across the garden, leaped the fence at a bound, and flew over the adjacent pasture with the speed of a race-horse. In a moment the whole party were in full pursuit ; and in five minutes more, a hundred men and boys, of all ages, roused by the cry that now rang through the village, were out, and joining in the race. The fields were rough, and in some places quite wet, so that running across them was rather a difficult and hazardous business. The direction which Kingston at first seemed inclined to take, would lead him into the main road, beyond the corner, nearly half a mile off. But those who were mounted, put spurs to their horses, and reaching the spot before him, headed him off in another direction. He now flew from field to field, leaping fence after fence, and apparently aiming for the deep forest, on the eastern part of the town. Many of his pursuers were active and athletic young men, and they gave him a hot chase. Even Deacon Stone, who had come to the village that evening to await the arrival of the officer, even the deacon, now in the sixty-first year of his age, ran like a boy. He kept among the foremost of the pursuers, and once getting within about a dozen rods of the fugitive, his zeal burst forth into language, and he cried out, in a tremulous voice: Stop! you infernal villain! -stop!' This was the nearest approach he had made to profanity for forty years; and when the sound of the words he had uttered, fell full on his ear, his nerves received such a shock, that his legs trembled, and he was no longer able to sustain his former speed. The colonel, however, so far from obeying the emphatic injunction of the deacon, rather seemed to be inspired by it to new efforts for flight. Over log, bog, and brook, stumps, stones, and fences, he flew like a wild deer; and after a race of some two miles, during which he was at no time more than twenty rods from some of his pursuers, he plunged into a thick, dark forest. Hearing his adversaries close upon him, after he had entered the wood, and being almost entirely exhausted, he threw himself under the side of a large fallen tree, where he was darkly sheltered by a thick clump of alders. His pursuers rushed furiously on, many of them within his hearing, and some of them passing over the very tree under which he lay. After scouring the forest for a mile round, without finding any traces of the fugitive, they began to retreat to the opening, and Kingston heard enough of their remarks, on their return, to learn that his retreat from the woods that night would be well guarded against, and that the next day, Monson would pour out all its force, 'to hunt him to the ends of the 'arth, but what they would have him!' Under this comfortable assurance, he was little disposed to take much of a night's rest, where he would be sure to be discovered and overtaken in the morning. But what course to take, and what measures to adopt, was a difficult question for him to answer. To return to the Monson opening, he well knew would be to throw himself into the hands of his enemies; and if he remained in the woods till next day, he foresaw there would be but a small chance to escape from the hundreds on every side, who would be on the alert to take him. North of him, was the new town of Elliotville, containing some fifteen or twenty families, and to the south, lay Guilford, a well-settled farming town; but he knew he would be no more safe in either of VOL. XIII. 40 those settlements, than he would in Monson. East of him, lay an unsettled and unincorporated wild township, near the centre of which, and some three or four miles to the eastward of where he now lay, dwelt a solitary individual, by the name of Johnson, a singular being, who, from some unknown cause, had forsaken social life, and had lived a hermit in that secluded spot for seven or eight years. He had a little opening in a fine intervale, on the banks of Wilson river, where he raised his corn and potatoes, and had constructed a rude hovel for a dwelling. Johnson had made his appearance occasionally at the village, with a string of fine trout, a bear-skin, or some other trophy of his Nimrod propensities, which he would exchange at the stores for a little rum, and a little tobacco, and a little tea, and a jack-knife, and a little more rum,' when he would plunge into the forest again, return to his hermitage, and be seen no more for months. After casting his thoughts about in vain for any other refuge, Kingston resolved to throw himself upon the protection of Johnson. Accordingly, as soon as he was a little rested, and his pursuers were well out of hearing, he crept from his hiding place, and taking his direction by the moon, made the best of his way eastward, through the rough and thick wood. It is no easy matter to penetrate such a forest in the day time; and in the night, nothing but extreme desperation could drive a man through it. Here pressing his way through a dark and thick underbrush, that constantly required both hands to guard his eyes; there climbing over huge wind-falls, wading a bog, or leaping a brook; and anon working his way, for a quarter of a mile, through a dismal, tangled cedar-swamp, where a thousand dry and pointed limbs, shooting out on every side, clear to the very ground, tear his clothes from his back, and wound him at every stepunder these impediments, and in this condition, Kingston spent the night in pressing on toward Johnson's camp; and after a period of extreme toil and suffering, just at daylight, he came out to the opening. But here another barrier was before him. The Wilson river, a wild and rapid stream, and now swollen by a recent freshet, was between him and Johnson's dwelling, and he had no means of crossing. But cross he must, and he was reluctant to lose time in deliberation. He selected the spot that looked most likely to admit of fording, and waded into the river. He staggered along from rock to rock, and fought against the current, until he reached nearly the middle of the stream, when the water deepened, and took him from his feet! He was but an indifferent swimmer, and the force of the current carried him rapidly down stream. At last, however, after severe struggles, and not without imminent peril of his life, he made out to reach the bank, so much exhausted, that it was with difficulty he could walk to Johnson's camp. When he reached it, he found its lonely inmate yet asleep. He roused him, made his case known to him, and begged his protection. Johnson was naturally benevolent, and the forlorn, exhausted, ragged, and altogether wretched appearance of the fugitive, at once touched his heart. There was now 'no speculation in those eyes, Which he did glare withal,' but fear and trembling blanched his countenance, and palsied his limbs. Possibly the hermit's benevolence might have been quickened by a portion of the contents of the colonel's purse; but be that as it may, he