"About dark, the sentinels were stationed, as usual, round the house.
They were four in number.
"Before midnight, all was still. Officers and soldiers were asleep.
Crosby rose, and holding his chains, so that they should not clink,
crept softly to the window, which he raised. Fast did his heart beat,
while doing this--but faster still as he slid to the ground, beneath
the willow tree.
"A sentinel was at no great distance. For a moment, he stopped--
arrested by the noise--he even turned--listened--looked--but all was
now silent there--and thinking himself mistaken, he sung aloud '_All's
well_,' and onward he marched, still farther from the place of
Crosby's concealment.
"Now, thought he, is the moment--the only moment, perhaps, which I
shall have; creeping on his hands and feet, he reached the grave yard,
a stone's throw from the church, and here behind a tombstone,
succeeded in loosing his chains.
"When this was done, he watched the moment to make his escape. A thick
swamp, he knew, was at no great distance; but the darkness of the
night made haste dangerous. Yet in rapidity lay his only hope.
"He prepared, therefore, to run the hazard. And seizing the moment,
when the sentinel had turned in an opposite direction, he bounded
forth and fled--a ball passed him before he had reached many rods,--
and now another--and still another--yet a merciful providence
protected him; and, before the garrison could be roused, he was
wallowing deep in the mud of a swamp;--but he was safe--quite safe
from pursuers.
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