CHAPTER XXV
We were condemned to death without a hearing by a military courtsitting at Fort Hill, before which we appeared in chains. The 19th ofApril was set for our execution; we were taken back to the southbattery in a coach escorted by light horse, and from there conveyedthrough the falling snow to the brick prison on Queen Street.
This time, however, we were not led into the loathsome "Pirates'Chapel," but the jailers conducted us to the upper tier of the prison,recently finished, and from the barred windows of which we could lookout into Long Acre and School Street across the eight gibbets to theKing's Chapel. It appeared that England treated condemned highwaymenwith more humanity than coast pirates, for our cells were clean andnot very cold, and our food was partly butcher's meat. Besides this,they allowed us a gill of rum every three days, an ounce of tobaccoonce every twenty-four hours, and finally unlocked our irons, leavingus without manacles, in order that the sores on our necks, wrists, andlegs might heal.
It was now the 1st of January, 1775. The New Year brought changes tothe prison, but the most important change, for us, was the appointmentof Billy Bishop as warden of our tier, to replace Samuel Craft, nowpromoted to chief warden in the military prison on Boston Neck.
The warden, his wife, and his children occupied the apartment at thewest end of our corridor; and the day that Craft, the former warden,moved out, and the Bishop family moved in, I believed firmly that atlast our fighting chance for life had come.
All day long I watched the famous thief-taker installing his family intheir new dwelling-place; doubtless Mount also noted everything fromhis cell, but I could not communicate with him without raising myvoice.
Mrs. Bishop, a blowsy slattern with a sickly, nursing child, sat on abundle of feather bedding and directed her buxom daughter where toplace the furniture. The wench had lost her bright colour, andsomething, too, in flesh. Her features had become thinner, clean-cut,almost fine, though her lips still curved in that sensual pout whichso repels me in man or woman.
That she knew Mount was here under sentence of death was certain; Icould see the sorrowful glances she stole at the grating of his cellas she passed it, her bare, round arms loaded with household utensils.And once her face burned vivid as she stole by, doubtless meetingMount's eyes for the first time since he had bent in his saddle andkissed her in the dark mews behind the "Virginia Arms"--so long, solong ago!
All day the thief-taker's family were busied in their new quarters,and all day long the girl passed and repassed our cells, sometimeswith a fearful side glance at the gratings, sometimes with bent headand lips compressed.
My heart began singing as I watched her. Surely, here was aid forus--for one of us at all events.
The early winter night fell, darkening our cells and the corridoroutside; anon I heard Bishop bawling for candle and box, and I lookedout of my grating into the darkening corridor, where the thief-takerwas stumping along the entry bearing an empty candle-stick. Mrs.Bishop followed with the baby; she and her husband had fallen todisputing in strident tones, charging each other with the loss of thecandles. As they passed my cell I moved back; then, as I heard theirvoices growing fainter and fainter down the corridor, I steppedswiftly forward and pressed my face to the grating. Dulcima Bishopstood within two feet of my cell.
"Will you speak to me?" I called, cautiously.
"La! Is it you, sir?" she stammered, all a-tremble.
"Yes; come quickly, child! There, stand with your back to my cell. Areyou listening?"
"Yes, sir," she faltered.
"Do you still love Jack Mount?" I asked.
Her neck under her hair crimsoned.
"Will you help him?" I demanded, under my breath.
"Oh yes, yes," she whispered, turning swiftly towards my grating."Tell me what to do, sir! I knew he was here; I saw him once in the'Chapel,' but they boxed my ears for peeping--"
"Turn your back," I cut in; "don't look at my grating again. Now,listen! This is the 1st of January. We are to die at dawn on the 19thof April. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"You are to get us out, do you understand, child?"
"Yes--oh yes, yes! How, Mr. Cardigan? Tell me and I'll do it; truly, Iwill!"
"Then go to Jack's cell and let him talk to you. And have a care theydo not catch you gossiping with prisoners!"
The girl glanced up and down the corridor; a deeper wave of redstained her face, but already I heard Mount calling her in a cautiousvoice, and she went, timidly, with lowered eyes.
I laid my ear to the grating and listened; they were whispering, and Icould not hear what they said. Once an echoing step in the entry sentthe girl flying across the corridor into her room, but it was only anight keeper on his rounds, and he went on quickly, tapping the lockof each cell as he passed. When the glimmer of his lanthorn died awayin the farther passages, the girl flew back to Mount's grating. Ilistened and watched for a sign of Bishop and his wife.
"Jack," I called out in a low voice, "tell her to find Shemuel if shecan."
"Quiet, lad," he answered; "I know what is to be done."
Before I could speak again, a distant sound warned the girl to herroom once more; presently Bishop came stumping back, holding a lightedcandle and still disputing with his slattern wife.
"You did! I tell you I seen you!" he grunted. "You left them candlesin the wood-box."
"Well, why didn't you say so before you tore up all the parcels?"demanded his wife, shrilly.
"Oh, quit your nagging!" he snarled. "All the rogues in the prisonwill be laughing at you!"
"Let 'em laugh! Let 'em laugh!" she panted, waddling along furiouslybeside him; "I can't help it. I know I married a fool. Bishop, you'rea fool, and you know it, and everybody knows it, so don't pick on me,for I won't have it!"
