A BRACE OF FOWLS
The result of their Agent's visit was manifested in various
ways to the American prisoners at Prince Town. Some
sank back upon despair and cursed each grey morning's light, as
it awakened them from the blessed oblivion of sleep; many
entered the British Service, and of these not a few were American
only in name, for their birthplace was England and they had
fought in the enemy's privateers, tempted thereto by handsome
payment. Others, like the leaders of the Seven, to whom such
surrender meant dishonour, dreamed of escape and occupied their
energies with projects and plots toward liberty.
But practical good ultimately accrued to the prisoners from
Mr. Reuben Blazey's brief appearance on Dartmoor. That
gentleman, perhaps in thanksgiving upon the discovery that he
had not taken smallpox, stirred himself to some purpose after all,
and not a few of the grievances that Cecil Stark had set forth
were presently redressed. The Transport Board sanctioned the
renewal of the market in Prison No. 4; the place was entirely
divided from its fellows for the greater comfort of those who
dwelt there; the French outcasts were put into durance apart,
and the negroes, with sole exception of Sam Cuffee, Stark's
servant, were also removed from among the Americans.
More than one of the little band that had sworn to escape, now
doubted whether, under this amelioration of circumstances, it
would be wise or politic to exchange the inside of the prison for
the outside. They held that Dartmoor rather than Prince Town
made the real prison, and that the great unknown wilderness,
with its morasses and precipices, its barren mountain-tops and
dangerous tempests, would be but a poor exchange even for
the misery of No. 4. But these doubtful ones were overruled
by Stark, Commodore Miller and the youngster, Burnham.
Carberry and Leverett most lacked courage; Knapps was
indifferent and ready to follow any man; Cuffee took his master's
view. That the negro should be permitted to join their secret
association had occasioned some natural opposition; but Cecil
Stark, whose ideas upon the subject were more than a century
ahead of his time, won permission to include the servant; and
Sam's personal fitness none questioned, for aboard the _Marblehead_
he had proved himself faithful and courageous. It was the
principle that awakened objections, not the man.
Soon the markets were again open, and finding that many of
the American prisoners had more money than the French,
discovering also that they spoke their own tongue and thereby
rendered bargaining more easy, the native Moor folk crowded
among them and opened a brisk traffic in fowls and eggs, cheese,
bacon and butter. No small amount of intoxicating drink was
also smuggled among them, though it generally paid duty to
some turnkey or sentry before reaching the prisoners. The
market stalls were arranged in a wide yard; the current market
prices were cried out, so that all might understand, and none
from the outer world were permitted to begin his business until
he had been carefully searched. But as time went on, and the
regular merchants became known to the guards, a little strictness
relaxed and relations became friendly. The means of the
prisoners varied much. Some were penniless, and made trinkets
carved of bone or wood serve them in place of money; some
received regular supplies from home, and these privileged ones,
Cecil Stark and Burnham among the rest, shared their funds with
less fortunate neighbours.
There came a day when, towards the close of the market hours,
Leverett and Knapps were standing at one of the stalls and
addressing the countrywoman who sat upon an upturned barrel
behind it.
"Where's your grandson of late, Mrs. Lee? I ha'n't seen him
with you for many a week."
"Nor won't no more," answered Lovey Lee. "He's gone into
sarvice--groom to a farmer's darter."
"Waal now! Do your farmers' daughters hev grooms?"
"Not often. She's a lady. 'Tis a newtake farm 'pon Dartymoor,
an' the man who started it has got more money than wits.
Jack takes good wages, an' I have half of 'em, as I ought, seeing
I brought him up."
Sam Cuffee came up at this minute.
"Missy Lovey Lee," he said, "you dun gib me my proper
butter yesterday for Marse Stark. I swear 'twas light, ma'am."
The tall woman, whose head, though she sat on the barrel, was
as high as that of Mr. Knapps where he stood beside her, stared
at the negro with scorn in her ferocious eyes.
"Get along with you, you black idol! Ban't eighteen ounces
to the pound good butter weight? You stole some yourself, I'll
swear, to oil your ugly face."
"You's a berry imperent ole woman, and I dun take no notice
ob your talk. Har come Marse Stark hisself, so you may just
speak to him, ma'am," answered Cuffee.
Stark, carrying a tray, appeared with Burnham. This signal
was concerted, and as soon as they saw him the other men moved
away together.
"Look here, Mother Lee, these won't do, you know. I must
take my custom elsewhere if you are not going to deal straight
with me," began the sailor bluntly.
"Eggs--well, what of 'em?" asked Lovey.
"The less said of them the better. Here are six--the remnant
of the last dozen I bought. Of the first six that Cuffee broke, I
ate none. So the second six you have got to take back and
give me six fresh ones from your basket."
But Lovey by no means saw the force of this suggestion.
"What next will you ax? To rob me right an' left be your
pleasure always; but I've been weak as a fly with you afore,
'cause of your curly hair. You'd starve a poor woman to death."
"Take them back, or I'll never buy another thing from you.
What's more, my friends shall not either," said Stark loudly.
Then, before she could answer, he added under his breath, "_Take
'em and look at the yelks!_"
Lovey instantly perceived that more appeared than was spoken.
