{"id":"01KG8AKGYXBVDP52B32P0VBB8K","cid":"bafkreibi2m7lqh4g4ucqho7th27m6eiss3bmn5kqucrwan75visenvjz2i","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":1302,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:05.590Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 1","source_file":"01KG89J1DKC9HHJRKY25JZBEXW","start_line":1206,"text":"CHAPTER V.\r\nISRAEL IN THE LION’S DEN.\r\n\r\n\r\nHarassed day and night, hunted from food and sleep, driven from hole to\r\nhole like a fox in the woods, with no chance to earn an hour’s wages,\r\nhe was at last advised by one whose sincerity he could not doubt, to\r\napply, on the good word of Sir John Millet, for a berth as laborer in\r\nthe King’s Gardens at Kew. There, it was said, he would be entirely\r\nsafe, as no soldier durst approach those premises to molest any soul\r\ntherein employed. It struck the poor exile as curious, that the very\r\nden of the British lion, the private grounds of the British King,\r\nshould be commended to a refugee as his securest asylum.\r\n\r\nHis nativity carefully concealed, and being personally introduced to\r\nthe chief gardener by one who well knew him; armed, too, with a line\r\nfrom Sir John, and recommended by his introducer as uncommonly expert\r\nat horticulture; Israel was soon installed as keeper of certain less\r\nprivate plants and walks of the park.\r\n\r\nIt was here, to one of his near country retreats, that, coming from\r\nperplexities of state—leaving far behind him the dingy old bricks of\r\nSt. James—George the Third was wont to walk up and down beneath the\r\nlong arbors formed by the interlockings of lofty trees.\r\n\r\nMore than once, raking the gravel, Israel through intervening foliage\r\nwould catch peeps in some private but parallel walk, of that lonely\r\nfigure, not more shadowy with overhanging leaves than with the shade of\r\nroyal meditations.\r\n\r\nUnauthorized and abhorrent thoughts will sometimes invade the best\r\nhuman heart. Seeing the monarch unguarded before him; remembering that\r\nthe war was imputed more to the self-will of the King than to the\r\nwillingness of parliament or the nation; and calling to mind all his\r\nown sufferings growing out of that war, with all the calamities of his\r\ncountry; dim impulses, such as those to which the regicide Ravaillae\r\nyielded, would shoot balefully across the soul of the exile. But\r\nthrusting Satan behind him, Israel vanquished all such temptations. Nor\r\ndid these ever more disturb him, after his one chance conversation with\r\nthe monarch.\r\n\r\nAs he was one day gravelling a little by-walk, wrapped in thought, the\r\nKing turning a clump of bushes, suddenly brushed Israel’s person.\r\n\r\nImmediately Israel touched his hat—but did not remove it—bowed, and was\r\nretiring; when something in his air arrested the King’s attention.\r\n\r\n“You ain’t an Englishman,—no Englishman—no, no.”\r\n\r\nPale as death, Israel tried to answer something; but knowing not what\r\nto say, stood frozen to the ground.\r\n\r\n“You are a Yankee—a Yankee,” said the King again in his rapid and\r\nhalf-stammering way.\r\n\r\nAgain Israel assayed to reply, but could not. What could he say? Could\r\nhe lie to a King?\r\n\r\n“Yes, yes,—you are one of that stubborn race,—that very stubborn race.\r\nWhat brought you here?”\r\n\r\n“The fate of war, sir.”\r\n\r\n“May it please your Majesty,” said a low cringing voice, approaching,\r\n“this man is in the walk against orders. There is some mistake, may it\r\nplease your Majesty. Quit the walk, blockhead,” he hissed at Israel.\r\n\r\nIt was one of the junior gardeners who thus spoke. It seems that Israel\r\nhad mistaken his directions that morning.\r\n\r\n“Slink, you dog,” hissed the gardener again to Israel; then aloud to\r\nthe King, “A mistake of the man, I assure your Majesty.”\r\n\r\n“Go you away—away with ye, and leave him with me,” said the king.\r\n\r\nWaiting a moment, till the man was out of hearing, the king again\r\nturned upon Israel.\r\n\r\n“Were you at Bunker Hill?—that bloody Bunker Hill—eh, eh?”\r\n\r\n“Yes, sir.”\r\n\r\n“Fought like a devil—like a very devil, I suppose?”\r\n\r\n“Yes, sir.”\r\n\r\n“Helped flog—helped flog my soldiers?”\r\n\r\n“Yes, sir; but very sorry to do it.”\r\n\r\n“Eh?—eh?—how’s that?”\r\n\r\n“I took it to be my sad duty, sir.”\r\n\r\n“Very much mistaken—very much mistaken, indeed. Why do ye sir me?—eh?\r\nI’m your king—your king.”\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 1"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJHFQP29KQ09WMGVG54R1","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1DKC9HHJRKY25JZBEXW","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AKGYX2J68ZH1G1Z7ZDDFN","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:07.133Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:13.873Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}