CAPTAIN ALLEN TAKES THE OATH OF ALLEGIANCE AND JACQUELIN GRAY LOSES
HIS BUTTONS AND SOME OLD PAPERS
The absence of all civil government and the disorganization of the
plantations were producing great inconvenience. Much thieving was
going on everywhere, and there was beginning to be an unwonted amount
of lawlessness: sheep and hogs were being stolen, and even horses and
cattle. Dr. Cary and Mr. Bagby united with some others of the more
conciliatory men in the State, to request the establishment of some
form of government, and a sort of provisional civil government was
shortly established in the country. Mr. Dockett was appointed Clerk of
the county, Dr. Cary was commissioned a magistrate in his district,
and, at his solicitation, Andy Stamper was appointed constable.
Meanwhile, Steve Allen had become the most prominent citizen of
the county seat. He had taken an old building in one corner of the
court-green, and his office soon became the most popular place of
resort in the village, for the young men. It was rumored that something
other than law was practised in Steve’s office, and the lights often
burned till daybreak, and shouts of laughter came through the open
windows. Stories got abroad of poker-parties held there in the late
hours of the summer nights. Neither Middleton nor Thurston had ever
been invited there, for Steve still held himself stiffly with the
two officers, but an incident occurred which suddenly broke down the
barrier.
Steve had never taken the oath of allegiance. This was not known at
the time of his arrival at the court-house, and he had started in
to practise law, and had gone on without any question as to it ever
being raised, until Still notified Leech. “If you could git up a row
between him and your young man, Middleton,” said he, “you might get rid
of one enemy, maybe two; for, I tell you, he won’t stand no foolin’.
Make Middleton make him take the oath. I don’t believe he’ll do it—I
b’lieve he’ll go away first.” Leech summoned Steve to exhibit his
parole; and on his failing to obey, laid the matter before Middleton.
When Leech disclosed the object of his visit, Thurston was lounging in
an arm-chair, with his pipe. He started up. Was it possible that such
a flagrant violation of the law had been going on? He gazed at the
Provost blandly.
“It was and is,” said Leech, sententiously. “This man never misses
an opportunity to treat the Government and its representatives with
contempt.”
“I have heard so,” said Thurston, adopting Leech’s tone. “I have
heard that he has even said that some of the representatives of the
Government were a stench in their own nostrils.”
Leech winced and glanced at Thurston; but he was as innocent as a dove.
“It is time to make an example of him,” proceeded the Lieutenant, still
apparently arguing with his superior. “And I think it would be well to
have him brought up at once and the most rigid oath administered to
him. Why should not Lieutenant Leech administer it? I should like to
see him do it, and he might take occasion to read Captain Allen a sound
homily on his duties as a citizen of this great Republic and his cause
for gratitude. It might lead him to mend the error of his ways.”
Nothing could have been more pleasing to Leech. He jumped at the
proposal, and said he would give this young rebel a lecture that he
would not soon forget, and if he refused to take the oath would clap
him in jail. Middleton assented and that evening was set for the
ceremony, and Middleton and Thurston said they would go down and see
the oath administered.
That evening Steve was surprised to find his office-door suddenly
darkened by a squad of soldiers who had come to arrest him and take him
before the Provost.
“What is it for?” Arrests by the Provost were not uncommon.
“To take the oath.”
There was a laugh at Steve’s expense; for it was known by his friends
that he prided himself on not having yet sworn allegiance to the
Government.
“Go and take your medicine, and pay me that little fiver you bet you
would not take it this month,” said McRaffle, with a half sneer.
“I’ll credit it on one of your I O U’s,” said Steve, dryly.
He was marched across to the Provost’s office, his friends following
to see the issue. Just as they arrived, Middleton and Thurston came
in, looking a little sheepish when they found, as the result of their
conspiracy, Steve guarded by a file of men. Leech took out a box of
good cigars and offered them to the officers. He did not offer them to
anyone else, but laid them on the table, and with a rap for silence,
began his homily. He made it strong and long. He dwelt with particular
emphasis on the beneficence of a Government that, after a wicked
rebellion, permitted rebels to return to their allegiance and receive
again all the benefits of the Union—becoming, indeed, one with her
other citizens. This concluded, he tendered Steve the oath. Everyone
present, perhaps, expected Steve to refuse to take it. Instead of
which, he took it without a word. There was a moment of breathless
silence.
