FROM CAMP TO PRISON.
"My day is closed! the gloom of night is come!
A hopeless darkness settles o'er my fate."
--JOANNA BAILLIE.
Many times during the day's march did Richard turn his eyes wistfully
toward the blue hills to the south, and wonder beyond which of them
Billy was speeding to rejoin his command. The thought had in it such an
element of bitterness that finally he thrust it from him lest it wax
into selfish envy.
Finally they reached their goal, and the vast body of men and animals
halted beside the bay whose waters sparkled under the blue and gold
tones of the summer sky. In the offing lay the English fleet, which by
the happiest chance for Clinton had arrived inside the Hook in time to
convey his exhausted army to New York.
The quick, salt wind whipping Richard in the face, gave him a sense of
vigour and reserve strength, which was speedily nipped by a chilling
realization of his hopeless captivity. Mechanically he ate and drank
when the guard bade him; for the prison bars were now inevitable, and he
would lie rusting his heart and manhood out while the fight went by
outside. In an agony of despair he cursed the impetuous daring that had
led him so far in advance of his column as to deliver him into the hands
of the enemy. And he cursed both the moonlight that had flooded the road
the first night of their march, and the guard whose lynx eyes seemed
ever upon him; and finally he cursed himself more sorely than aught
else, because he had not followed Billy at all hazards and let a bullet
end the problem forever.
But life is sweet to youth, and hope finds ever a place in the heart
that is full of an unsatisfied love; and so by the time he had finished
his spare meal he was ready to look at the future with more calmness.
Outside in the free world Joscelyn would wait for him, and prison doors
must sometimes yawn. The soldier who brought him his supper stayed for a
few minutes to talk. He had a frank, friendly face that Richard liked.
"So we gave your sly general the slip after all, and held to our march
as we at first intended."
"Did Clinton originally and intentionally propose to make a night march
at almost double-quick over such roads as we have traversed? D--d queer
military tactics."
The fellow grinned. "Oh, a little change of programme mattered not, so
we lost not a single wagon of our train. See, they are yonder, as safe
as a ship in port."
"Mayhap; but you saved your skins whole by stealing away from Monmouth
like a thief in the night, and, leaving the foe you pretended to
despise, camped on the battle-ground."
"Oh, we begrudge not you fellows a camping ground--we are not that
greedy."
"No; you wanted them, in fact, to have all the ground in the vicinity,
even if you had to be so unselfish as to march all night to leave it to
them."
"Come, your tongue's too sharp," the fellow said irritably.
"Sharper than your general's wits, if he took that march out of anything
but necessity. He has saved his baggage train, but, mark you, he has
lost his cause. Our victory at Monmouth will hearten up the doubtful and
send them flocking to our camp."
The man laughed satirically at the word "victory," and then said:--
"Well, at all events, your part of the flocking is done for good. 'Tis
not likely you'll see the outside of a prison for more months than you
are years old--if by any chance your general hangs on that long, which
is not likely."
Richard shivered at mention of a prison, but shrugged his shoulders with
outward calm. "A man must bear the fortunes of war, if he be a true
soldier. Prison life is harder than fighting, but some must carry the
heavy end of the burden, and 'tis not for me to bemoan if it falls to
me. Know you in which of your pest holes we are like to be confined?"
The soldier looked into the clear, steady eyes for a moment before
replying: "You're a rum chap to take your medicine without a whine. I
like your sort, and I hope, when this cursed war is done, you'll be
found alive; but it isn't likely, for methinks you are to go to the old
Sugar House in New York. 'Tis as full as an ant-hill now, but they'll
shove the poor devils a bit closer together and squeeze you in. You'll
have plenty of time, but not much room, to meditate on your evil doings
against King George. Still, I hope you'll live through it."
