I was taken, in company with Jack Mount, on Monday morning, the 29th
of October, 1774, without warrant or process, without a shadow of
legal right, without the faintest justification or excuse, save that I
had been seen conversing with Mount on the Mall, and had resisted the
thief-taker Bishop and his filthy gang of bailiffs.
From the 29th of October until the 15th day of December, chained ankle
to ankle, wrist to wrist, and wearing a steel collar from which chains
hung and were riveted to the rings on my legs, I lay in that vile iron
cage known as the "Pirates' Chapel," in company with Mount and eight
sullen, cursing ruffians, taken in piracy off the Virginia capes by
his Majesty's ship _Hebe_, consort of the frigate _Asia_.
During those six weeks not a moment passed in which I despaired, not
an hour dragged out its chain of minutes but I believed it must be the
hour for my delivery from this hideous injustice.
From the minute I had entered the "Chapel," the dull amazement which
had fettered mind and body in a strange paralysis gave way to a deadly
patience. My benumbed faculties grew clear; every sense became
abnormally alert. Calmly I faced the terrible dilemma; I probed its
consequences coolly; I understood that while Walter Butler held the
Governor's ear, and while the Governor held the civil power at his own
pleasure, and used it as whim or caprice moved him, I could neither
hope for a hearing before a magistrate nor dare expect a trial by my
countrymen. The soiled hand of England had polluted the ermine of the
judges; the bayonets of England cleared the court-rooms; the mocking
Governor brooded in Province House, watching the structure of civil
rights crumble and collapse, while his judges, his sheriffs, his
bailiffs, and his soldiers prowled through the debris of a structure
which had been reared by my own people's martyrdom.
As for communication with the outside world, with friends, even with
hostile relatives, or with the Governor himself, there was no possible
chance. Our steel cage was set in the centre of a stone chamber, the
barred windows of which opened on a bare stony parade, bounded on the
east by Cornhill, on the west by Treamount Street, and on the south by
School Street and the dead wall enclosing King's Chapel. There was not
a soul to be seen in the prison or outside save the marine sentinels,
the jailers, the warden of the prison, and the eight ruffians who were
caged with us, among whom there was but a single Englishman.
Our cage was bedded with straw like a kennel; our food was brought us
three times a day, in earthen bowls. A wooden spoon went with each
bowl, otherwise the feed differed nothing from the feed of dogs.
Mount, in the beginning, had conducted like a madman, passing swiftly
up and down his cage, pacing to and fro along the ranks of steel bars,
blank fury glaring from his eyes, jaw hanging like the jowl of a
committed panther.
All that first night he stalked the cage, brushing the bars with brow
and thigh, and deep in his blue eyes there burned a terrible light,
like the livid witch-fires which flare in haunted swamps.
At first the manacled ruffians who lay about us in the straw watched
him doggedly, but as the night wore on and his pacing never ceased,
they growled sullen protest. Then he slowly turned on them, baring his
white teeth.
From that moment they gave him room and he ruled the cage as a silent,
powerful beast rules, scarcely conscious of the cringing creatures who
huddle around his legs, and whose presence cannot invade the solitude
of his own fierce misery.
The light in the stone chamber was cool and gray--clear enough, yet
never tinged with sunlight. Night brought thick, troubled shadows
creeping around the single candle which dripped from an iron socket
riveted to the wall. Then the shades of the jailers fell across the
floor as the large lanthorn was set outside in the corridor, and all
night long the shuffling tread of the sentry marked the dead march of
time.
For three days, now, I had not touched the broth which was set on the
straw beside me; I do not know that I should have made the effort to
eat at all, except for an accident. It happened in this manner: one
day, towards the middle of December, I had been lying on my belly,
trying to think out something of that future which I had not yet
despaired of. Musing there, nose buried in my arms, I lay almost on
the verge of slumber, yet with one eye on the corridor beyond, when I
saw distinctly a woman's face peer through the thick grating which
separated the corridor from our stone chamber.
After a while the face disappeared; I lay still a moment, then touched
Mount's arm.
He turned his haggard face to me.
"Bishop's daughter is in the corridor," I whispered.
"Where?" asked Mount, vacantly.
"Out there behind the grating. She may do something for--for you. If
she should, I think we had better try to eat."
"Yes," he said, "we must eat." And he turned with a snarl on one of
the caged wretches behind us who for days had been battening on the
food that neither Jack nor I touched.
The man was in the act of dragging Mount's bowl and spoon towards his
own nest in the straw, but he dropped the food and shrank back as
Mount seized it with an oath.
I also secured my own bowl of bread and broth, and, together, we ate
as animals eat, eying the others malevolently and askance.
That night Mount lay awake, watching the grating. At dawn I awoke to
watch, and Mount rolled himself up into a ball of buckskin and slept
the first peaceful sleep which had come to him since his taking.
