IN BOSTON JAIL
Jack was marched under a guard into the streets of Boston. Church
bells were ringing. It was Sunday morning. Young Clarke came with the
guard beyond the city limits. They had seemed to be very careless in
the control of their prisoner. They gave him every chance to make a
break for liberty. Jack was not fooled.
"I see that you want to get rid of me," said Jack to the young officer.
"You'd like to have me run a race with your bullets. That is base
ingratitude. I was careful of you when we met and you do not seem to
know it."
"I know how well you can shoot," Clarke answered. "But you do not know
how well I can shoot."
"And when I learn, I want to have a fair chance for my life."
Beyond the city limits young Clarke, who was then a captain, left them,
and Jack proceeded with the others.
The streets were quiet--indeed almost deserted. There were no children
playing on the common. A crowd was coming out of one of the churches.
In the midst of it the prisoner saw Preston and Lady Hare. They were
so near that he could have touched them with his hand as he passed.
They did not see him. He noted the name of the church and its
minister. In a few minutes he was delivered at the jail--a noisome,
ill-smelling, badly ventilated place. The jailer was a tall, slim,
sallow man with a thin gray beard. His face and form were familiar.
He heard Jack's name with a look of great astonishment. Then the young
man recognized him. He was Mr. Eliphalet Pinhorn, who had so
distinguished himself on the stage trip to Philadelphia some years
before.
"It is a long time since we met," said Jack.
Mr. Pinhorn's face seemed to lengthen. His mouth and eyes opened wide
in a silent demand for information.
Jack reminded him of the day and circumstances.
For a moment Mr. Pinhorn held his hand against his forehead and was
dumb with astonishment. Then he said:
"I knew! I foresaw! But it is not too late."
"Too late for what?"
"To turn, to be redeemed, loved, forgiven. Think it over, sir. Think
it over."
Jack's name and age and residence were registered. Then Pinhorn took
his arm and walked with him down the corridor toward an open door.
About half-way to the door he stopped and put his hand on Jack's
shoulder and said with a look of great seriousness:
"A sinking cause! Death! Destruction! Misery! The ship is going
down. Leave it."
"You are misinformed. There is no leak in our ship," said Jack.
Mr. Pinhorn shut his eyes and shook his head mournfully. Then, with a
wave of his hand, he pronounced the doom of the western world in one
whispered word:
"Ashes!"
For a moment his face and form were alive with exclamatory suggestion.
Then he shook his head and said:
"Doomed! Poor soul! Go out in the yard with your fellow rebels. They
are taking the air."
The yard was an opening walled in by the main structure and its two
wings and a wooden fence some fifteen feet high. There was a ragged,
dirty rabble of "rebel" prisoners, among whom was Solomon Binkus, all
out for an airing. The old scout had lost flesh and color. He held
Jack's hand and stood for a moment without speaking.
"I never was so glad and so sorry in my life," said Solomon. "It's a
hell-mogrified place to be in. Smells like a blasted whale an' is as
cold as the north side of a grave stun on a Janooary night, an'
starvation fare, an' they's a man here that's come down with the
smallpox. How'd ye git ketched?"
Jack briefly told of his capture.
"I got sick one day an' couldn't hide 'cause I were makin' tracks in
the snow so I had to give in," said Solomon. "Margaret has been here,
but they won't let 'er come no more 'count o' the smallpox. Sends me
suthin' tasty ev'ry day er two. I tol' er all 'bout ye. I guess the
smallpox couldn't keep 'er 'way if she knowed you was here. But she
won't be 'lowed to know it. This 'ere Clarke boy has p'isoned the
jail. Nobody 'll come here 'cept them that's dragged. He's got it all
fixed fer ye. I wouldn't wonder if he'd be glad to see ye rotted up
with smallpox."
"What kind of a man is Pinhorn?"
"A whey-faced hypercrit an' a Tory. Licks the feet o' the British when
they come here."
Jack and Solomon lay for weeks in this dirty, noisome jail, where their
treatment was well calculated to change opinions not deeply rooted in
firm soil. They did not fear the smallpox, as both were immune. But
their confinement was, as doubtless it was intended to be, memorably
punitive. They were "rebels"--law-breakers, human rubbish whose
offenses bordered upon treason. The smallpox patient was soon taken
away, but other conditions were not improved. They slept on straw
infested with vermin. Their cover and food were insufficient and "not
fit fer a dog," in the words of Solomon. Some of the boys gave in and
were set free on parole, and there was one, at least, who went to work
in the ranks of the British.