“I understand then that we are, so to speak, now one?” said Steve,
drawlingly.
“Ah! yes,” said Leech, turning away to try to hide his surprise from
Thurston.
“Then, gentlemen, have some of _our_ cigars?” Steve took up the box,
lit a cigar himself and coolly handed them around.
As he offered them to Thurston the little Lieutenant said:
“Captain, the honors are yours.”
The next moment Steve tossed his cigar contemptuously out of the door.
“Come over to my office, gentlemen; I have a box that a _gentleman_
has sent me. I think they will have a better flavor than these.
Good-evening, Lieutenant Leech. Will you join us, gentlemen?” This was
to Middleton and Thurston, and the invitation was accepted.
They adjourned to Steve’s “law-office,” where they proceeded to while
away the hours in a manner which has sweetened, if not made, many an
armistice. Fortune from the start perched herself on Steve’s side as if
to try and compensate him for other and greater reverses; and at last
little Thurston, having lost the best part of a month’s pay, said that
if Leech’s cigars were not as good as Steve’s, they were, at least,
less expensive.
“You fellows don’t know any more about poker than you do about joking,”
said Steve, imperturbably, as he raked in a pot. “If I’d known about
this before, I wouldn’t have taken that oath. I’d have done like
McRaffle there. This is too easy.”
“You play just as much as I do,” said McRaffle, quickly.
“Yes; but in more select company.” Steve said quietly. “Not with boys.”
McRaffle’s cold face flushed slightly, and he started to reply, but
glanced quickly round the table and reconsidered. Steve was placidly
shuffling the cards.
No man likes to have his poker-game assailed, and Middleton and
Thurston were no exceptions.
“You’re outclassed, Captain,” said Steve. “I’d be riding that whitefoot
bay of yours in a week, if you played with me.”
“Make a jackpot and I’ll give you a chance,” said Middleton, firing up.
Steve, as the winner, was not in a position to stop. The others had
warmed up.
“Yes—make it a jackpot, and let that decide which is the biggest
blower,” laughed someone.
Steve dealt and Middleton looked pleased, as he well might. None of
the others had more than a pair, and they passed out. Steve had three
hearts and a pair. He was about to throw the cards down when he caught
Middleton’s look of content, and hesitated.
“Come in,” laughed Middleton.
Steve’s fingers tightened on his cards, and Middleton discarded two,
showing that he held three of a kind.
“I’ve got you beat,” he said.
“Beat? I tell you, you don’t know the game,” said Steve, airily. He
coolly discarded his pair.
“I don’t? I’ll bet you a hundred dollars, I’ve got you beat.”
Steve picked up two cards. “I’ll see you and raise you,” said he. “I
bet you five hundred against your whitefoot horse you haven’t.”
“Done,” said Middleton.
“Keep your horse, boy,” said Steve. “I was the best poker player in my
brigade.” He leaned over to put his cards down. But Middleton was game
and was ahead of him.
“It’s a bet,” he said, laying his hand on the table. There was a sigh
from the others: he had three aces.
Steve laid his beside them, and there was a shout. He had drawn a flush.
“Now I’ll buy the horse back from you, if you wish it?” said Middleton.
“Thank you. I’ve promised him to a lady,” said Steve.
Next day Steve rode his new horse to Birdwood and, with a twinkle in
his eyes, offered him to Blair.
“How did you get him?” asked the girl.
“Captured him,” laughed Steve. “Tell your friend not to play poker with
me—or McRaffle,” he added.
Blair’s eyes flashed and she attacked Steve vigorously. She would not
have him offering to present her a part of his gaming-winnings. He was
becoming a scandal to the neighborhood; leading the young men off.
“Young Larry, for instance?” smiled Steve. “Or Captain McRaffle?”
“No. You know very well whom I mean,” declared Blair. “Rupert thinks
it fine to imitate you.” The smile was still on Steve’s face, and
Blair paused to take breath; then half closing her eyes as if she were
sighting carefully—“And couples your name with Captain McRaffle’s,”
she added.
A light of satisfaction came into her eyes as she saw the shaft go
home. A deeper hue reddened Steve’s sunbrowned face.
“Who was the young lady who bet me not long ago, against that very
horse, that she would not dance with a certain Yankee Captain? Where’s
her pious example?”
