the commissary was standing at the grates of his prison window, catching the last rays of the setting sun, and thinking of his family, his country, and running through a long series of melancholy forebodings, such as fill the visions of a father, a husband, and a patriot in such an hour, when he was summoned to an audience with a stranger in the jailer's room. Well, he exclaimed, perhaps some new disaster; God give me strength for the occasion; I will not distrust him. The summons was imperative, and as he entered the room, a stranger in the garb of an officer motioned the jailer to be gone. This was done with the air of one having authority; and the man of bolts and bars, of chains and fetters, instantly retired. The jailer having departed, the British officer addressed the prisoner in the following categorical manner. Sir, were you ever on the West India station? I have often been in the West Indies, was the reply; for seven years and more I was master of a brig in that trade, from this country. The next question was, Do you recollect having performed any act on that station in 1769, which you remember with pleasure? No sir, said the commissary, I do not recollect any thing of an extraordinary nature in the whole course of my life, in which I had any share, although my life has been full of vicissitudes. The only thing I ever thought worth mentioning in my life, is, that during the whole time I was in the West India business, I never lost a man by disease or accident. My crews were carefully selected, fed well, kept cleanly and temperate, and under the strictest discipline. They would

obey me to the jeopardy of their lives, without a reluctant look or a single murmur. This is very well, said the stranger; but do you not recollect leaping into the sea when a young Englishman was amusing himself in the water, and a cry was uttered from those in the boat that a shark was near; and of rescuing that young man from the jaws of the monster; the people of his own boat fearing to save him? The fact, sir, is within my recollection, if it is of any importance for you to know it, said the commissary; but I must add in justice, that it did not require so much courage as you imagine, to have done this; my faithful black man was with me, and I ordered him to leap into the water with a boat-hook, and attack the shark, while I swam to the assistance of the gentleman; and Cæsar gave the monster a wound before I had reached the sinking and exhausted swimmer. The black run the greatest risk, as a shark is guided more by scent than by sight, and would have attacked him first. Why, said the inquirer, did you not seek out the gentleman you saved, and at least have witnessed his gratitude after his preservation? I did not see him afterward, for a very good reason, said the commissary; my vessel was then ready for sea, the wind was fair, and I was taking out to her the last article for our voyage, when we saw the danger of the young officer you mention. Have you any keep-sake from the gentleman? was the next inquiry. I took the gentleman to my own boat rather than his, as mine was low in the water, and I was certain of the assistance of my men; his clothes were brought on board of my

boat, and some days afterwards I found his military stock in it. I saved it, and finding it had a valuable buckle, I had it put into one of my stocks; which I wore, hoping one day to have an opportunity of returning it. I wore it on my neck the day I was taken prisoner by your forces. Should you know the buckle without the stock if you could examine it, inquired the stranger? I think so, was the answer; but I prefer not to be interrogated on this subject, said the commissary. Yet I will examine the buckle if you have it. The buckle was produced, and at once recognized. The British officer then arose, and with the greatest emotion grasped the hand of the prisoner, and declared himself to be Sir John Castlehouse, of his majesty's service, under Sir William Howe, commander-in-chief in America; and greeted the commissary as among the bravest and most philanthropic men he had ever known,-and added, this, sir, is the happiest moment of my life. I have now, thank God, an opportunity of making some return to one who has ventured his life to save mine. You are aware, my dear sir, said Sir John, that you are all considered as rebels, and no exchange of prisoners can be made, but I can effect your escape. To this the commissary objected, as it might be the means of bringing evil on a young officer; but the reply was, my friends and family connections are sufficient to protect me in such a course. I know Sir William will forgive me, when he is acquainted with my motives and my obligations to you. The love of liberty in a prisoner requires but few arguments to be brought to its aid to

overcome many scruples on the score of duty. Sir John wrote a note, and calling his servant who was in waiting, sent it off at once. It was arranged that at midnight a horse should be found behind the fence at the next pasture, which was where Walker-street now is,-and a guard ready to conduct him to the American camp. The prisoner was covered with the British officer's cloak and hat, and directed, if stopped on the way, to give his name as Sir John Castlehouse, and ride on. The countersign also was communicated. All being in readiness, Sir John inquired if Cæsar was still a slave, and if he was, what sum. would liberate him? The commissary answered that Cæsar was a free man, and added, he was with me just before I was taken. I had dispatched him with a load of grain for the camp, when I was surrounded by your forces. A purse of guineas was sent to Cæsar. At this moment the commissary took occasion to name his fellow-prisoner, the parson's son, and the kindness of the doctor. They shall not be forgotten, on my honor, was the brief reply, and adding, as you have brought the stock-buckle for me, I will keep it, but in exchange you must take the one I now wear. After some hesitation it was accepted. The commissary now started, and reached in safety the head-quarters of the American commanderin-chief. The officers were rejoiced to see him, but he was silent on the mode of his escape, not knowing how the event might affect Sir John.

The commissary finding that his health was impaired, returned to his native state, and when recovered, accepted

the command of a large armed ship, then ready for sea. He thought himself better qualified for sea service than for the army. During the six years of the war which remained, he followed the seas with various success, but always supporting the character of a man who was as humane as brave. His children have at the present day many acknowledgments from his captives of his generosity and kindness. If for a moment he had the roughness of the sailor, it was only for a moment; the better qualities of his heart always predominated. The history of his adventures during the war, written out, would make a volume. He was once taken and carried to England, and for a while confined in Mill Prison, from whence he made his escape to France, and was sent from thence with dispatches from Dr. Franklin. These were brought and preserved in the crown of a tarpaulin hat, which was not opened until he reached the floor of Congress. That body passed him a vote of thanks for his important services, but forgot to think of any remuneration. Thinking, perhaps, as they afterwards said, that Dr. Franklin must have taken care of that; but nothing was received from Franklin, as the minister's certificate, obtained several years afterwards, states. On the return from his first cruise, which was successful, he saw the collegian, who informed the commissary that he was soon taken from the prison, and set to copying papers, as it was found he wrote an excellent hand, and in a few months released altogether, and suffered to depart for his home, and provided with clothes and money; and he also brought the