t! shoot me!"_ said Henry. "_You can't kill me but once_.
Shoot!--shoot! and be d--d. _I won't be tied_." This, the brave fellow
said in a voice as defiant and heroic in its tone, as was the language
itself; and, at the moment of saying this, with the pistols at his very
breast, he quickly raised his arms, and dashed them from the puny hands
of his assassins, the weapons flying in opposite directions. Now came
the struggle. All hands was now rushed upon the brave fellow, and, after
beating him for some time, they succeeded in overpowering and tying him.
Henry put me to shame; he fought, and fought bravely. John and I had
made no resistance. The fact is, I never see much use in fighting,
unless there is a reasonable probability of whipping somebody. Yet there
was something almost providential in the resistance made by the gallant
Henry. But for that resistance, every soul of us would have been hurried
off to the far south. Just a moment previous to the trouble with Henry,
Mr. Hamilton _mildly_ said--and this gave me the unmistakable clue to
the cause of our arrest--"Perhaps we had now better make a search for
those protections, which we understand Frederick has written for himself
and the rest." Had these passes been found, they would have been point
blank proof against us, and would have confirmed all the statements of
our betrayer. Thanks to the resistance of Henry, the excitement produced
by the scuffle drew all attention in that direction, and I succeeded
in flinging my pass, unobserved, into the fire. The confusion attendant
upon the scuffle, and the apprehension of further trouble, perhaps,
led our captors to forego, for the present, any search for _"those
protections" which Frederick was said to have written for his
companions_; so we were not yet convicted of the purpose to run away;
and it was evident that there was some doubt, on the part of all,
whether we had been guilty of such a purpose.{227}

Just as we were all completely tied, and about ready to start toward St.
Michael's, and thence to jail, Mrs. Betsey Freeland (mother to William,
who was very much attached--after the southern fashion--to Henry and
John, they having been reared from childhood in her house) came to the
kitchen door, with her hands full of biscuits--for we had not had time
to take our breakfast that morning--and divided them between Henry and
John. This done, the lady made the following parting address to me,
looking and pointing her bony