Blair’s face flushed. “I did wrong. But I did not expect you, Captain
Allen who prides himself on his chivalry, to shelter himself behind a
girl.” She bowed low, and turned away in apparent disdain, enjoying the
success of her shot.
Just at that moment Miss Thomasia joined them.
“What are you two quarrelling about?” The next moment she glanced at
Steve and a troubled look came into her eyes.
“Nothing. We aren’t quarrelling, are we Blair?” Steve held out his hand
in sign of peace.
“Yes. Steve has just charged——”
Steve began to make signs to Blair.
“—Steve has just charged,” proceeded Miss Blair, ignoring his efforts
to stop her, “that all his shortcomings are due to the example set him
by a woman.”
“They all do it, my dear, from Adam down,” said Miss Thomasia, placidly.
Her sex was to be defended even against her idol.
“There,” said Blair, triumphantly to Steve.
“It’s a stock phrase,” said Steve. “And what I’d like to know is, did
not Adam tell the truth?”
“Yes, the coward! he did. And I’ve no doubt he tried to keep poor Eve
between him and the angel’s sword. Now you, at least be as brave as he,
and tell Cousin Thomasia the truth and see what she says.”
Once more Steve began to signal Blair. But Miss Thomasia herself came
to his rescue. Perhaps, she wanted to save him. She began to ask about
Rupert. She was evidently anxious about the boy.
Whether it was because of what Blair said about Rupert, or because of
the look of distress that came in Miss Thomasia’s eyes at the mention
of the story of Steve’s playing, Steve had an interview with Captain
Middleton shortly afterward, and, as a result, when he told him the
dilemma in which he found himself, the horse went back into Middleton’s
possession, until Middleton left the county, when he became Steve’s by
purchase.
As time went on, a shadow began to fall between Jacquelin and the sun.
Steve was in love with Blair. Steve was always with her; his name was
always on her lips, and hers frequently on his. She rode his horse: and
he often came to Red Rock with her. And as Jacquelin watched, he knew
he had no chance. It cut deeper than anyone ever knew; but Jacquelin
fought it out and won. He would not let it come between him and Steve.
Steve had always been like a brother. He would still love Blair. This
was not forbidden him. Not every knight always won his great love.
It was the loyalty, not the success, that was knightly. If she loved
Steve, he could make her happier than Jacquelin himself ever could have
done. And Jacquelin, if God gave him power, would rejoice with them in
time.
The preparations for the contemplated entertainment for the benefit
of the poor wounded Confederate soldiers in the county were already
begun. It was to be given at Red Rock, and the managers waited only
for Jacquelin to recover somewhat from a set-back he had had after his
meeting with Leech at Dr. Cary’s. Blair Cary had offers from at least
a dozen escorts; but Steve was the fortunate contestant. Miss Dockett
was so much interested in her preparations that the two lodgers caught
the fever, and found themselves in the position of admirers and part
advisers as to a costume for an entertainment to which they were not
considered good enough to be invited. Little Thurston had to purchase a
part of it in the city, where he went on a visit, and, truth to tell,
finding that the small amount entrusted to him—which was all that
could be got together even by Mrs. Dockett’s diligence, stimulated by
her natural pride in her daughter’s first ball—was not sufficient
to purchase material as fine as he thought suited to adorn the plump
person of a young lady who had condescended to warble with him, he
added to it a small sum from his own by no means over-plethoric pocket,
and then lied about it afterward like a trooper and a gentleman.
“Well, I always heard a Yankee was a good hand at a bargain,” declared
Mrs. Dockett; “but you are the best I ever knew.” And this was
Thurston’s reward.
The officers had given up hope of being invited to the assembly, when
one evening two formal notes, requesting their company, were brought by
Steve’s boy Jerry. They were signed simply, “The Committee.”
“And now,” said Middleton, “we’re in a bigger hole than before; for
it’s for the benefit of the rebels; and if that gets out—. But,
perhaps it will not?”
“Gets out? Of course it will get out. Everything one doesn’t want to
get out, gets out; but yet we must go. Does not our high sense of duty
require us to sacrifice our personal prejudices so far as to keep an
eye on this first large assemblage of rebels?”
“Reely, you’re a genius,” said Middleton, in open admiration.
“Of course I am,” was the Lieutenant’s modest reply.