The day passed in horrible monotony; our straw had become so foul that
my head swam with the stench. But towards evening came a jailer and
two soldiers, who raked the filthy straw from our cage, mopped the
reeking floor, and when it had partly dried, shook us down a bedding
of sweet rye-straw, into which we burrowed like dogs.
That night we heard the noise of hammers overhead, and at first terror
seized on all in the cage, for we believed that workmen had come to
build gibbets. In the morning, when our jailer arrived to fetch us
water, I spoke to him, scarcely expecting a reply, for he had never
before paid the faintest attention to questions from any of us.
I was surprised, therefore, when he hesitated, glanced up at me, and
finally informed me that the hammering we heard was made by masons and
carpenters who were reconstructing the upper tiers of the prison for
the new warden and his family.
Presuming on his pleasant manner, I continued my questioning, but he
soon silenced me with a shake of his head.
"I know nothing about your case," he said. "Matters move slowly here;
the prison is crowded with rebels who have defied the Governor's edict
against public assemblies. Their cases come before yours, young man."
"And the others here?" I asked.
He paid no attention to my question.
I asked for news of the outside world, but he would give me none.
Mount, whose morbid curiosity had been aroused by the sight of some
workmen digging holes in the yard outside the prison, stood up to
watch them. The other prisoners also huddled to the south side of the
cage, their chains making a great clanking as they moved. At the
moment when their backs were turned the jailer looked at them
significantly, then at me, and, to my horror, passed his withered
fingers over his corded throat.
I stared at him, fascinated, but he shrugged his stooping shoulders,
shuffled off to the wicket, let himself out, and slammed the grating.
That night I sat close to Jack Mount, my hand on his broad shoulder,
crushing back the lump in my throat. I believed he was to die soon;
when, I did not know; but the grim gesture of the jailer had conveyed
a hint that could not be mistaken.
At dawn I stood up to gaze fearfully out into the prison yard. Snow
had fallen; workmen were digging at the holes with pick and crow.
When the jailer brought breakfast to us, he laid two bundles of
sail-cloth on the floor under the windows beyond our cage. Later he
returned and carefully nailed each strip of cloth over the windows,
hiding our view of the prison yard.
Mount asked him why he did that; the other prisoners became restless
and suspicious, calling out to the jailer in Spanish and Portuguese;
even the Englishman broke his long silence with a sneering inquiry as
to the reason of cutting off our view. The jailer continued his task
without answering or even glancing at the imprisoned men, who now
crowded against the bars, clamouring, gesticulating, and clanking
their manacles. They were stunted, swarthy fellows, bull-necked,
shaggy of hair and beard, clothed in filthy shreds of finery to which
the straw stuck.
Some were frightfully scarred; some were still swathed in bandages,
greasy with filth, tied over unhealed sores or wounds. One of them,
who wore large gold hoops in his ears, had lost his right hand, but he
beat against the steel bars with the mangled stump, and cried ever:
"Listen, senor, you good fellow! He! Senor! I say, senor! They will to
do me no harm, eh? I am innocent, what? And thus I say to your senor
Governor; eh, you good fellow? What? It is the holy truth, by Jesu!"
The Englishman laughed scornfully: "They're planting trees in the yard
outside. We'll all climb them soon, won't we, jailer?"
"By God," muttered Mount, "they are planting gallows!"
When he had shrouded the windows, the jailer scrambled briskly to the
floor and hastened out through the wicket, unheeding the shouts and
shrill cries of the ruffians, who had rushed to the other side of the
cage. When the wicket slammed the panic ceased; a dead silence
followed, then one of the Spaniards uttered a piercing scream and fell
down into the straw, tearing and biting at his chains.
"Die like a man! Die like a man!" said the Englishman, contemptuously;
but terror had seized another of the ruffians, and he began hobbling
around the cage, shrieking out prayer on prayer.
Mount, pale and composed, lay at full length in our corner, watching
the wicket, a straw between his white teeth. I sat beside him, my
heart hammering under my torn shirt, resolutely crushing back the
terror which was feeling my throat with icy fingers.
"Do you believe they are setting the gibbets?" I asked.
"Yes," he said.
After a moment he added: "Why did you not leave me, lad? This is foul
company for a gentleman to die in."
Terror choked me. I sank face downward in the straw, blind with
fright, and lay there shaking till the candle was lighted and the
lanthorn in the corridor sent its yellow rays through the wicket.
Black, whirling thoughts swarmed through my brain; again and again I
fought the battle for courage, only to lose it and again find myself
faint with horror, tearing silently at my chains.
"Now that I know I am to die," said Mount, calmly, "I shall die easily
enough. It was hope that hurt. I shall die easily."
"I shall die hard," I stammered; "no one will know it, but I shall die
hard out there in the snow."
"I will stand next to you if I can," said Mount. "If you feel weak,
reach out and touch me. I shall jest with the hangman. It is easy; you
will see how easy it can be." I raised my head to look at him.
