring Israel’s immediate return, stating the
hour at which he must arrive at the house, namely, two o’clock on the
following morning. So, after another night’s solitary trudge across the
country, the wanderer was welcomed by the same three gentlemen as
before, seated in the same room.
“The time has now come,” said Squire Woodcock. “You must start this
morning for Paris. Take off your shoes.”
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