Formal notes of acceptance were sent, and the two young officers were
soon as busy as anyone making their preparations for their “summer
campaign,” as Thurston called it. Both ordered new boots, and Thurston
a whole suit, for the occasion. Thurston, in the seclusion of their
room, drilled Middleton sedulously in the Old Virginia reel, so as to
astonish the native and, as he profanely termed it, “make sure of the
capture of the fish Middleton had found in the ford.”
An evening or two later, the mail was brought in, and in it were two
official letters for Middleton. As he read them, his face fell, and
he flung them across to Thurston, who, as he glanced at them, gave an
ejaculation hardly consistent with the high-church principles he so
proudly vaunted.
One was an order forbidding, for the present, all public gatherings
at night, under any guise whatever, except in churches; the other
forbade the wearing of any Confederate uniform or garment forming
part of a uniform, or, at least (as persons might not have any other
clothes whatever), brass buttons, braid, chevrons, etc., which were the
insignia of a uniform. These were to be cut off or covered. These were
general orders, and the officers in command stationed throughout the
country were directed to see them enforced.
“This comes of having a d—d tailor for President,” said the little
Lieutenant. “I always did hate ’em; and to think I’ve ordered a new
uniform for it too! Your wedding, Larry, will not come off as soon as
I anticipated. Well, there’s one consolation; one tailor will have to
wait some time.”
This view appeared to please the Lieutenant so much that, as he glanced
over the orders again, he began to whistle, while the Captain looked
on despondently. The whistling grew louder as Thurston read on, and he
suddenly bounced up.
“I’ve got it, Larry. Are you a Mason?”
“No. Why?”
“Oh! Nothing—I was just thinking of that old Masonic lodge where the
chaplain preached and Leech led in prayer. You issue your orders—and
leave me +to manage it: this tailoring part is what’s going to play the
deuce. I can settle the other—I’m a churchman—I ought to have been a
bishop.”
As Thurston foresaw, it was the order touching the uniforms which gave
the greatest offence, and in the indignation which this aroused, the
other was almost lost sight of. It was intended to show the negroes,
the old residents said, that the Southerners were completely in
subjection to the Federal authorities. Which view gained some ground
from the fact that the orders were issued by Leech, who appeared to be
charged with their enforcement.
The next day there was a storm in the county.
The little General made old Julius burnish up his buttons until they
shone like gold, and then rode into the village to interview the
officer in command. He was stopped on the street by Leech, and was
ordered to cut them off immediately if he did not wish him to do it for
him, on which the gallant old Confederate stated to that functionary
as placidly as he might have returned an answer to Miss Thomasia on
the subject of roses, that if Leech so much as attempted to lay his
hand on him, he would kill him immediately; and the look in his eyes
was so resolute and so piercing that Leech, who supposed from this
that he was fully armed, slunk away to secure a squad of soldiers to
enforce his order. The General rode serenely on to find Middleton. No
one was present at the interview. But it became known afterward that
the General had begun by an intimation that he was ready to renew his
polite offer of the pair of duelling pistols to Captain Middleton, if
the Captain wished to give a gentleman who found himself temporarily in
a somewhat embarrassing position, a gentleman’s satisfaction; and that
he had come away, not, indeed, with this satisfaction, but, at least,
with renewed esteem for the young men, whom he continued to speak of as
“most gentlemanly young fellows”; and he covered his buttons with cloth.
Steve Allen let Miss Thomasia cover his with crêpe, and having led
Leech into questioning him as to the reason for this, said that it was
mourning because a certain cowardly hound had only barked at Mammy
Krenda one day, instead of attempting to touch her, and giving her the
opportunity to cut the skin from him. Dr. Cary found his buttons cut
off by Mrs. Cary and Miss Blair—“to prevent,” Blair said, “their being
defiled by sacrilegious hands.”
Jacquelin Gray was at this time confined to his lounge, by his wound;
but it had this drop of consolation for his mother and Aunt Thomasia,
that so long as he stayed there he could not be subjected to what
others underwent. They reckoned, however, without their host.
One afternoon Leech rode into the Red Rock yard with a squad of
soldiers at his back, and riding across the grass to the very door,
dismounted and stamped up the steps, and, without waiting for an
answer to his loud rap, stalked into the hall, with his men behind
him. Where he had come from no one knew; for he had ridden in the back
way. It transpired afterwards that he had stopped for a minute at the
overseer’s house.
