Beadle's Dime Novels No. 37: Godbold, the Spy — page 100: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

8 GIDEON GODROLD. “Pull away! pull away! my men.” “ Ay, ay, General,” replied the hardy mariners; aud bend ing to their vars, the barge, steered by a skillful coxswain wt the helm, glided rapidly down the river. But there was a cauldron in his heart which bdiled his blood, and maddened his brain, and he viewed every object in distortion. From shore to.shore he gazed in trepidation, imagining that each projection from the rocky eminencs was a man, and by each of whom was extended the finger of arrest. Every instant he urged the men to increased gpecd, though the perspiration showered from their heated skin, and the barge almost flew over the surface of the water. “ Anthony’s Nose” was made in an incredibly short time, and opposite this sterile monument of time stood the mere pigmy “ Dunderburg,” called the “Thunder Mountain,” and the interval between tliese fractured rocks, through which the river coursed, is called the “ Horse Race.” “Give way, men,” vociferated Arnold. And down this rapid current of the lordly estuary the skillful coxswain steered, while the oarsmen—adepts in their art, and Herculean in strength—impelled their barge as never boat had passed through there before, while the affrighted voyager, unconscious .of his almost miraculous speed, gasped for the air which seemed shut out from between the But a few minutes had transpired, when the barge was opposite Peekskill. Ten miles had been run in a space of fime unrivaled in the history of boating ; still, to the mad- dened fugitive, the period was an age. Fresh agonies were endured as Arnold looked upon this place. The house of Jobn Smith was near, where he and the witty and courteous André had spread their subtle meshes for a tiumph. Now André was a prisoner, and he was barely free, and as he w turning from this scene to"WiRD Shi theif Weageat his ep fell upon an eminence a little nearer—it was called “ Gallows Hill,” and chronicled the fate of one from which he was using stich efforts to escape. In vain he strained his eyes to see che goal at which be aimed—those planks of British oak—the Vulture. She was not in view—he had not yet run the conic oxoolkks.comnn