I saw the termagant as she passed my door, tagging after thethief-taker, who looked surly enough, but evidently was no match forthe dirty shrew at his heels. How pitiful and petty their anger to aman in the shadow of death! But their wrangling voices were presentlyshut out as their door slammed. I waited a while, but heard nothingmore, so took myself off to the corner, there to lie on my iron cotand try to think.
A young moon hung over King's Chapel, shedding a tremulous light onthe snowy parade. Very dimly I could make out the tall shapes of eightgibbets, stark and black against the starry sky. There was no wind;the pendent bundles of bones and chains which hung from each gibbetdid not sway as they had swayed that morning in a flurry ofwind-driven snow, while the brazen drums of the marines played eightsouls into hell eternal.
I watched the stars, peacefully, thinking of the stars that lightedour misty hills in Johnstown; I thought of Silver Heels and my lovefor her, and how, by this time, she must deem me the mostdishonourable and craven among men. I thought of this calmly; longsince I had weathered the storms of grief and rage impotent, which hadtorn me with their violence night after night as I lay in chains inthe "Chapel."
No; all would yet be well; some day I should hold her in my arms. Allwould be well; some day I should hold the life of Walter Butler on mysword's point, and send his red soul howling! Yes, all would be well--
A ray of light fell on my face; I turned and sat up on the edge of mycot as the key in the cell door gritted.
Full under the flare of a lanthorn stood a man in a military uniformof scarlet and green. Behind him appeared Warden Bishop, holding thelanthorn.
"This is the Weasel, sir," he said, "at least he goes by that name,although the Weasel I have chased these ten years was a different cutof a rogue. But it's all one, captain; he was took with Jack Mount,and he'll dance a rope-jig the 19th of April next."
"Why not sooner?" asked the officer, gravely.
I started, quivering in every limb.
"Why not hang him sooner?" inquired Walter Butler, moving back a stepinto the corridor. He limped as he walked and leaned on a cane. Mymark was still upon him.
"Well, sir," said Bishop, scratching his ears, "we hung eightcoast-
scrapers in November, and two sheep-thieves in December. We'vegot three pickpockets to swing this month, then Symonds, thewharf-robber, is to go in February. There's no room in March either,because the Santa Cruz gang goes up the 13th--seven o' them inchains--and the gallows yonder ain't dropped last year's fruit yet,and the people hereabouts complains o' the stench of a hot day and asouth wind--"
"Can't he change places with some other rogue?" interrupted Butler,impatiently.
"Lord, no!" cried Bishop, horrified. "Leastways, not unless thecourt-martial directs it, sir. They don't do no such things in Boston,sir."
"They do in Tryon County," observed Butler, eying me coolly. Presentlya ghastly smile stretched his pallid face, but his yellow eyes glaredunchanging.
"Well, well," he said, "so you are to sail to glory at a rope's end,eh? You wouldn't burn, you know. But the flames will come later, Ifancy. Eh, Mr.--er--Mr. Weasel?"
"Are your broken bones mended?" I asked, quietly.
"Quite mended, thank you."
"Because," I said, "you will need them some day--"
"I need them now," he said, cheerfully; "I am to wed a bride ere long.Give me joy, Weasel! I am to know the day this very night."
I could not utter a sound for the horror which froze my tongue. He sawit; fastened his eyes on my face, and watched me, silent as a snakewith its fangs in its paralyzed prey.
"Would you care to see the famous Jack Mount, captain?" asked Bishop,swelling with pride. "I took him myself, sir. All the papers had it--Ihave the cuttings in my room; I can fetch them, sir--"
Butler did not appear to hear him.
"Yes," he continued, thoughtfully, "I ride this night to Lexington.She's a sweet little thing--a trifle skinny, perhaps. I think you haveseen her--perhaps picked her pocket. When we are wed we shall come toBoston--on the 19th of April next."
I sprang at him; I had gone stone-blind with rage, and knew not what Idid; the steel door crashed in my face; the locks rattled.
Outside the door I heard Butler's cool voice, continuing: "But if shepleases me not, to-night, I may change my mind and take her for mymistress--as Sir William took your aunt--as my friend General Gage hastaken your old sweetheart, Mrs. Hamilton. One wench is like another insilken petticoats. Sleep soundly, Master Weasel. If I find her toothin for my taste I'll leave her for Dunmore."
All that night I lay on the stone floor of my cell, by turns inert,stupid, frantic.
When Bishop came to me in the morning he thought me ill and summonedthe prison apothecary to cup me; but ere that individual appeared withhis pills and leeches, I was quiet and self-possessed, ready to arguewith the pill-roller and convince him I needed no nostrums. All thatday I watched for Dulcima; twice I saw her go to Mount's cell, butcould hear nothing of what they whispered.
Now as I was standing, looking out of the grating, I chanced to glancedown, and saw that the apothecary had left his case of herbs and drugson a bench which stood just outside my cell door.
Idly I read the labels on the bottles and boxes: "Senna, Jalap,Brimstone, Es. Cammomile, Saffron Pills, Tinc. Opium--"
Opium? An easy death.
I gazed at the dark flask, scarcely a foot below me, but as safe fromme as though under lock and key. Presently I turned around; my cellcontained a cot, an iron table, a bowl for washing, and a towel.
After a moment's thought I caught up the coarse towel, drew from itsome threads, twisted them, tied on more threads, and then, greasingthe cord with a bit of soap, made a running noose at the end.
