"Crosby, at length, thought of a plan. Near the north-west corner of the church was a window, from which he contrived to draw the fastenings, so that he could open it. Near this window, stood a large willow tree, whose deep shade would conceal him till he could have opportunity to escape unobserved.
"The night, at length, approached, in which he determined to put his plan into execution. But what if he should fail?—it might be the last of his earthly existence.
"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."