He picked up the empty can out of which the prisoner had been drinking,
and moved on. Richard, who had been sitting upright during the
conversation, sank back upon the ground and pulled his cap over
his eyes. The old Sugar House! Too well he knew of the misery and
degradation in store for those who crossed its threshold. No escapes
were ever effected, and the hope of exchange, unless one were an
officer, was too slim to dwell upon; Washington's captures went for
higher game than privates and raw recruits. But two things could open
these relentless gates to him--death or the end of the struggle; and
the latter seemed far enough away.
And Joscelyn! would she care that he suffered and died by inches? Would
she think of him regretfully, tenderly, when all was done? It was hard
to love a girl of whose very sympathy one was not sure; and yet he knew
he had rather have her mockery than another woman's caresses.
For an hour he lay upon the ground, his heart convulsed with grief, but
his body so rigidly quiet that his companions thought he slept. They
could not tell that under his cap his eyes were staring wide, seeing,
not the cap above, but a girl's face framed in soft meshes of hair and
lit by eyes as gray-blue as the sea when the tides are quiescent and the
winds are fast asleep. By and by the intense heat of the evening set the
wound in his head to throbbing, and rousing up, he begged the corporal
of the guard for a little water and a bandage. The man--the same with
whom he had talked before--brought these to him after a little delay,
and found for him in his own kit a bit of healing salve, which his
English mother had given him at parting.
"She said 'twould cure bad blood, and methinks yours is bad enough to
put it to the test," he said, laughing, and yet with a certain rough
kindliness.
"Well, since it hath not killed you, methinks I am safe," Richard
laughed back gratefully, while one of his comrades dressed the wound,
which gave promise of speedy healing.
"What is your name?" he asked of the corporal.
"James Colborn, of the King's Artillery."
"Well, 'tis a pity you are in such bad employ, for you have an uncommon
good heart and a face that matches it. When General Washington hath
licked the boots off you fellows, come down south and pay me a visit. My
mother'll be so grateful for every kind word you have spoken to me, that
she'll feed you on good cookery until you are as fat as a Michaelmas
goose."
"I'll come," the other laughed, "but I'll wear my boots; it will be you
fellows who will go barefooted from a licking."
"Don't wager your birthright on that; you'd lose even the mess of
pottage."
Under the relief the dressing of his wound afforded, Richard fell
asleep, and his dreams must have been comforting, for on his face was
a smile of happiness, and the words he murmured made the corporal of
the guard laugh to himself as he trod to and fro before the open tent.
"Have you a favourite dog named Joscelyn?" he asked teasingly, when he
roused Richard for supper.
"No."
"A horse, then?"
Richard looked at him questioningly, half-inclined to be angry.
"You have been talking in your sleep."
"Joscelyn is not a dog nor a horse; she is my sweetheart."
"Mine's named Margie."
There was a moment of silence during which the two young fellows felt
almost akin with friendly sympathy. They longed to shake hands and tell
each other their love tales.
"Margie's eyes are black," said Colborn softly.
"Joscelyn has sea-blue eyes."
"I like black ones better."
"I'd love Joscelyn's eyes, were they as vari-coloured as Joseph's coat."
"Well said." The speaker thrust his hand into his shirt and drew out a
metal case which contained a picture of a buxom English girl. "It took a
whole month's pay to have that made, but I wasn't coming to America
without bringing a likeness of her to look at. When I am promoted to a
captaincy I shall have it set in gold and brilliants. She is counting
the months until I go back to her," he continued with a burst of
confidence, while his honest face flamed with a boyish blush. "For every
week I am away, she drops a pebble into a china jar I gave her, that I
may count the kisses she shall owe me when we meet. Never you doubt but
I shall cheat in the count, though I have to carry back a pocketful of
American pebbles to help me out!" Then, by way of prelude to that coming
happiness, he kissed the picture with eager frankness before returning
it to the case, saying there were already twelve pebbles in the jar.
Many times during the few days when the army lay encamped upon the sandy
reaches of the Hook did Richard have occasion to be grateful to the
young corporal for little acts of kindness, and in return he told him
something of his own life, so that a curious friendship was formed
between the two; and when the embarkation finally came, Richard was
glad to find that the same guard and officers would have the prisoners
in charge until the dreaded doors of the jail should close upon them.