There was nobody in the corridor. I heard voices in Bishop's room,whither the apothecary had gone to examine the baby at Mrs. Bishop'ssummons. Very carefully I let down my thread, fishing for the bottle'sneck with my slip-noose; but the neck was so placed that I could notsnare it, and I drew up another bottle instead, bearing the label:"_Ex. S. Nigrum_."
What _Ex. S. Nigrum_ might be I did not know, but hid the tiny flaskunder a loose fragment of stone in my flooring where a black beetlehad his abode. Scooping out for it a little hole in the damp earth, Iburied it, not harming my friend the beetle; then I returned to fishfor my opium flask, but could not snare it. Finally I drew in mystring just as the apothecary came out with Mrs. Bishop at his heels.
He stood a moment, talking, then picked up his cow-hide case, closedit, and took himself off.
That night, when the corridor was dusky and Bishop sprawled outsidehis door to smoke his evening pipe, I called to him and asked him fora jug of water. He fetched it and seemed disposed to linger and chat abit, but I was uncommunicative, and presently he left me to my owndevices, lighting the lanthorn in the corridor ere he retired to hisroom with his long pipe.
I now unearthed my flask containing the _Ex. S. Nigrum_, poured asingle drop into my basin, filled it up with water, and then returnedthe flask to its hiding-place.
"We shall see," I muttered, "whether there be any virtue of poison inmy _Nigrum_," and I caught the poor little black beetle who had comeout to enjoy the lamplight.
Now as the drop of _Ex. S. Nigrum_ had been diluted many hundreds oftimes by the water in my bowl, I argued that, if this solution dealtdeath to the beetle, a few drops, pure, would put Jack Mount and mebeyond the hangman's hands.
Poor little beetle! how he struggled! I was loath to sacrifice him,but at last I dropped him into the bowl.
He did not swim; I watched him for a moment, and finally touched him.The little thing was stone dead.
That I had a terrible and swift poison in my possession I nowbelieved; and my belief became certainty when the apothecary camenext day in a panic, crying out to Bishop that he had lost a flask ofnightshade syrup, and feared lest the infant might find it and swallowthe poison.
I watched Bishop and his wife rummaging their rooms in a spasm ofpanic, and finally saw them go off with the puling pill-roller toreport the loss to the head warden.
Later that day a turnkey searched my cell, but did not see the crackedcorner of the stone slab, which I covered with one foot.
When all was quiet, I called to Dulcima and bade her tell Jack Mountthat I had the poison and would use it on us both if we could not findother means to escape the gallows.
The poor child took the message, and presently returned, wiping hertears, to say that Jack had every hope of liberty; that I must notdespair or take the life which no longer was at my own disposal, andthat she, Dulcima, had already communicated with Shemuel.
She handed me a steel awl, telling me to pick at the mortar which heldthe stones on my window-ledge, and to fill these holes with waterevery night, so that the water might freeze and crack the stonesaround the base of the steel bars.
I had never thought of such a thing! I had often seen the work offrost on stones, but to take advantage of nature in this manner neveroccurred to me.
Eagerly and cautiously I set to work with my little steel pick, todrill what holes I might before Bishop came. But it was heart-breakinglabour, and so slow that at the end of a week I had not loosened asingle bar.
The next week the weather was bitterly cold. I had drilled some fewholes around the base of an iron stanchion, and now I filled them withwater and plugged them with a paste of earth from beneath my flooring,threads from my towel, and some soap.
At dawn I was at my window, and to my delight found the stone cracked;but the iron bar was as firm as ever, so I set to drilling my holesdeeper.
At the end of that week Dulcima let me know that Jack had loosened onebar of his window, and could take it from its socket whenever I wasready. So I worked like a madman at my bar, and by night was ready tocharge the holes with water.
It was now the middle of March; a month only remained to us in whichto accomplish our liberty, if we were to escape at all.
That night I lay awake, rising constantly to examine my work, but tomy despair the weather had slowly changed, and a warm thaw set in,with rain and the glimmer of distant lightning. In vain I worked at mybar; I could see the dark sky brighten with lightning; presently thelow mutter of
thunder followed. An hour later the rain fell hissinginto the melting snow in the prison yard.
I sent word to Mount that I could not move my bar, but that he mustnot wait for me if he could escape from the window. He answered thathe would not stir a peg unless I could; and the girl choked as shedelivered the message, imploring me to hasten and loose the bar.
I could not do it; day after day I filled the cracks and holes,waiting for freezing weather. It rained, rained, rained.
Weeks before, Mount had sent the girl to seek out Mr. Foxcroft andtell him of my plight. I also had sent by her a note to Silver Heels.
The girl returned to report that Mr. Foxcroft had sailed for Englandearly in November, and that nobody there had ever heard of a MissWarren in Queen Street.
Then Butler's boast came to me, and I sent word to Shemuel, biddinghim search the village of Lexington for Miss Warren. I had not yetheard from him.
Meanwhile Mount communicated, through Dulcima, with the Minute Men'sClub, and already a delegation headed by Mr. Revere had waited onGovernor Gage to demand my release on grounds of mistaken identity.
