IT WAS NIGHT; SILENCE AND GLOOM HAD SETTLED DOWN ON THE INMATES.
By a refinement of cruelty we had been separated and sent to prison wide
apart; for twenty years I had not seen the face of one of my friends.
But there was an invisible bond between us that no tyranny could break.
How blessed the happy forethought that made us, in that dark hour, amid
our despair, make that promise!
Ten years had slowly dragged by, 1883 came, and my devoted family felt
that I, and my comrades, too, had paid, as was right, our due to
justice, and we ought to be liberated. They determined that it would not
be their fault if I remained in captivity. So that year my sister came
to England and remained permanently there. She worked bravely and well,
but year after year passed without result. None of us was prepared for
the vindictive fury of the Bank of England--its power was all-potent
with the Government. George had been bedridden for years, and was slowly
dying. At length, in 1887, the medical officer of the prison certified
his speedy death was certain, and the Government released him to die;
but he resolved that he would not die until we were free. With liberty
and hope health came slowly back, and he devoted every hour to working
for our liberation; but for a time devoted in vain. More than once had I
seen the prison emptied and filled again. Of all the life prisoners I
had met there on my arrival, or who for years after had joined me, I was
the sole survivor.
One by one sickness or insanity, born of despair, had laid them in the
prison graveyard or buried them in the asylum. Out of more than seventy
life prisoners none had lived to be liberated, and determined appeared
the Bank of England directors that I should not form an exception; but
that if ever the prison doors were opened to me it should be only when
so near death that I might join the many who had gone before.
My fate seemed inevitable, but never for a moment did I cease to believe
that Fortune's frowns would one day disappear and that I should yet
again feel the warmth and sunshine of her smile. From his sick bed, and
in his health, our comrade never ceased his efforts. He succeeded in
interesting James Russell Lowell and many others in my behalf. The
President asked the English Government officially to grant my release.
Mr. Blaine, the Secretary of State, sent a very strong letter through
Minister Lincoln in London, and I thought when told of it that my day to
go was not far away.
It will interest Americans, perhaps, to hear that the representations of
the President and of the Secretary of State of the United States met the
same courtesy as was shown to all the previous ones. Still, George was
not discouraged. He sent agents to England, who managed to interest the
newspapers in the matter, and never did he cease, until by the
statements of the press upon the ferocity of my treatment, the
reproaches of my friends and the representations of many I had never
seen, including Lady Henry Somerset, Mrs. Helen Densmore (then residing
in London) and the Duke of Norfolk, at last the Home Secretary felt the
pressure, and all unwillingly--"much against his will," as he termed
it--was forced to order my release.
* * * * *
"Thou shalt forget thy misery and remember it as waters that pass
away."
Twenty years had passed away since I had bade my friends good-bye under
the Old Bailey, and now 1893 had come. It was a frosty February night,
and I was alone in that little room with its arched roof and stone
floor. It was past 7 o'clock, and the prison gloom and stillness had
settled down on all the inmates, when suddenly there came the noise of
hurrying feet that echoed strangely from the arched roof as the warders
tramped loudly on the stone floor of the long hall. A rush of feet, or,
indeed, anything that broke the horrible stillness at that hour, was
startling. They were the feet of the reserve guard, which was never
called in save when the patrol who glided around the corridors in
slippered feet discovered some suicide. Many a heartbroken man had I
known in that twenty years who in his despair ended his misery thus.
While wondering who the unfortunate could be I heard their steps
mounting the stairway leading to my landing, and then a sudden thrill
shot through me as they turned down the corridor toward my cell. My
heart stood still as I thought, could they be coming for me? I had a
sudden frenzy of fear that they might pass my door, but no, they came
straight on, halted, and Ross, a principal officer--I had known him
twenty years--gave a thundering rap on my door and shouted, "I want
you!" Then a key rattled in the lock, the door was thrown open and three
friendly faces looked in. Faint, deadly white, trembling like a
frightened child, I started to my feet trying to speak, but no sound
came from my lips for a moment. At last I stammered, "What's the
matter?" Ross thrust his form through the door, and with face close to
mine said the thrilling words, "You're free!" I cried, "I don't believe
you!" and Ross said: "Come on, my boy; it's all right."
Like one in a dream I passed out through the door of that little cell
whose grim, narrow walls had frowned on me for a score of years and had
in vain tried to crush my spirit.
Still like one in a dream I went down that long hall listening only to
the strange sound of my own footsteps and saying to myself: "It is all a
dream. I will awake, as I have from thousands of like dreams, and find
myself again in my dungeon."
I was led into the outer office, where some papers were read to me, and
then others given me to sign, but I listened or signed like one in a
maze. Suddenly I saw Ross thrust the key into the outer door. That
roused me, and the thought flashed into my mind, now I will see a star.
The heavy door rolled on its hinges, the ponderous gate was flung back.
Stepping out, I intuitively looked up, and a sudden awe fell upon me,
for there, like a revelation, shone the Milky Way, with its millioned
arch of radiant suns. At the sight of that miracle of glory, my heart
beat fast. I realized that I was free, with health and strength, with
courage to begin again the battle of life, and in my irrepressible
emotion I cried aloud, and my cry was like a prayer--"God is good."
[Illustration: A FIVE-POUND NOTE.
The counterfeit plate.]