"To prison!—for what crime?" cried I, nearly choking with passion.
"You 'll hear it all time enough," was the only response, as, ringing his bell, he summoned the gendarmes, who, advancing one to either side of me, led me away like a common malefactor.
The prison is a kind of Bridewell, over a livery-stable, and only meant as a "station" before being forwarded to the larger establishment at Carlsruhe. I suppose, had they wished it, they could not have accorded me any place of separate confinement; for there was but scanty space, and many occupants. As it was, my lot was to be put in the same cell with two fellows just apprehended for a murder, and who obligingly entered into a full narrative of their crime, believing that my revelations would be equally interesting. I lost no time in writing a note to James, and another to our English Chargé d'Affaires, a young attaché, I believe, of the Legation at Stuttgard.
James and the sucking diplomatist were both out, so that I had no answer from either till evening. During this interval I had much meditation over the state of politics in Germany, and the probable future of that country, of which I shall take another occasion to tell you.
At six o'clock came the following, enclosed in a very large envelope, and sealed with a very spacious impression of the English Arms:—
"The undersigned Attaché of H. B. M.'s Legation at the Court of Stuttgard has the honor to acknowledge receipt of Mr. Kenny J. Dodd's communication of this morning's date, and will lay it under the consideration of H. B. M.'s Principal Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs."
This was pleasant, forsooth! And was I to remain in jail till the despatch had reached London, a deliberation formed on it, and an answer returned? I was boiling over with rage at this thought, when James entered. He had just been with our illustrious Chargé d'Affaires, who received him with that diplomatic reserve so peculiar amongst the small fry of the Foreign Office. At the same time James saw a lurking satisfaction in his manner at the thought of having got up a case of international dispute, which might have his name mentioned in the House, and possibly a despatch with his signature printed in a Blue Book. He was dying for an opportunity of distinguishing himself, as Baden offered nothing to his ambition; and all his fear was, that the authorities might liberate me too soon. James perceived all this,—for the lad is not wanting in shrewdness, and his Continental life, if it has not bettered his morals, has certainly sharpened his wit; but all his arguments were unavailing, and all his reasonings useless. The despatch was already begun, and it was too good a grievance to let slip unprofitably.
James next called on a friend of his, a certain Mr. Milo Blake O'Dwyer, who is the correspondent of a great London paper called the "Sledge Hammer of Freedom;" but instead of advice and guidance, the worthy news-gatherer was taking down all the particulars for a grand letter to his journal; and he, too, it was plain to see, wished that some outrageous treatment of me by the authorities would make his communication the great event of that day's post in London. "I wish they 'd put him in irons,—in heavy irons," said he. "Are you sure that his cell is not eight feet below the surface of the earth? Be particular, I beg of you, about the depth. You saw how Gladstone destroyed that elegant case of Poerio, all for want of a little accuracy in his measurements; for, I must observe to you, in all our 'correspondence,' names, dates, and distances require to be true as the Bible. Facts admit of varnishing. They can be always stretched a little this way or that. Now, for instance, we 'll call the conduct of the authorities in this case brutal, cowardly, and disgraceful. We 'll appeal to the universally acknowledged right of Englishmen to do everything everywhere, and we 'll wind up with a grand peroration about Despotism and the glorious privileges of the British Constitution."
The fellow chuckled over my case with unfeigned satisfaction. He would n't listen to the real, plain facts of the matter at all. They were poor, meagre, and insignificant in themselves, till they had acquired the touch of genius to illustrate them; and though I was a gem, as he owned, yet, like the Koh-i-noor, I was nothing without cutting. He appears, besides, to think that he has a kind of vested interest in me, now that my case is to figure in his newspaper, and he contradicts my own statements flatly wherever they don't suit him.
I have just despatched James to assure him that I don't care a rush about the sympathy of the whole British public; that I have no taste for martyrdom; and that, as to expending any hopes in redress from our Foreign Office, I'd as soon make an investment in Poyais Scrip, or Irish Canal Debentures. I trust that he will be induced to leave me alone, and neither make me matter for the Press nor a speech in Parliament.