The Governor laughed at them, asserting that I was notorious; but asthe days passed, so serious became the demands from Mr. Revere, Mr.Hancock, and Mr. Otis that the Governor sent Walter Butler to assurethese gentlemen that he knew Mr. Cardigan well, and that the rogue inprison, who pretended to that name, was, in fact, a notorious felonnamed the Weasel, who had for years held the highway with thearch-rogue, Mount.
At this, Shemuel came forward to swear that Mr. Butler and I weredeadly enemies and that Butler lied, but he was treated with scantceremony, and barely escaped a ducking in the mill-pond by thesoldiers.
Meanwhile Mr. Hancock had communicated with Sir John at Onondaga, andawaited a reply to his message, urging Sir John to come to Boston andidentify me.
No reply ever came, nor did Sir John stir hand or foot in my behalf.Possibly he never received the message. I prefer to think so.
Matters were at this pass when I finally gave up all hope of looseningmy window bars, and sent word to Jack Mount that he must use hissheets for a cord and let himself out that very night. But thefrightened girl returned with an angry message of refusal from thechivalrous blockhead.
The next day it was too late; Bishop's suspicions somehow had beenaroused, and it took him but a short time to discover the loosenedbars in Jack Mount's cell.
How the brute did laugh when he came on the work accomplished. Hesearched Mount's cell, discovered the awl and a file, shouted withlaughter, summoned masons to make repairs, and, still laughing, cameto visit me.
I had not dared to leave my poison-flask in the hole under the stone.What to do with it I did not know; but, as I heard Bishop comechuckling towards my cell, I drove the glass stopper into the flaskfirmly as I could, then, wiping it, placed it in my mouth, togetherwith the small gold ring I had bought in Albany, and which I had, sofar, managed to conceal.
It was a desperate move; I undressed myself as he bade me, and sat onmy bed, faint with suspense, while Bishop rummaged. He found the holewhere I had hidden the flask. The awl lay there, and he pouched itwith a chuckle.
When Bishop had gone, I drew the deadly little flask from my mouth,trembling, and chilled with sweat. Then I placed it again in itshiding-place, hid the ring in my shoe, and dressed slowly, brushing myshabby clothes, and returning the pockets and flaps which Bishop inhis careful search had rifled. He did not search my cell again.
And now the days began to run very swiftly. On the 18th of April,towards five o'clock in the evening, a turnkey, passing my cell, toldme that General Gage was in the prison with a party of ladies, andthat he would doubtless visit my cell. He added, grimly, that thedeath-watch was to be set over us in an hour or two, and that,thereafter, I could expect no more visitors from outside until I heldmy public reception on the gallows.
Laughing heartily at his own wit, the turnkey passed on about hisbusiness, and I went to the grating to listen and look out into thetwilight of the corridor.
Mrs. Bishop, whose sick baby was squalling, lighted the lanthorn abovethe door of her room, and retired, leaving me free to converse withMount.
"Jack," I called, hoarsely, "the death-watch begins to-night."
"Pooh!" he answered, cheerfully. "Wait a bit; there's time to cheat adozen gibbets 'twixt this and dawn."
"Yes," said I, bitterly, "we can cheat the hangman with what I have inthis little flask."
"You must give it to the girl," he said. "She will flavour our lastdraught with it if worst comes to worst. She will be here in amoment."
At that instant I caught sight of Dulcima Bishop, her cloak all wetwith rain, passing quickly along the corridor towards Mount's cell;and I called her and gave her my flask, glad to have it safe at leastfrom the search which the death-watch was certain to make.
The poor child turned pale under the scarlet hood of her witch-cloakwhen I bade her promise to serve us with a kinder and more honourabledeath than the death planned for us on the morrow.
"I promise, sir," she said, faintly, raising her frightened whiteface, framed by the wet cloak and damp strands of hair. She addedtimidly: "I have a knife for--for Jack--and a file."
"It is too late for such things," I answered, quietly. "If it iscertain that you cannot get the keys from your father, there is nohope for us."
Her face, which in the past month had become terribly pinched andthin, quivered; her hands tightened on the edge of the grating."If--if I could get the keys--" she began.
"Unless you do so there is no hope, child."
There was a silence; then she cried, in a choking voice: "I can getthem! Will that free Jack? I will get the keys; truly, I will! Oh, doyou think he can go free if I open the cell?"
"He has a knife," I said, grimly; "I have my two hands. Open the cellsand we will show you."
She covered her eyes with her hands. Jack called to her from hisgrating; she started violently, turned and went to him.
They stood whispering a long time together. I paced my cell, withbrain a-whirl and hope battering at my heart for the admittance Icraved to give. If she could only open that door!--that rusted,accursed mass of iron, the very sight of which was slowly crushing outthe last spark of manhood in me!
"Are you listening?" whispered Dulcima at my grating again.
"Yes," I answered.
"Watch our door at seven to-night!" she said. "Be ready. I will openyour door."
"I am ready," I answered.
At that moment the sound of voices filled the corridor; the girl fledto her room; a dozen turnkeys shuffled past, bowing and cringing,followed by Collins, the chief warden, an old man whom I had notbefore seen. Then came a gentleman dressed in a long dark cloak whichhung from twin epaulettes, his scarlet and gold uniform gleamingbelow. Was that the Governor?
He passed my cell, halted, glanced around, then retraced his steps.After a moment I heard his voice distinctly at some distance down thecorridor; he was saying:
"The highwaymen are here, Mrs. Hamilton--if--if you would care to seethem."
