So he ran away from her, and at last fell into
the hands of a party of British, who recaptured him, and declared that
they would send him immediately back to the prison ship. They were
quartered in a house near Oyster Bay, and here they locked him in a
room, and he was told to lie down on some straw to sleep, as it was
now night. In the night the fleas troubled him so much that he was
very restless. A sentinel had been placed to guard him, and when this
wretch heard him moving in the dark he exclaimed, "Lie still, G--d---
you," and pricked him several times with his bayonet, so that the poor
boy felt the fresh blood running down his body. He begged the sentinel
to spare his life, declaring that it was hard he should be killed
merely because the fleas had made him restless. He now did not dare to
move, and was obliged to endure the attacks the fleas and the
stiffness of his wounds in perfect silence until the sentinel was
relieved. The next sentinel was kind and humane and seemed to
compassionate his sufferings. He said that some men were natural
brutes, and seemed to take an interest in the boy, but could do little
for him. At daylight he was sent to the quarters of a Tory colonel a
mile from the guard room. The colonel was a tall man of fine
appearance, who examined him, and then said he must be sent back to
the Jersey. The poor lad was now left in an unlocked room on the
ground floor of the colonel's house.
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