As they marched clankily down the streets of New York, he believed that
now he knew how condemned men felt as they approached the gallows, only
the gallows seemed better than those frowning walls yonder, at whose
narrow windows the miserable inmates stood in relays that each might
draw a few good breaths during the long and suffocating day. The old
Sugar House! He set his teeth hard when at last they stood before its
doors, and the first squad of prisoners passed out of sight within its
gloomy portals. He was telling the sunshine and the clouds good-by
before his turn to enter should come, when, to his surprise, the doors
swung to, and the squad in which he marched was wheeled down another
street. After a few minutes he caught Colborn's eye, and read therein
tidings of some new disaster. Whither were they carrying him and his
unfortunate companions! No faintest hint of their destination came to
him, until, the city being crossed, they halted again, this time beside
the water's edge, far to the east. As some delay was evident, the
corporal bade the prisoners sit down upon the shore; and while his men
formed in the rear to watch, he himself passed slowly up and down the
water's edge, stopping at last beside Richard, who sat at the end of
the line of captives as much to himself as possible, for his heart was
heavy with a new forboding.
"In ten minutes," said the corporal, speaking quickly and in an
undertone, "I shall have parted with you, perhaps forever. I know you
for a brave man and a generous one, and I am sorry for your fate. The
plan has been changed. The Sugar House would not hold all of you; so,
for lack of other accommodations, this squad of prisoners is ordered
to--"
"Where?"
"--to the prison-ships lying across the bay."
Richard staggered up. "The hells, the floating hells!"
"Yes, that is what they are sometimes called."
"My God!" For a moment the fortitude that had sustained him during the
last ten days gave way, and he sank down again, covering his face with
his hands in a dry-eyed anguish.
"I wish from my soul that I might have helped you, but this is all I can
do," the corporal said. "Pick them up as a gift from a brother in arms."
He surreptitiously dropped some coins upon the sand, and Richard, more
because of the friendliness of the gift than because he thought of their
value, ran his fingers through the sand and picked them up, shoving them
into a torn place in the lining of his boot.
"You have been good to me--" he began slowly, and with the look of a man
who is talking unconsciously; but with an impatient shrug the other had
moved away. When he had walked the length of the line and stood looking
over the water a minute, he came again to Richard's side, apparently
with no special object in view. His voice was very low as he said:--
"True soldiers respect each other, no matter what the colour of their
uniforms. I guessed--but I want to know for certain--did you let the
little lad escape the other night rather than go by yourself and leave
him?"
Richard nodded. Colborn took off his hat. Those who watched him from the
sand and from the picket line thought he but bared his head to the cool
sea breeze, but in truth it was to a brave man's self-sacrifice. A
Scripture verse was running in his head: "Greater love hath no man than
this, that he give his life for his friend." But he did not speak it,
for a boat grating on the sand behind made him turn.
"The ship's warden to receive you," he said, with a quick-drawn breath.
"God help you!" Then aloud: "Attention!"
The prisoners arose and lined up as the boat's crew came ashore. The
warden conferred a few minutes with the corporal, went over the list of
prisoners, counted them carefully, eying each one sternly as he did so;
then turned again to the corporal, who, after another short conference,
stepped out before the line of prisoners.
"Attention! My care of you ends here. The warden of the prison-ships
will henceforth have you in charge." At a signal his men fell back, and
the crew from the ship's long-boat took their places; the two officers
saluted, and the corporal stepped aside.
"Attention! Forward! March!" the warden shouted, pointing with his sword
to the boat; and the handful of dazed and miserable captives, like so
many automatons, caught step and sullenly moved to the water. As
Richard, who brought up the rear, passed Colborn, the latter
whispered:--
"Your Joscelyn shall know," and Richard's eyes spoke his thanks.
Then the boat drew away from shore, carrying its freight of helpless
despair to the plague-infected hulk rocking in the tide, the plaything
of the winds, the sport of every leaping wave that cast its crystal
fringes to the sun.