At the moment Leech appeared in the hall, Jacquelin was lying on his
lounge, with Blair Cary and Rupert sitting beside him, and the first
he knew of the Provost’s presence was when Blair, with an exclamation,
sprang to her feet. He turned and faced Leech as he entered the hall.
The Provost appeared dazed by the scene before him; for scores of eyes
were fastened on him from the walls, and he stood for a moment rooted
to the spot, with his gaze fixed on the face of the “Indian-killer”
over the big fireplace. That strange embodiment of fierce resolve
seemed almost to appal him. The next instant, with a gesture, he came
forward to where Jacquelin lay. At the same moment Blair retired to
seek Mrs. Gray and Miss Thomasia. Leech’s eyes followed her as she went
out.
“Well, sir, what do you want?” Jacquelin asked, haughtily.
“Take off your coat.”
It was the form of order given to negroes when they were to be
thrashed. Jacquelin’s face flushed.
“What for?”
“Because if you don’t, I’ll take it off for you. I mean to cut these
buttons off.”
“You can cut them off.” Jacquelin had grown quiet, and his face was
white. Rupert drew nearer to him, his cheeks flushed and his breath
coming quickly.
“I guess I can,” sneered the Provost. He came up to the lounge, pushing
Rupert aside, who interposed between them. He leaned over and cut the
buttons from the jacket, one by one.
“I’ll send these to my girl,” he said, tauntingly—“Unless you want
them for yours,” he added, with a meaning laugh. Jacquelin controlled
himself to speak quietly.
“Tell your master that some day I will call him to account for this
outrage.”
“Young puppies bark, but don’t bite,” sneered the Provost.
In an instant Rupert was on him, and, boy as he was, he struck the
Provost a blow which, taking him unawares, staggered him. Leech
recovered himself, however, and seizing the boy, slapped him furiously
several times. Jacquelin was on his feet in a moment. He sprang toward
the Provost, but the men interposed, and he sank back on his lounge,
breathless and white.
“Hound, for that I will some day make a negro whip you within an inch
of your life,” he said, beside himself.
Leech grinned in triumph and, walking up, leant over him officiously,
as though to see if there were still any buttons left.
As he did so, Jacquelin raised himself and slapped him across the face.
Leech with an oath sprang back and jerked out a pistol; and possibly
but for an accident which gave time for the intervention of his men,
Jacquelin Gray’s career would have ended then.
He looked so cool, however, and withal so handsome and intrepid as
he lay back and gazed into Leech’s eyes, denouncing him fiercely and
daring him to shoot, that Leech hesitated and turned toward his men
for encouragement. As he did so, the door opened hastily and a curious
thing happened. The great full-length portrait over the big fireplace,
loosened, perhaps, by the scuffle with Rupert, or by the jar of the
door as Mrs. Gray and Miss Thomasia, entered, slipped in its frame and
at the moment that Leech turned, fell forward, sending the Provost
staggering back among his startled men. When Leech recovered, his
men interfered. They were not ready to see a man murdered before his
mother. Baffled in this, the Provost determined on another revenge. He
swore he would have Jacquelin hanged, and made his men take him out
and put him on a horse. Jacquelin was unable to sit in the saddle,
and fell off in a faint. At this moment Hiram Still, whom Mrs. Gray
had summoned, came up and interposed. At first, the Provost was not
amenable even to Still’s expostulations; but at length he pressed
a wagon and had Jacquelin put in it, and hauled him off to the
court-house, to jail, still swearing he would have him hanged. Mrs.
Gray, having sent off by Blair in hot haste for Dr. Cary to follow
her, directed Still to replace the picture, ordered her carriage, and,
without waiting, set out for the court-house, accompanied by Miss
Thomasia and Rupert.
They had hardly left when Still went into the house to set the
picture back in its place. It was surrounded by a group of curious,
half-frightened servants who, with awe, alternately gazed on it and
on the yawning hole in the wall, making comments, full of foreboding.
Still sent them all off except Doan, whom he kept to help him set the
picture back in place. It was necessary to get up on a chair and lean
half way in the hole and examine the sides where the nails were to be
driven, and this Still did himself, making an examination of the entire
recess, even moving a number of bundles of old papers.
