We rose at noon the next day, and after the fashion of those times
strolled toward the centre of the city to meet our friends and hear
whatever news might chance to be going. Twenty-four hours earlier I
would have escaped from Philadelphia if possible, but now I felt that my
engagement with Belfort held me there. It was singular how circumstances
combined to prevent our flight. "_Our_ flight," I said, and yet I did
not know that Marcel would go with me even if I fled. "_My_ flight," I
should say, and that, too, was impossible until I met Belfort. Then?
Suppose I should slay him!
We met Vivian and Moore looking as fresh as if they had slept all the
preceding night instead of playing cards, which, though perhaps not
surprising in an Irishman, is somewhat beyond the power of most other
people. A few moments later we met Belfort also, and he and I saluted
gravely as became men who were to meet in another fashion soon.
"Come and see the American prisoners," said Moore. "The light cavalry
took more than twenty yesterday, and they are just passing down the
street to the prison, where I suspect that they will get better fare,
bad as it is, than they have had for a long time."
The prisoners filed past, a lean and ragged band, and my heart was
filled with sympathy.
"What a deuced shame that we should have to fight them!" said Moore.
"Why couldn't they go back to their farms like peaceable men and obey
King George like the loyal subjects they ought to be? That would end the
trouble at once, and how simple! What a logician I am!"
"But the Irish don't obey King George," I said, "and they are his
subjects too."
"That's different," rejoined Moore, quickly. "The Irish don't obey
anybody, and never will."
Marcel suddenly pulled my arm, and when I looked around at him his face
was pale. The fourth man in the line of prisoners was gazing intently at
us, and his eyes expressed two emotions,--first recognition and then
deep, bitter hatred. All soldiers detest traitors, and this man was one
of the four whom Sergeant Pritchard had commanded. He knew us well, as
we stood there in the gay uniforms of the enemy, and while he could not
divine what we intended when we rode away in our borrowed plumage, he
could believe but one thing now. His lips moved as if he were about to
speak and denounce us; but I shook my head, gave him the most
significant look I could, and then putting my hand on Marcel's shoulder
to indicate clearly that I was speaking to him, said in a loud voice,--
"Captain Montague, look at the fourth man in the line; does he not look
wonderfully like one of the villains who chased us into the city?"
Thank heaven the man--Alloway was his name--was as quick as a flash. He
heard me call Marcel Montague, and everything else may have been obscure
to him, but he knew that we were not there under our right names, and
that that probably meant something else other than treason. He dropped
his head, looked no more at us, and walked on as impassive as the rest.
Two others had seen and taken notice, the two whom we dreaded most. They
were Belfort and the scoundrel Waters, whom I now for the first time saw
standing behind us, his red head towering above those around him. He
seemed to have made it his special business to follow Marcel and me and
to spy upon our doings. That hateful look of cunning was in his eyes,
while Belfort's blazed with triumph. But both quickly dismissed all
unusual expression, and Belfort was silent until the last man in the
file had passed. Then he said,--
"I propose that we go to the prison and talk to those men. They are
broken down and starving, and would gladly tell their woes to those who
bring them food. We may acquire wonderful information concerning Mr.
Washington and his army."
"It would be but a useless annoyance of prisoners," I said, seeing the
drift of his mind.
"Not so," he replied. "It is a worthy object and is in the service of
the king. I can easily get the necessary permission from the commandant
of the prison."
Unluckily enough, Moore was greatly taken with the idea, and Vivian too
liked it. They were all for talking with the prisoners, and Marcel and I
were compelled to yield. We could have refused to go, but that, I felt
sure, would be our undoing. I preferred that the questions Belfort
wished to ask should be asked in our presence.
Belfort called Waters and sent him to the commandant with a request for
the necessary permission, and we proceeded with our stroll until his
return.
"This man Belfort is bound to catch us, if not by one method then by
another," whispered Marcel to me. "You should not have looked with such
admiring eyes upon the lady whom he has chosen for his own."
"But she has not chosen him, so far as you know," I replied, "and Mr.
Belfort is not to be the master of my inclinations."
"Oh, well, don't pick a quarrel with me about it," he replied, with a
wry face and then a smile. He did not seem to feel any apprehension, and
I wondered if fear for the future was ever a quality that entered into
his mental constitution. I had begun to believe that it did not, and
that he was not to be held accountable for it.
Belfort burst suddenly into smiles and began to bow with great energy.
Miss Desmond was approaching, and with her was Miss Rankin, a Tory's
daughter. Miss Desmond was very simply dressed in light gray, and wore a
single pink rose in her corsage. Her bearing was full of dignity, and
she looked very beautiful, but, as always, cold and distant. We began to
speak of the usual topics, for in our little pent-up city news soon
became common; but at that moment Waters arrived with the necessary
permission.
"The prisoners are sulky, sir," said Waters, with a respectful bow to
Belfort, "and are not disposed to talk to anybody, but the commandant
says that you may try."