"You care nothing," I said, fiercely; "you will see Cade Renard, and
you care nothing! But I am leaving _her_!"
"God will right all that," said Mount, gravely.
"As for death," I blurted out, pronouncing the word with an effort, "I
can die as coolly as you. But--but a gentleman's son--on the
gibbet--hanging in chains between thieves--the disgrace--"
Shame strangled the voice in my throat, my head reeled.
"Our Lord so died," said Mount, slowly.
I sat still as a stone. Mount gathered his knees in his hands and
chewed his straw peacefully, blue eyes fixed on vacancy.
Presently I plucked his sleeve. "Yes, lad," he said, without turning.
"You are not afraid that I will not know how to meet--it?" I asked.
"No."
"I am--am not afraid," I whispered. "I mean to bear myself without
fear. I shall speak to you when--we are ready. You shall see I am not
afraid. Will they pray, Jack?"
"When? Now?"
"No, to-morrow."
"They will say a prayer on the gallows, lad."
"Will they take off our chains?"
"No."
"How--how long shall we hang?"
"A long time, lad."
"Could anybody know our features?"
"The weather will change them. Have you never seen a cross-roads
gibbet?"
"No. Have you?"
"Yes, lad."
After a silence I said, "I hope no one will know me."
He did not reply; the candle-flame in the dripping socket swayed in
icy draughts from the wicket; the Spaniards muttered and moaned and
cried like sick children; the Englishman stood in silence, staring at
the windows through which he could not see.
Presently he came over to our corner. We had never before spoken to
him, nor he to us, but now Mount looked up with a ghost of a smile and
nodded.
"It's all behind that window," said the Englishman, jerking his thumb
over his shoulder; "we'll know all about it this time to-morrow. Is
the young one with you afraid?"
"Not he," said Mount.
The Englishman sat down on his haunches.
"What do you suppose it is?" he asked.
"What? Death?"
"Ay."
"I don't know," said Mount.
"Nor I," said the Englishman, with an oath; "and," he added, "I have
dealt it freely enough, too. Have you?"
"Yes," said Mount.
"And he?" glancing at me.
"Once," I replied, hoarsely.
"I've watched men die many times," continued the Englishman, rubbing
his thumb reflectively over his irons, "and I'm not a whit the wiser.
I've seen them hang, drown, burn, strangle--ay, seen them die o'
fright, too. Puff! Out they go at last, and--leave me gaping at their
shells. I've slid my hanger into men and the blood came, but I was
none the wiser. What makes the dead look so small? Have you ever
killed your enemy? Is there satisfaction in it? No, by God, for the
second you stop his breath he's gone--escaped! And all you've got is a
thing at your feet with clothes too large for it."
He looked at me and played with his wrist-chains. "You're six feet,"
he said, musingly; "you'll shrink to five foot six. They all do. I'll
wager you are afraid, young man!"
"You lie!" I said.
"Spoken well!" he nodded. "You'll die smiling, yet. As for the
Spaniards yonder, they'll sail off squalling. It's their nature; I
know."
He rose and glanced curiously at Mount.
"You have not followed the sea?" he asked.
Mount shook his head absently.
"Highway?"
"At intervals."
"Well, do you know anything about this place called Death?" asked the
Englishman, with a sneer.
"I expect to find a friend there," said Mount, looking up serenely.
At that moment a faint metallic sound broke on our ears. It seemed to
come from the depths of the prison. We listened; the Spaniards also
ceased their moaning and sat up, alert and quiet. The sound came
again--silence--then the measured cadence of footfalls.
Mount had risen; I also stood up. The Spaniards burrowed into the
straw, squealing like rats. Tramp, tramp, tramp, came the heavy
footfalls along the corridor; the ruddy gleam of lanthorns played over
the wicket.
"Halt! Ground arms!"
Lights blinded our dazzled eyes; bayonets glittered like slender
flames.
An officer stepped to the lanthorn; a soldier raised it; then the
officer unrolled a parchment and began to read very rapidly. I could
not distinguish a word of it for the cries of the Spaniards, but I
saw the jailer unlocking our cage, and presently two soldiers stepped
in and drove out a Spaniard at the point of their bayonets.
Shrieking, sobbing, supplicating, the Spaniards were thrust out into
the corridor; the Englishman went last, with a contemptuous nod at
Mount and me, and a cool gesture to the soldiers to stand aside.
Mount followed; but, as he stepped from the cage, a soldier pushed him
back, shaking his head.
"Not yet?" asked Mount, quietly.
"Not yet," said the soldier, locking the cage and flinging the iron
key to the jailer.
Into the prison passed the tumult; the solid walls dulled it at last;
then came the far echo of a gate closing, and all was silent.
I turned to the draped windows. Dawn whitened the sail-cloth that hung
over them. A moment later I heard drums in the distance beating the
"Rogues' March."