"One day the English were further alarmed by a great clanking noise just outside their prison. The door opened, and a number of native smiths came in, bearing a quantity of iron fetters, which they flung down on the floor. The wretched captives too easily guessed who were to wear these chains. A native officer then entered, who gave command that a pair of fetters should be fixed upon the legs of each of the unhappy gentlemen."
"What! The wounded and all?" exclaimed Ann.
"A gray-haired officer," continued Grace,—"I grieve that I have forgotten his name—determined to make an effort to save poor Baird from the agony to which he was destined. 'It is impossible,' said he to the dark Indian, 'that you can think of putting chains upon that suffering young man. A bullet has been cut from his leg; his wound is fresh and sore; the chafing of the iron must cost him his life.' But the heart of the heathen whom he addressed seemed cold and hard as the iron itself. What cared Tippoo's servant if the prisoner suffered; what cared he if the prisoner died!"
"'There are just as many pairs of fetters as there are captives,' he said; 'let what may come of it, every pair must be worn.'"
"'Then,' said the noble officer, 'put two on me; I will wear his as well as my own.'"
"Bless him," exclaimed the nurse, warmly. "That was a friend indeed; and what was the end of the story?"
"The end of the story is that Baird lived to regain his freedom, Jived for victory and reward, lived to besiege and take the very city in which he had so long lain a wretched captive. In the last deadly struggle, Tippoo was slain."
"And the kind officer?" interrupted Ann.
"The generous friend died in prison," replied Grace.
"Well," said the nurse, with a sigh, "he did more indeed than either the clergyman or the lady. To be willing to wear two chains, and all for the sake of his friend!"