There is a passage in a letter of Jack Irons regarding conditions in
the jail which should be quoted here:
"One boy has lung fever and every night I hear him sobbing. His sorrow
travels like fire among the weaker men. I have heard a number of cold,
half-starved, homesick lads crying like women in the middle of the
night. It makes me feel like letting go myself. There is one man who
swears like a trooper when it begins. I suppose that I shall be as
hysterical as the rest of them in time. I don't believe General Howe
knows what is going on here. The jail is run by American Tories, who
are wreaking their hatred on us."
Jack sent a line to the rector of the Church of England, where he had
seen Preston and Lady Howe, inviting him to call, but saw him not, and
no word came from him. Letters were entrusted to Mr. Pinhorn for
Preston, Margaret and General Sir Benjamin Hare with handsome payment
for their delivery, but they waited in vain for an answer.
"They's suthin' wrong 'bout this 'ere business," said Solomon. "You'll
find that ol' Pinhorn has got a pair o' split hoofs under his luther."
One day Jack was sent for by Mr. Pinhorn and conducted to his office.
"Honor! Good luck! Relief!" was the threefold exclamation with which
the young man was greeted.
"What do you mean?" Jack inquired.
"General Howe! You! Message to Mr. Washington! To-night!"
"Do you mean General Washington?"
"No. Mister! Title not recognized here!"'
"I shall take no message to 'Mr.' Washington," Jack answered. "If I
did, I am sure that he would not receive it."
Mr. Pinhorn's face expressed a high degree of astonishment.
"Pride! Error! Persistent error!" he exclaimed. "Never mind!
Details can be fixed. You are to go to-night. Return to-morrow!"
The prospect of getting away from his misery even for a day or two was
alluring.
"Let me have the details in writing and I will let you know at once,"
he answered.
The plan was soon delivered. Jack was to pass the lines on the
northeast front in the vicinity of Breed's Hill with a British
sergeant, under a white flag, and proceed to Washington's headquarters.
"Looks kind o' neevarious," said Solomon when they were out in the jail
yard together. "Looks like ye might be grabbed in the jaws o' a trap.
Nobody's name is signed to this 'ere paper. There's nothin' behind the
hull thing but ol' Pinhorn an'--who? I'm skeered o' Mr. Who? Pinhorn
an' Who an' a Dark Night! There's a pardnership! Kind o' well mated!
They want ye to put yer life in their hands. What fer? Wal, ye know
it 'pears to me they'd be apt to be car'less with it. It's jest
possible that there's some feller who'll be happier if you was rubbed
off the slate. War is goin' on an' you belong to that breed o' pups
they call rebels. A dead rebel don't cause no hard feelin's in the
British army. Now, Jack, you stay where ye be. 'Tain't a fust rate
place, but it's better'n a hole in the ground. Suthin' is goin' to
happen--you mark my words, boy. I kind o' think Margaret is gittin'
anxious to talk with me an' kin't be kept erway no longer. Mebbe the
British army is goin' to move. Ye know fer two days an' nights we been
hearin' cannon fire."
"Solomon, I'm not going out to be shot in the back," said the young
man. "If I am to be executed, it must be done with witnesses in proper
form. I shall refuse to go. If Margaret should come, and it is
possible, I want you to sit down with her in front of my cell so that I
can see her, but do not tell her that I am here. It would increase her
trouble and do no good. Besides, I could not permit myself to touch
her hand even, but I would love to look into her face."
So it happened that the proposal which had come to Jack through Mr.
Pinhorn was firmly declined, whereupon the astonishment of that
official was expressed in a sorrowful gesture and the exclamation:
"Doomed! Stubborn youth!"
2
Solomon Binkus was indeed a shrewd man. In the faded packet of letters
is one which recites the history of the confinement of the two scouts
in the Boston jail. It tells of the coming of Margaret that very
evening with an order from the Adjutant General directing Mr. Pinhorn
to allow her to talk with the "rebel prisoner Solomon Binkus."
The official conducted her to the iron grated door in front of
Solomon's cell.
"I will talk with him in the corridor, if you please," she said, as she
gave the jailer a guinea, whereupon he became most obliging. The cell
door was opened and chairs were brought for them to sit upon. Cannons
were roaring again and the sound was nearer than it had been before.
"Have you heard from Jack?" she asked when they were seated in front of
the cell of the latter.
"Yes, ma'am. He is well, but like a man shot with rock salt."
