He met with no
difficulty, and I have never seen him since. I have heard he is still
living, and that he receives a pension for the hurt he received at York.
Well does he deserve it, for no man ever had a narrower chance for
his life.
Nothing new, worthy of notice, occurred for several months, until one
evening in March, 1815, we heard a great rejoicing in Halifax; and,
presently, a turnkey appeared on the walls, and called out that England
and America had made peace! We gave three cheers, and passed the night
happy enough. We had a bit of a row with the turnkeys about locking us in
again, for we were fierce for liberty; but we were forced to submit for
another night.
Chapter X.
The following morning, eight of the names that stood first on the
prison-roll were called off, to know if the men would consent to work a
liberated Swedish brig to New York. I was one of the eight, as was Jack
Mallet and Barnet. Wilcox, one of those who had gone with us to Bermuda,
had died, and the rest were left on the island. I never fell in with
Leonard Lewis, Littlefield, or any of the rest of those chaps, after I
quitted the prison. Lewis, I think, could not have lived long; and as for
Littlefield, I heard of him, afterwards, as belonging to the
Washington 74.
The Swede, whose name was the Venus, was lying at the end of Marchinton's
wharf, a place that had been so familiar to me in boyhood.
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