was soon administering to the comfort of his guest. In a few minutes, he had a good fire, and the exhausted wanderer took off his clothes and dried them, and tried to fasten some of the flying pieces that had been torn loose by the hatchel-teeth limbs in the cedar-swamps. In the meantime, Johnson had provided some roasted potatoes, and a bit of fried bear-meat, which he served up, with a tin dipper of strong tea, and Kingston ate and drank, and was greatly refreshed. They now set themselves earnestly at work, to devise means of retreat, and security against the pursuit of the enraged Monsonites, 'who,' Kingston said, 'he was sure would visit the camp before noon.' Under a part of the floor, was a small excavation in the earth, which the host called his potato-hole, since, being near the fire, it served in winter to keep his potatoes from freezing. This portion of the floor was now covered with two or three barrels, a water-pail, a bench, and sundry articles of iron and tin ware. It was Johnson's advice, that the colonel should be secreted in this 'potato-hole.' He was afraid, however, that they would search so close as to discover his retreat. Yet the only alternative seemed to be between the plan proposed, and betaking himself again to the woods, exposed to toil and starvation, and the chance of arrest by some of the hundreds who would be scouring the woods that day, eager as blood-hounds for their prey. Something must be done immediately, for he was expecting every hour to hear the cry of his pursuers; and relying on Johnson's ingenuity and skill to send them off on another scent, should they come to his camp, he concluded to retreat to the potato-hole. Accordingly the superincumbent articles were hastily removed, a board was taken up from the floor, and the gallant colonel descended to his new quarters. They were small, to be sure, but under the circumstances very acceptable. The cell was barely deep enough to receive him in a sitting posture, with his neck a little bent, while under him was a little straw, upon which he could stretch his limbs to rest. Johnson replaced all the articles with such care, that no one would have supposed they had been moved for months. This labor had but just been completed, when he heard shouts at a distance, and beheld ten or a dozen people rushing out of the woods, and making toward his camp. He was prepared for them; and when they came in, they found him seated quietly on his bench, mending his clothes. 'Have you seen any thing of Colonel Kingston?' inquired the foremost of the company, with panting eagerness. 'Colonel Kingston ?' asked Johnson, looking up with a sort of vacant, honest stare. 'Yes, he's run for 't,' replied the other, and we are after him. The grand jury's indicted him, and the sheriff 's got a warrant, and all Monson, and one half of Guilford, is out a-hunting for him. Last night, jest as they were going to take him, he run into the woods this way. Ha' n't you seen nothin' of him?' Johnson sat with his mouth wide open, and listened with such an Johr The Trespaser in Maine. trembling blanched his countenance, and pained the hermit's benevolence might have been c good fire, and the exhausted wanderer those settlements, than he would in Monson. East of hi ent g flesh.' or during that ed from one end of successively visited the espatched to the woods by principally left the woods, and conng sentinels, at short intervals, on the orest, and in the neighboring towns, hoping when hunger should drive him forth to some of Kingston felt that it was unsafe for him to remain the protection of Johnson, and he knew it would be dificult to make his escape through any of the settle Upon due reflection, he concluded that the only dozen or fifteen miles from the foot of Moosehead was a foot-path to Elliotville, where there were a few Through this settlement he thought he might venture to in the night; and he could then go nine miles, direct, through four miles to the westward, and meet the road leading from Monson Having matured his plan, he communicated it to Johnson, who aided he could make his way into the Canada road, and escape with safety. it in the best manner he could, by providing him with a pack of pota , to the foot of the lake, or he could strike across, three or Once across or around the foot of the lake, he believed and fried bear-meat, accompanied with an extra Indian 'johnnyjack-knife, and a flint and tinder for striking fire. It was late in the night, when all things were prepared for the Kingston bade an affectionate adieu to his host, declaring thought and expression, that a friend in need was a friend indeed.' that he should never forget him, and adding, with much originality of He had nearly a mile to go through the woods, before reaching the passed the Elliottville settlement, the day began to dawn. A stirring path that led through the township to Elliottville; and when he young man, who was out at that early hour, saw him cross the road at a distance, and strike into the woods. Satisfied, at once, who he was, and suspecting his object, he hastened to rouse his two or three hbors, and then started toward Monson village, with all the gs could give him. Kingston, observing this movement in the woods, was convinced that he should be pursued, 's exertions to reach the lake. nger reached Monson, and communicated his invillage was roused like an encamped army at venty minutes, every horse in the village was re spurring with all speed toward the lake, he foremost. As they came in sight of was about an hour high, was pouring calm still waters, and some half a m man, alone in a canoe, paddling hermit's benevolence might have been quick- the hatchel-teeth limbs in on had provided some hich he served up, drank, and was eans of Chless, and then vent was given nabit had made familiar. Someacon Stone's throat, well nigh as sinful mer occasion, but he coughed, and checked erance. They looked eagerly around, and ran see if another boat, or any other means of crossing d be found; but all in vain. The only skiff on that arm ake, had been seized by the colonel in his flight. His purAs were completely baffled. Some were for crossing the woods, and going round the south-west bay of the lake, over the head waters of the Kennebec river, and so into the great wilderness on the western side of the lake. But others said, 'No, it's no use; if he once gets over among them swamps and mountains, you might as well look for a needle in a hay-mow!" This sentiment accorded with the better judgment of the party, and they turned about and rode quietly back to Monson; Deacon Stone consoling himself on the way, by occasionally remarking: 'Well, if the heathen is driven out of the land, thanks to a kind Providence, he has n't carried the land with him!' SONNET. 'YE elements! in whose ennobling stir SPIRIT of Grandeur! thou in days of yore H. W. R. Utica, (N. Y.,) March, 1839. |