“Ah!” he said, with a deep inspiration, as he ran his eye over one
bundle, which he laid off to one side. He sent Doan out to get him some
long nails, for, as he explained, he meant now to nail the picture up
to stand till judgment day. The negro went with a mutter, half timid,
half jest, that he wouldn’t stay in that hole by himself not for the
whole Red Rock plantation and every mule on it. While he was absent
Still was not idle. Doan had no sooner disappeared than the manager
seized the bundle of papers he had laid to one side, and, hastily
cutting the string which bound it, extracted several papers.
“I thought I remembered which one it was in,” he murmured. “I didn’t
know when it was put in here as I’d ever git hold of it again.” He held
the papers up so as to get the light over his shoulder on them.
“Yes, that’s the big bond with the paint on it, payable to me. I
thought ’twa’n’t cancelled.”
He was so busy with the papers that he did not see the faces, outside
the window, pressed against the pane, or hear Doan enter, and did
not know he had returned until his shadow fell across the hearth. He
slipped the papers in his pocket so hastily that one of them fell out
and would have fluttered down on the floor had he not caught it. He
turned on the negro:
“How did you come in, fool?” he asked, with a start, as he rammed the
paper back in his pocket.
“I come in by de do’,” said Doan, sullenly.
The portrait was soon nailed back, this time Still driving the nails in
to make sure they wouldn’t come out again.
Meanwhile the ladies were making their way to the court-house. It was
quite dusk when they reached the county seat and, to their surprise,
the wagon had not yet arrived. Miss Thomasia was in great distress over
it, and was sure that Leech had executed his threat against Jacquelin.
But Mrs. Cary, though much disturbed, thought that more probably they
had taken another road and had travelled more slowly. This, indeed,
proved to be the case, and some hours later, Leech and his prisoner
turned up.
Mrs. Gray had not been idle. On reaching the court-house she sent at
once for General Legaie, and drove to Mrs. Dockett’s, where she knew
the commanding officer had his quarters. There she found the family
at supper, and it may be safely asserted that no meal was ever more
unceremoniously interrupted. Mrs. Dockett no sooner heard Mrs. Gray’s
name, than she left the table and went to receive her, and having in
the first two minutes learned the cause of her visit, she swept back
into the dining-room and swooped down on the two young officers, with
a volubility which, at least, terminated the meal, and looked for a
little while as if it would also terminate the relation of hostess and
guest. She announced that Leech had broken into Mrs. Gray’s house,
assaulted her son, and finally dragged him from his dying bed and, no
doubt, had murdered him in the woods. And she summoned the two officers
to assert immediately their authority and execute summary justice on
the Provost, if they ever wished to eat another meal under her roof.
Not that Mrs. Dockett really took the view that Miss Thomasia took,
for outside, she had already reassured Mrs. Gray, giving her calmly
most excellent reasons to show that Leech would never dare to injure
her son. But she felt that she had a warrant for this lurid picture in
Miss Thomasia’s forebodings, and she could not resist the pleasure of
presenting it in all its blackness. Fortunately, Middleton, with his
quiet manner, could, when he chose, be impressive enough. He listened
to Mrs. Gray’s statement calmly; was very grave, but very polite to
her, and though he did not promise to release her son, or indicate
what would be done in the matter, he assured her that Jacquelin should
have proper treatment on his arrival, and promised that she should have
access to him.
Suddenly Rupert, who had been crying on the way down whenever he could
do so unobserved, stepped forward from behind his mother, where he had
been standing.
“I struck him first, and I am the one to hang, not my brother.” His
face which had been red when he began, paled suddenly, and his lip
quivered a little; but his head was held straight and his eyes were
steady and were filled with light.
Mrs. Gray started to speak; but her voice trembled and failed her, and
she could only hold out her hand to the boy. Middleton’s eyes softened.
“No one will be hanged,” he said. Then added, gravely: “But you
shouldn’t have struck him.”
“He called my brother a puppy,” said the boy, defiantly, his eyes
flashing, “and I’ll let no one do that—not you, nor anyone.”
That night Thurston said to Middleton:
“Gad, Larry, I said I ought to be a bishop, but you ought to be
one—the way you preached to that boy, and I’d give a thousand dollars
for him.”
“I wish you were Captain,” growled Middleton.
“He looked like a little game-cock, didn’t he?”
When the prisoner arrived, about midnight, under his guard, everything
was found ready for his reception, and his mother was detailed to nurse
him, to which, probably, was due the failure of Leech’s and one other’s
plan.