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Updated: June 26, 2025
"Your faithful servant, "And she's already in the city?" asked Garrick of Warrington as he finished reading the letter. "Mrs. de Lancey has gone with her to do some shopping. I see. That will take all day, she said? She is going to call on Lucille to-night that's what she told her new maid there? To-night? That's all right, my boy. I just wanted to be sure. Don't worry.
Captain De Lancey assigned a beast to myself and my prisoner. The big rebel clambered up behind me, with the absent-minded acquiescence he had displayed ever since my stroke had put his wits asleep. As we started dejectedly Southward, full of bruises, aches, and weariness, there was some question whether the rebels would pursue us.
Casting a savage piercing look on Lancey, and apparently not feeling sure, from his appearance, whether he was friend or foe, the man presented his rifle and fired. The ball grazed Lancey's chest, and entering the forehead of the old woman scattered her brains on the wall.
He even chose a wife of French, rather than English, descent; though, indeed, the De Lanceys, notwithstanding they were Americans of Huguenot origin, were very good Englishmen, as the issue proved when the separation came. Miss De Lancey, however, at that time, had no views or feelings as between the colonies and England; or if she had any, scarcely knew what they were.
And he was much pleased because Harry De Lancey had been a great part of the day with him, and was very eloquent indeed about the young man's good sense and good disposition, and the unnecessary, and almost cruel, confiscation of property his family had suffered, for their Tory principles.
But the dream lasted so long that Lancey began at last to fear he should never awake from it. For a week he remained at that hotel, faring sumptuously, and quite unrestrained as to his movements, though he could not fail to observe that he was closely watched and followed wherever he went.
I had just finished dressing the wounds of a soldier, at the end of this terrible episode, when a touch on my shoulder caused me to look up. It was Dobri Petroff. "Have you seen your servant Lancey?" he asked quickly. "No. I had intended to ask if you knew anything about him when the beginning of this carnage drove him and everything else out of my mind. Do you know where he is?"
He swam towards the drowning man and supported him till their feet touched bottom. Then, perceiving that he was able to stagger along unassisted, Lancey pushed hurriedly from his side in the hope of escaping from any of the crew who might reach land, for they were evidently the reverse of friendly. He landed among a mass of bulrushes.
"Heskiwin, 'e's a good un too, hain't 'e, Bobo?" asked Lancey, pointing with his thumb to the tall Turk, who sat cross-legged beside him smoking a chibouk. Ali Bobo smiled in the way that a man does when he thinks a great deal more than he chooses to express.
"Lancey," said Ali Bobo, while the operation was being performed, "zat big Bulgar beast he say you's his friend." "Big he is, a beast he's not, and a friend he was," replied Lancey, with a dazed look. Further conversation was cut short by the sergeant ordering the trio to move on. He led them towards the Russian lines by a cord passed round Bobo's neck, and carried a revolver in his right hand.
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