I sat up in my cot, all a-tremble. Far down the corridor I heard awoman laughing. I knew that laugh.
"But," persisted the Governor, "you should really see the highwaymen,madam. Trust me, you never before beheld such a giant as this rogue,Jack Mount."
The voices seemed to be receding; I sprang to my grating; theGovernor's bland voice still sounded at some distance down thepassage; Mrs. Hamilton's saucy laughter rang faintly and more faintly.
Half a dozen keepers were lounging just outside of my cell. I summonedone of them sharply.
"Tell General Gage that Mrs. Hamilton knows me!" I said. "A guinea foryou when she comes!"
The lout stared, grinned, and finally shambled away, pursued by thejeers of his comrades. Then they turned their wit against me, beggingto know if I had not some message for my friends the Grand Turk andthe Emperor of China.
I waited in an agony of suspense; after a long time I knew that t
hekeeper had not delivered my message.
In the fierce returning flood of despair at the loss of thisHeaven-sent chance for life, I called out for Bishop to come to me; Istruck at the iron bars until my hands were bathed in blood.
At length Bishop arrived, in a rage, demanding to know if I had lostmy senses to create such an uproar when his Excellency, Governor Gage,had come to inspect the prison.
In vain I insisted that he take my message; he laughed an ugly laughand refused. Mrs. Bishop, whose infant was now very sick, came out,wrapped in her shawl, carrying the baby to the prison hospital fortreatment, and a wrangle began between her and Bishop concerningsupper.
My words were lost or ignored; Bishop demanded his supper at once, andhis wife insisted that she must take the child to the hospital. Theprecious moments flew while they stood there under my grating,disputing and abusing each other, while the sick child wailedceaselessly and dug its puny fingers into the sores on its head.
Presently a keeper passed, saying that the Governor wished to knowwhat such indecent noise meant; and Bishop, red with rage, turned onhis wife and cursed her ferociously until she retreated with themoaning child.
"Draw me a measure o' buttry ale; d'ye hear, ye slut?" he growled,following her. "If I'm to eat no supper till you get back, I'll want abellyful o' malt to stay me!"
But Mrs. Bishop waddled on contemptuously, declaring she meant to goto the hospital, and that he could die o' thirst for aught she cared.
Dulcima, who stood in her doorway across the corridor, watched thescene stolidly. Bishop turned on her with an oath, and ordered her todraw his evening cup; she unhooked the tankard which hung under thelanthorn, hesitated, and looked straight at her father. He gave her abrutal shove, demanding to know why she dawdled while he thirsted, andthe girl moved off sullenly, with flaming cheeks and eyes averted.
When she returned from the buttry I saw the warden take the frothingtankard, brush the foam away with his forefinger, and drain themeasure to the dregs.
He handed the empty tankard to his daughter, smacking his lips with awry face, and drawing the back of his hand across his chin. Then hebecame angry again.
"Ugh!" he muttered; "the ale's spoiled! What's in it, you baggage?" hedemanded, suddenly swinging around on his daughter. "Draw me a cidercup to wash this cursed brew out o' me!"
There was a crash. The girl had dropped the tankard at her feet.
Quick as a flash Bishop raised his hand and dealt his daughter a blowon the neck that sent her to her knees.
"Break another pot and I'll break your head, you drab!" he roared."Get up or I'll--"
He choked, gasped, lifted his shaking hand to his mouth, and wiped it.
"Curse that ale!" he stammered; "it's sickened me to the bones! Whatin God's name is in that brew?"
He turned and pushed open his door, lurching forward across thethreshold with dragging feet. A moment later Dulcima passed my cell,her trembling hands over her eyes.
I went to my cot and lay down, face buried, teeth set in my lip. Anumbness which at moments dulled the throbbing of my brain seemed tosettle like chains on every limb.
Dully I waited for the strokes of the iron bell sounding the seventhhour; a lassitude crept over me--almost a stupor. It was not despair;I had long passed that; it was Hope, slowly dying within my body.
A few moments afterwards a strange movement inside my cell aroused me,and I opened my hot eyes.
In the dusk I saw the figure of a man seated beside my cot; peeringcloser, I perceived his eyes were fixed steadily on me. I sat up on mybed and asked him what he desired.
He did not answer. A ray of candle-light stealing through the barredwindow fell on the bright barrel of a pistol which lay across hisknees.
"What do you wish?" I repeated, the truth dawning on me. "Can you notwatch me from the corridor as well as in my cell?"
There was no reply.
Then at last I understood that this gray shape brooding there at mybedside was a guard of the death-watch, pledged never to leave me,never to take his eyes from me for an instant until the warden of theprison delivered me into the hands of the sheriff on the morrow for myexecution.
Ding-dong! Ding-dong! The prison bell was at last striking the seventhhour. I lay still in my blanket, counting the strokes which rang outin thin, peevish monotony, like the cracked voice of a beldamerepeating her petty woes.
At the last jangle, and while the corridor still hummed with the thinreverberations, I rose and began to pace my narrow cell, head bent onmy breast, but keeping my eyes steadily on the grating.
The guard of the death-watch observed me sullenly. I drank from my potof water, bathed my feverish face, and walked to the grating.