"What do you mean?"
"Sufferin'," Solomon answered. "Kind o' riddled with thoughts o' you
an' I wouldn't wonder."
"Did you get a letter?" she asked.
"No. A young officer who was ketched an' brought here t'other day has
told me all 'bout him."
"Is the officer here?"
"Yes, ma'am," Solomon answered.
"I want to see him--I want to talk with him. I must meet the man who
has come from the presence of my Jack."
Solomon was visibly embarrassed. He was in trouble for a moment and
then he answered: "I'm 'fraid 'twouldn't do no good."
"Why?"
"'Cause he's deef an' dumb."
"But do you not understand? It would be a comfort to look at him."
"He's in this cell, but I wouldn't know how to call him," Solomon
assured her.
She went to Jack's door and peered at him through the grating. He was
lying on his straw bed. The light which came from candles set in
brackets on the stone wall of the corridor was dim.
"Poor, poor fellow!" she exclaimed. "I suppose he is thinking of his
sweetheart or of some one very dear to him. His eyes are covered with
his handkerchief. So you have lately seen the boy I love! How I wish
you could tell me about him!"
The voice of the young lady had had a curious effect upon that
nerve-racked, homesick company of soldier lads in prison. Doubtless it
had reminded some of dear and familiar voices which they had lost hope
of hearing again.
One began to groan and sob, then another and another.
"Ain't that like the bawlin' o' the damned?" Solomon asked. "Some on
'em is sick; some is wore out. They're all half starved!"
"It is dreadful!" said she, as she covered her eyes with her
handkerchief. "I can not help thinking that any day _he_ may have to
come here. I shall go to see General Howe to-night."
"To-morrer I'll git this 'ere boy to write out all he knows 'bout Jack,
but if ye see it, ye'll have to come 'ere an' let me put it straight
into yer hands," Solomon assured her.
"I'll be here at ten o'clock," she said, and went away.
Pinhorn stepped into the corridor as Solomon called to Jack:
"Things be goin' to improve, ol' man. Hang on to yer hosses. The
English people is to have a talk with General Howe to-night an' suthin'
'll be said, now you hear to me. That damn German King ain't a-goin'
to have his way much longer here in Boston jail."
Early next morning shells began to fall in the city. Suddenly the
firing ceased. At nine o'clock all prisoners in the jail were sent
for, to be exchanged. Preston came with the order from General Howe
and news of a truce.
"This means yer army is lightin' out," Solomon said to him.
"The city will be evacuated," was Preston's answer.
"Could I send a message to Gin'ral Hare's house?"
"The General and his brigade and family sailed for another port at
eight. If you wish, I'll take your message."
Solomon delivered to Preston a letter written by Jack to Margaret. It
told of his capture and imprisonment.
"Better than I, you will know if there is good ground for these dark
suspicions which have come to us," he wrote. "As well as I, you will
know what a trial I underwent last evening. That I had the strength to
hold my peace, I am glad, knowing that you are the happier to-day
because of it."
The third of March had come. The sun was shining. The wind was in the
south. They were not strong enough to walk, so Preston had brought
horses for them to ride. There were long patches of snow on the
Dorchester Heights. A little beyond they met the brigade of Putnam.
It was moving toward the city and had stopped for its noon mess. The
odor of fresh beef and onions was in the air.
"Cat's blood an' gunpowder!" said Solomon. "Tie me to a tree."
"What for?" Preston asked.
"I'll kill myself eatin'," the scout declared. "I'm so got durn hungry
I kin't be trusted."
"I guess we'll have to put the brakes on each other," Jack remarked.
"An' it'll be steep goin'," said Solomon.
Washington rode up to the camp with a squad of cavalry while they were
eating. He had a kind word for every liberated man. To Jack he said:
"I am glad to address you as Colonel Irons. You have suffered much,
but it will be a comfort for you to know that the information you
brought enabled me to hasten the departure of the British."
Turning to Solomon, he added:
"Colonel Binkus, I am indebted to you for faithful, effective and
valiant service. You shall have a medal."
"Gin'ral Washington, we're a-goin' to lick 'em," said Solomon. "We're
a-goin' to break their necks."
"Colonel, you are very confident," the General answered with a smile.
"You'll see," Solomon continued. "God A'mighty is sick o' tyrants.
They're doomed."
"Let us hope so," said the Commander-in-Chief. "But let us not forget
the words of Poor Richard: 'God helps those who help themselves.'"