I wondered if he had some sort of an understanding with Belfort. It did
not seem wholly unlikely.
"At any rate it will be a novelty to talk to them," said Belfort, "and
to see the inside of a prison, knowing that you can leave it whenever
you wish. But I think that at least one of them will talk."
It was impossible for Marcel or me to mistake the significance of his
last sentence or his intentions. Nothing else could account for this
sudden desire to visit the prisoners, which looked to an ordinary
observer like the freak of some one who had more time than occupation.
Yet I could see purpose, determined purpose, in it.
"We are going to ask some American prisoners, just taken, why they are
so foolish and wicked as to fight against the king," said Belfort,
looking at Miss Desmond. "Will you not, Miss Desmond, and you, Miss
Rankin, go with us and hear what they have to say? I assure you that it
will be both interesting and instructive."
The man's effrontery amazed me, but I fathomed the depth of his malice
and his proposed method. His defeat the night before had lulled his
suspicions, but the look and manner of the prisoners had caused them to
flame afresh. Now he hoped to expose us in the presence of our friends,
and above all in the presence of Miss Desmond. Fortune seemed at last to
have put all the chances in his favor.
"Oh, do let's go!" spoke up Miss Rankin, a young woman whose mind was
not too important. "I have never been in a prison, and I should like to
see how they live there."
"Believe me it is not a joyous sight, Miss Rankin," I said, hoping to
keep the ladies away.
"Are you fully acquainted with it?" asked Belfort, in a low voice.
"Not as well, perhaps, as some others ought to be," I said in the same
tone.
"Come, Miss Desmond, will you not go?" repeated Belfort. "It will be a
valuable experience, one worth remembering."
Her eyes wandered over us, but I could not read the expression in them.
They dwelt for a moment on Waters, as if wondering why a man of his
condition was with us; and then she said that she would go, a flush of
interest showing in her face. So we walked together toward the city
prison, Belfort and Vivian escorting Miss Desmond, while the others
devoted themselves to Miss Rankin. Marcel and I dropped a little behind.
"Phil," I said, "the gauntlet is nicely prepared for us."
"But we may run it," he replied cheerfully. "There's always a chance."
We were soon at the prison, and the commandant made no difficulties. In
truth, Belfort seemed to have much influence with him, and five minutes
later we were in the presence of the new prisoners, all of whom sat in
one room where the dirt and cobwebs had gathered against the low
ceiling, and where the light came dimly in at the narrow and
iron-barred window. It was a gloomy place and its influence was visible
at once upon us all. Even Miss Rankin ceased her chatter. The prisoners
had just taken their food, and were making themselves as comfortable as
they could, some upon two old wooden benches against the stone wall and
some upon the floor. It suddenly occurred to me that they would send us
here before they hung us, and the idea was not cheerful.
I wondered what the prisoners thought of us and our presence there, but
they showed no curiosity. The man Alloway was sitting on the floor in a
slouching attitude and took no notice.
"Here sit up, you!" exclaimed Waters, taking him roughly by the
shoulders and jerking him up. "Do you not see that there are ladies
present?"
"I can't imagine that they have come to this place for bright company,"
said Alloway, grimly.
Then Belfort began to talk to one of the men, purposely delaying his
examination of Alloway as if he would linger over a choice morsel. I
paid little attention to his questions, which seemed to elicit no
satisfactory answer, but kept my eyes on Miss Desmond. Could a woman,
young and beautiful, a Tory even, be without sympathy in the presence of
her unfortunate countrymen, locked thus in a prison for no crime save
fighting in defence of their own land, if that can be called a crime?
Could she have so little heart? I did not believe it. In spite of her
coldness and pride there was some charm about her which had drawn me to
her, and I would not believe that a woman without heart could influence
me so. Therefore I watched her closely, and at last I saw the light
appear in the impassive eyes. When the others were not looking, she bent
over the youngest of the prisoners and slipped something in his hand. I
saw the flash of the golden guinea and the look of deep human feeling,
and I knew that my lady had a heart. But she said nothing either to the
prisoners or to us, and I believed that in her Tory soul she still
condemned while for the moment she pitied.
I wished to speak to the man Alloway, to give him some hint, while
Belfort was examining the others but I could find no opportunity. Always
Belfort was watching me out of the corner of his eye, and Waters had the
gaze of both eyes, full and square, upon me and Marcel. It was
impossible for either of us to speak to Alloway without being seen or
heard.
"Suppose we try this hulking fellow here, colonel," said Belfort to the
commandant, pointing to Alloway.
"Would you like to ask him some questions, Captain Montague?" said
Belfort, politely, to Marcel.
"No," replied Marcel, "it is no part of a British officer's duty."
Belfort flushed at the reply, and so did the commandant, who was an
accessory to this proceeding. I saw that Marcel had made a new enemy.