The lanthorn above Bishop's doorway burned brightly; the corridor wasquiet. No sound came from Mount's cell. I could hear rain drumming ona roof somewhere, that was all.
Bishop was due at seven o'clock to inspect our bolts and bars; he hadalways arrived punctually. I watched his door. Presently it occurredto me that I had not seen Bishop since six o'clock when he had goneinto his room, cursing the ale which his daughter had fetched him.This was unusual; he had never before failed to sit there on histhreshold after supper, smoking his long clay pipe, and blinkingcontentedly at our steel bolts.
Minute after minute passed; behind me I heard my guard beating aslight tattoo with his heavy boots on the stones.
Suddenly, as I stood at my grating, I saw Dulcima Bishop step from thewarden's door, close it behind her, and noiselessly lock it on theoutside. The light of the lanthorn fell full on her face; it wasghastly. The girl stood a moment, swaying, one hand on the door; thenshe made a signal towards Mount's cell; and the next instant I sawJack Mount bound noiselessly into the corridor. He caught sight of me,held up a reddened, dripping knife, pointed to my cell door, anddisplayed a key.
Instantly I turned around and sauntered away from the grating towardsmy tumbled bed. As I passed the death-watch, he rose and walked overto the outer window where my pot of water stood to cool.
Eying me cautiously he lifted the jug and drank, then set the pot backand silently resumed his seat, laying his pistol across his knees.
How was I to get at him? If Mount made the slightest noise in thecorridor, the guard was certain to go to the grating.
Pretending to be occupied in smoothing out my tumbled bedding, Istrove to move so that I might get partly behind him, but the fellow'ssuspicions seemed to be aroused, for he turned his head as I moved,and watched me steadily.
To spring on him meant to draw his fire, and a shot would be ourundoing. But whatever I did must be done now; I understood that.
As I hesitated there, holding the blanket in my hands as though Imeant to fling it on the bed again, the lamp in the corridor suddenlywent out, plunging my cell in darkness.
The guard sprang to his feet; I fairly flung my body at him, landingon him in a single bound, and hurling him to the stone floor.
Instantly the light of the lanthorn flooded my cell again; I heard myiron door opening; I crouched in fury on the struggling man under me,whose head and arms I held crushed under the thick blanket. Then camea long, silent struggle, but at last I tore the heavy pistol from hisclutch, beat him on the head with the steel butt of it until, throughthe blanket over his face, red, wet stains spread, and his strainingchest and limbs relaxed.
Pistol in hand, I rose from the lifeless heap on the floor, and turnedto find my cell door swinging wide, and Dulcima Bishop watching me,with dilated eyes.
"Is he dead?" she asked, and broke out in an odd laugh which stretchedher lips tight over her teeth. "Best end him now if he still lives,"she added, with a sob; "death is afoot this night, and I have done mypart, God wot!"
I struck the man again--it sickened me to do it. He did not quiver.
She lifted the lanthorn from the floor and motioned me to follow. Atthe end of the corridor Mount stood, wiping his reeking knife on thesoft soles of his moccasins.
"The trail's clear," he wh
ispered, gayly; "now, lass, where is thescullions' stairway? Blow out that light, Cardigan! Quiet, now--quietas a fox in the barn! Give me your hand, lass--and t'other to thelad."
The girl caught me by the arm and blew out the light, then she drew meinto what seemed to be an impenetrable wall of darkness. Gropingforward, I almost fell down a steep flight of stone steps whichappeared to lead into the bowels of the earth. Down, down, thenthrough a passage, Mount leading, the girl fairly dragging me off myfeet in her excitement, and presently a wooden door creaked open, anda deluge of icy water dashed over me.
It was rain; I was standing outside the prison, ankle-deep in mud, thefree wind blowing, the sleet driving full in my eyes.
"Oh, this is good, this is good!" muttered Mount, in ecstasy,spreading out his arms as though to take the world to his sick heartonce more. "Smell the air, lad! Do you smell it? God! How sweet isthis wind in my throat!"
The girl shivered; her damp, dishevelled hair blew in her face. Shelaid one shaking hand on Mount's wet sleeve, then the other, and bowedher head on them, sobbing convulsively.
Mount bent and kissed her.
"I swear I will use you kindly, child," he said, soberly. "Come, lass,gay! gay! What care we for a brace o' dead turnkeys? Lord, how theworld will laugh at Billy Bishop when they hear I stole his girl,along with the prison keys! Laugh with me, lass! I mean honestly andkindly by you; I'm fit for a rope at the gibbet's top if I use youill!"
"Would--would you truly wed me?" she stammered, raising her white faceto his.
He swore roundly that he would wed her and end his days in serving heron his marrow-bones for gratitude.
And, as he made his vow, a startling change passed over her face; shelaughed, turned her bright, feverish eyes on us with a reckless tossof her head, and drew the poison-flask from her bosom.
"You think," she said, "that we no longer need this little friend tosorrow? You are wrong!"
And, ere Mount or I could move, she raised the tiny flask betwixtforefinger and thumb, and dropped the dark scarlet contents betweenher teeth.
"I drink to your freedom, Jack," she said, blindly, reeling intoMount's arms. "Your--freedom--Jack," she gasped, smiling; "my fatherdrank to it--in ale. He lies dead on the floor of it. Allthis--for--for your freedom, Jack!"