She remembered also more than one conversation with Stark's
friends. Struck by her intelligence, unusual education and
extraordinary greed, Commodore Miller had called attention to the
old woman as being a tool ripe for their hands. Now the
preliminary approach promised well, for it was manifest that
Mrs. Lee had caught the speaker's meaning.
"I won't; I won't do it--'tis flat robbery, I tell you, an' you'd
not care if I starved on the Moor all alone in my hovel without
strength to lift a dying prayer. You are cruel devils--all of you,
and I'll go back to the French folks, as have got hearts in their
breasts. I'll----"
Then Stark, now alive to the fact that Lovey was only acting
for the benefit of the sentry, interrupted with threats. But still
Mrs. Lee argued, and only after much chatter, and a great deal
of disgraceful language, she took back the eggs and gave the
sailor six fresh ones in exchange.
"Now I must sell these to somebody else," she said, "or I
shan't get bit or sup inside my lips to-day."
"Better eat 'em yourself, Missis," said the sentry. "Anyway,
time's up now, so off you go."
A bell rang to clear the market, and the folk began to stream
out of the prison.
"Here, Sam!" shouted Stark jubilantly. "Take these to the
kitchen. I've near choked myself talking and swearing at that
old witch; but I've won my way. She's taken the bad eggs and
give me fresh ones instead."
Cuffee hurried forward.
"You was dam smart, sar. I dun fink nobody in de prison
could hah git around dat party 'cept you."
And Lovey Lee, grumbling and whining to the last, took
herself and her baskets back across the Moor; tramped home;
entered her hovel, and then turned with greedy curiosity to the
secret of the eggs. She was as safe from interruption in her lonely
cabin by Siward's Cross as she had been in the desert of Sahara;
yet caution and suspicion were a part of her; therefore she locked
her door and covered up her little window with an apron before
she turned to her basket. Then, one by one, she broke the eggs
into a basin, and her mouth watered at the sight of such food,
even while she mourned to see two pennyworth of marketable
commodity wasted upon herself. The fifth egg weighed normally;
but it was filled with dust, and, after all, Lovey made no rare
meal, for she spoilt the mess in the basin by pouring the dust on
top of it. A vital matter, however, she rescued, for in the dust
was a little roll of paper, and upon the paper a message closely
but clearly written.
"_To mistress Lee, an offer of money in plenty if she will help
Cecil Stark to escape from the War Prison at Prince Town. Let
her sell two fowls next market day if she will serve him; let her
sell two ducks if she will not serve him. But if she betray Cecil
Stark, his friends will be revenged upon her._"
To the young man from Vermont had fallen this first step in
the plot. Lots were drawn as to who should get the message to
Lovey Lee, for all agreed that one only need be inculpated until
it was certain that she would assist them. Now, if she proved
loyal to the authorities, Stark alone would suffer; but upon that
score little anxiety was felt, for Lovey had often expressed
sentiments much the reverse of patriotic, and had at all times made
it clear that money was the only sovereign lord she acknowledged
or served.
Upon the following market day two fine fat fowls were displayed
at Mrs. Lee's stall. She sat behind them on her upturned
barrel, and gave Stark an indifferent "good morning" as he
strolled past with the Commodore and James Knapps.
"Here's a nice brace of chicks, your honour," said Lovey.
But Stark laughed and shook his head.
"No luxuries to-day, ma'am; we're not made of money, you
know. They would look well upon Commandant Cottrell's table."
"I serve him, too," she answered. "But he likes his poultry
stuffed wi' marjoram an' wild thyme."
"And these?"
"They be stuffed different."
"Well, we won't quarrel as to that. Hungry men don't criticise
their sauces. What's the price?"
"You shall have 'em for half-a-crown."
"Lordy! Preserve us agin you greedy women!" cried Knapps.
"I reckon you'd make soup out o' stones an' sell it for ten cents
a pint if you dared."
"Come along, Commodore," said Stark, "we'll try Mrs. Luscombe
at the next stall. Lovey Lee's too grasping."
At that moment William Burnham approached and saw the
fowls.
"Just what I want," he exclaimed. "Poor Matthew Mercer
is still alive; but he can't eat any victuals, so we'll make some
chicken broth for him. What's your price, Mrs. Lee?"
Lovey glanced at Stark, and, seeing that he was not concerned,
understood that she might sell safely.
"Half-a-crown, an' I'd sooner fling 'em into the Moor for the
foxes than take a penny less," she said.
Commodore Miller turned to a sentry and asked the market
value of fowls. The man did not know, but a turnkey passing at
that moment answered him.
"Fowls are tenpence each--eighteen pence a pair to-day," he
said.
Whereupon Lovey called down lightning upon his head, and
behaved with such impropriety that the man turned round in a
rage and threatened to have her removed out of the markets.
Upon this she relapsed into sulky silence, and presently, after
some haggling, took the money that was her due, and almost
flung the fowls at Burnham.
Anon Mr. Cuffee departed with the poultry under his arm,
and, guessing what to expect, he made a careful examination. A
few words much to the point were scrawled upon paper and
packed within one bird. Lovey Lee had written an answer to
Stark's invitation.
"_Right. Tell me what you want and what you'll give. Put
message in a chaw of baccy next week._"