"Come, my man, won't you give us some information?" said Belfort to
Alloway.
Alloway's face settled into a defiant frown, but his eyes met mine once,
and the swift look he gave me was full of curiosity. Nor did I read any
threat there.
"We are all friends of yours; that is, all of us want to be your
friends," said Belfort.
"Is that so? Then do your people have a habit of locking up in prison
those of whom you think most?" returned Alloway, ironically.
"While we are all friends," resumed Belfort, "some of us are perhaps
better friends than others, or better acquaintances. Are you sure there
are not several of us whom you knew before to-day?"
"Why, what a strange examination, Lieutenant Belfort!" exclaimed Miss
Desmond. Others, too, were looking at him in surprise. Belfort reddened,
but it was not in him to be daunted.
"I asked for an excellent reason," he said politely to the commandant.
"When these prisoners were passing through the street, this man seemed
to recognize one of us and I wished to know which it was."
"What of that?" asked the commandant.
"It may lead to something else that I have in mind," replied Belfort,
with tenacity.
"Proceed then," said the commandant, wonderingly.
"Do you not know some one of us?" asked Belfort of Alloway. His face
showed the eagerness with which he put the question.
"Yes," replied Alloway.
Perhaps I had no right to expect anything else, but the answer came like
a thunderbolt, and my heart fell. Alloway would betray us, and after all
there was no reason why he should not.
Belfort's eyes flashed with triumph, and his hopes overran his caution.
"Who is it? who is it?" he cried. "Is it not he?" and he pointed his
finger straight at me.
Alloway examined me critically, and then said, "No, I never saw him
before in my life. There's the man I meant!" He pointed at Moore and
continued: "He was a prisoner with us for a while after White Plains,
and I was one of the escort that took him to the British lines when we
exchanged him and others."
"It's true! It's true!" said Moore. "I remember you very well since you
have spoken of it; and polite you were to me, for which I thank you.
Right sorry am I to see you here."
It was another release from the hangman's rope, and Belfort was defeated
for the second time. He recognized the fact and fell back, looking at me
in a puzzled and mortified way. I believe he was convinced then that his
suspicions were wrong. Why Alloway denied me I could not guess, for
surely the look from me in the street was not sufficient to disclose
such a complicated situation as ours. But it had happened so, and it was
not for Marcel or me to complain.
"Have you finished, Lieutenant Belfort?" asked the commandant. "I
understood that something important was to follow these questions or I
would not have consented to such an irregularity."
"It is a mistake! I was upon the wrong path! I will explain another
time!" said Belfort, hurriedly.
Marcel tapped his forehead suggestively, and all looked curiously at
Belfort. They seemed to think that there was something in Marcel's idea.
Of course, Belfort might have accused us openly, but he had no proof
whatever, and the chances seemed at least a hundred to one that he would
make himself ridiculous by such a declaration. No, I was not afraid of
that, unless something else to arouse his smouldering suspicions should
occur.
As we left the prison, Miss Desmond said to me, "I wish to ask
Lieutenant Melville about Staffordshire."
"Ah, Miss Desmond," spoke up Moore, "if you want to know the truth about
any part of England, you should ask an Irishman."
So saying, he placed his hand upon his heart and bowed.
"An Irishman always talks best about the thing of which he knows least,"
said Vivian.
But all walked on, and Miss Desmond and I were the last of the company.
I wondered why she had chosen me thus. There was very little that I
could tell her about Staffordshire, and in truth, it seemed a poor
subject for conversation just then.
"Lieutenant Melville," she said, "why are you and Lieutenant Belfort to
fight a duel?"
Her question was so sudden and direct that it startled me. I had not
suspected that she knew of our quarrel.
"It is because we could not agree upon a point of honor," I said.
"Do you think that it is a proper business for two of the king's
officers?" she asked.
"Since you wish me to be frank, I do not," I replied, "but it was
impossible for me to avoid it, and perhaps my antagonist will say the
same concerning himself."
"Why do you fight?" she asked. Then I knew that she had not heard the
full tale, the cause of our quarrel, and I reflected for a moment while
she looked at me with bright eyes. I felt like a little boy called up
for punishment and seeking excuse.
"It was over the cards," I said. "There was some talk about the measures
that should be taken against the rebels. Lieutenant Belfort advocated
more severity, I more mildness. I do not think the opinion of either
would have had any influence on the policy of the Government, but that
did not restrain our heat. We quarrelled like cabinet ministers at odds.
There was a blow, I think, a demand for an apology, which was refused;
and what followed is to be left to the seconds, who have not yet been
named."
"I do not believe you," she said, still holding me with her calm, bright
eyes.
I felt the hot blood flushing my face, but neither in her tone nor
manner did she condemn me or speak as one who despised a man caught in a
falsehood. Rather she was reproachful.
"There is some other reason," she said, "and you will not tell it to me,
but I shall not ask you again."