Mount was kneeling in the mud; she lay in his arms, the sleetpattering on her upturned face.
"For your freedom," she murmured, drowsily--"a maid must burn in hellfor that. I burn, I burn! Oh, the fire in me, Jack!"
Her body writhed and twisted; her great bright eyes never left his.Presently she lay still. A moment later the prison bell broke outwildly through the storm, and a gunshot rang from the northguard-house.
We placed the dead child under a tree in the new grass, and coveredher face with willow branches, all silky with the young buds of April.Then, bending almost double, we ran south along the prison wall,turning west as the wall turned, and presently came to the woodenfence of King's Chapel.
Mount gained the top of the fence from my shoulders, and drew me up.Then we dropped.
There were lights moving in Governor's Alley and the mews; through thesleet great snow-flakes whirled into the slush of the filthy street.The prison bell rang frantically behind us.
"It's the alarm, Jack!" I whispered.
He gave me a dull look, then shivered in his wet buckskins.
"She can't lie out there in the sleet," he muttered, blood-shot eyesroving restlessly in the darkness. "I am going back!"
"For God's sake, don't do that!" I begged; but he cursed me andbrushed me aside.
Back over the wall he dropped. I started to follow, but he shoved meroughly and bade me mind my own concerns.
I leaned against the foot of the wall; the sleet pelted me; I bared mythroat to it. After a while I heard Mount's labouring breath on theother side of the wall, and I climbed up to aid him.
He held the dead child in his arms; I took the body from him; heclimbed over, and received it again, bearing it as though it were buta snow-flake's weight in his great arms.
"Go you and find a pick and spade in the mews, yonder," he said. Therewas a fixed stare in his eyes that alarmed me. "Damn you," he said,"it is the least we can do!"
"Jack," I said, "we cannot stay here to be taken again! You cannotbury her now; the ground is frosted; people will hear us!"
He glared at me, then swung his heavy head right and left. The nextmoment he started running through the storm, cradling the burden inhis arms. I followed, not knowing what he meant to do.
At the King's Chapel gate he turned in along a dim gravel path, hedgedwith dripping box. Around us lay the headstones of the dead, with hereand there a heavy tomb looming up in the storm around us.
For a moment he halted, peering about him. A square white sepulchresurmounted a mound on his right; he motioned me to hold the dead childand stepped forward, laying his hands on the slab. Then, with a heaveof his powerful back, he lifted the huge stone, laying open theshadowy sepulchre below.
Again he took the dead in his arms, wiped the rain-drops from theface, laid the limp form in the sepulchre, and smoothed the clothing.Together we replaced the slab; it taxed all my strength to lift oneend of it. The bell of the prison clanged frantically.
Mount stood back, breathing heavily, hands hanging. I waited insilence.
"What a little thing she was!" he muttered; "what achild--to--do--that! Do you think she will lie easy there?"
"Yes," I said.
At the sound of my voice Mount roused and turned sharply to me.
"The thief and the thief-taker's daughter!" he whispered, with aghastly laugh. "They'll make a book of it--I warrant you!--and hawk itfor a penny in Boston town!"
He touched the slab, all glistening with sleet, gripped the edge ofthe sepulchre, turned, and shook his fist at the prison. Then, quietlypassing his arm through mine, he led the way out of the chapel yard,guiding me between the soaking hedges to the iron gate, and so outinto the black alley.
Almost immediately a man shouted: "Stop thief! Turn out the guard!"and a soldier, in the shadow of the wall, fired at us.
Mount glared at him stupidly, hands dangling; the soldier ran up tohim and presented his bayonet, calling on us to give up.
The sound of his voice appeared to rouse Mount to fury; he seized themusket, wrenched it from the soldier, and beat him into the mud. Thenswinging the weapon by the barrel, he knocked down two bailiffs whowere closing in on us, and started after another, with a yell of rage.
"Jack! Jack!" I cried. "Are you mad? Follow me; quick! We can't stayhere, you great fool!"
He heard me, halted, hurled the musket after his flying foe, and brokeout into a harsh laugh.
"Come on, lad," he said. "I did but mean to warm my blood and purge itof the prison rust. Truly I think we must make for the purlieus tillthey lose our trail!"
Through reeking lanes, foul alleys, and muddy mews where gaunt dogsbattled over scraps with gaunter children, we ran, or lurked tolisten, shunning the bleared lanthorn-light, shining through thestorm.
At times the horror of that flight even now appalls me--that flightthrough the starving town o' Boston, where old women mouthed at uswith their scurvy-cankered gums; where, slinking along dead walls, westumbled over old men patiently picking with skinny fingers in therotted herbage for roots to stay their starved stomachs' craving;where, in doorways, naked children, with bellies bloated by famine,stared at us out of hollow eyes.
The town appeared to be alive with British soldiery; mounted picketsroved through the streets; parties of officers passed continually;squad after squad of marines crossed our path, and at first we thoughtthat all this show of troops was due to us and our escape, the hourbeing late for so many troops to be abroad.
"There's something else in the wind," muttered Mount, as we hid inBelcher's Lane to avoid a party of dragoons; "all this pother is nevermade on our account. There's deviltry a-brewing, lad. We had beststart for the 'Wild Goose.'"
Through
the mud of Cow Lane, Flounder Mews, and Battery Marsh we crepton, on, along back roads and shiny lanes, then, alarmed by a gallopingdragoon, we threaded the marshy alleys to the north, from Hancock'sWharf clear around the peninsula to Back Street and Link Alley.
From thence through Hog Alley and Frog Lane south towards the Neck,only to be frightened north once more by the mad gallop of dragoons,and so to hide in Mackerel Lane.
And I am minded, as I recall that night's skulking flight, of a bandylittle watchman who, at the mere sight of us, did drop his lanthornand make off, bawling for aid, until Jack came up with him and fetchedhim a clip which knocked him and his noisy rattle into the mud ofMackerel Lane.
We fled as though all Boston ran snapping at our shin-bones, and atlast we turned, unmolested, into Green Lane, and so came in sight ofthe "Wild Goose Tavern." Then, as we dropped into a breathless trotand began to plod across Chambers Street, a man, standing in theshadow of a tree, started forward as we came up.
Mount halted and drew his knife, snarling like a jaded wolf.
"Mount! Cardigan!" cried the man.
"Paul!" exclaimed Mount, eagerly.
The goldsmith wrung our hands with a grip of iron.
"It is the beginning of the end," he said. "The Grenadiers are tomarch. I've a horse on the Charlestown shore. Gage has closed thegates on the Neck."
"What do the Grenadiers want?" asked Mount, all on fire again, faggedand exhausted as he was.
"They want the cannon and stores at Concord," replied Revere, in alow, eager voice. "I'm waiting for Clay Rolfe. If the Grenadiers marchby land, Rolfe hangs a lamp in the steeple of the Old North; if theytake boats, he hangs two lamps. I guess they mean to cross the bay.The boats have been moored under the sterns of the war-ships for aweek. I've a good horse across the water; I'll have the country-folkout by daylight if the troops stir an inch to-night. Wait; there'sRolfe now!"
A dark cloaked figure came swiftly out of the mews, swinging twounlighted lanthorns. It was Clay Rolfe, our landlord at the "WildGoose," and he grasped our hands warmly, laughing in his excitement.
"Your boatman is ready under Hunt's Wharf, Paul," he said. "You hadbest row across the bay while the rain lasts. It will clear beforemidnight, and the _Somerset_ is moored close to the _Lively_to-night."
"Yes," said Revere, "I've no mind to run the fleet yonder under a fullmoon." And he offered his hand to us, one after another, giving ourhands a terrific squeeze.
"Don't forget, Rolfe," he said--"one if by land; two if by sea!"
Rolfe turned to us.
"Gage has officers watching every road outside of Boston; but Paulwill teach them how fast news can travel." He glanced at the sky; rainfell heavily. "It won't last," he muttered; "there'll be a moonto-night; Paul, you had best row across now. The oars are muffled."
They saluted us and walked rapidly down Green Lane, wrapped to theeyes in their riding-cloaks.
"If Shemuel is at the 'Wild Goose,'" I said, "perhaps he has news forme."
We entered the inn and found it deserted by all save a servant, whorecognized us and bade us welcome.
"The Grenadiers are out to-night, sir," he said to me. "All ourcompany has gone to join the Alarm Men at Lexington and Concord. Thereis not a soul here, sir, except me."
"Where is Shemuel?" I asked.
"He is watching the Province House, sir; General Gage entertainsto-night. It is all a ruse to quiet suspicion, sir. But we know whatis on foot, Mr. Cardigan!"
Mount had dropped into a chair; the rain dripped from the red thrumsof his buckskins; his fox-skin cap was soaked. There was blood on hishands; the servant brought a basin and towel.
"God knows what will happen at Concord," he said; "Mr. Hancock hasgone there; Mr. Revere is to ride through Middlesex to raise thefarmers. Have you seen the dragoons, sir? They do be riding andcapering about town, stopping all mounted travellers. They stopped theProvidence coach an hour since, and there was a fight with thetowns-people in Beacon Street. The tents of the marines are down onthe Mall; some say the storm tore them down."
So gossiping, the lad served us with bread, cheese, pickled beef, anda noggin of punch, and we listened, tearing at our food, and gulpingit like famished beasts o' the woods.
He brought me my clothes of buckskin, and I tore my rotten prison ragsfrom me--alas! the shreds of that same silver-velvet suit which I hadput on six months since, to wed with Silver Heels.
We stripped to the buff; the lad soused us well with steaming waterand again with water like ice.
Mount encased his huge frame in his spare buckskins. I once moredressed in my forest dress, refreshed and fortified by food and waterwhich seemed truly to wash away the prison taint from our skins as thehot bowl of spirits washed the stale prison cheer from within.
The lad brought us our arms, and I could have shouted aloud my joy asI belted in my knife, hatchet, and bullet-pouch, and flung my rifleacross my shoulder.
"Where is my horse?" I asked. "Have you looked to him, lad? By Heaven,if aught of mischance has come to him--"
"The great black horse Warlock, sir?" cried the lad. "He is stabled inthe mews, sir. Mr. Rolfe has had him cared for like a baby; the headgroom takes him out every day, Mr. Cardigan, and the horse is allsatin and steel springs, sir."
"Where is he? Get a lanthorn," I said, huskily.
A moment later, in the mews, I heard a shrill whinny, and the tattooof shod hoofs dancing.
"Warlock!" I cried.
The next instant my arms were around his neck.