CHAPTER XXII
IN PRISON AND OUT
The man who had been in the cellar and who had escaped, had not been caught, as one of the officers of the court-martial had intimated. But he had been heard from, and in the most unexpected manner.
Late the evening before, an old Canadian, living in the most wretched quarter of Quebec, had appeared at the headquarters of the officers with a note, which he said had been given to him by a man, muffled up in a military cloak, whom he had met outside of the city, while bringing in a load of firewood.
“The man gave me no time to speak with him,” said the Canadian, in French. “He thrust this into my hand, made me promise to deliver it here to-night, pressed this silver piece in my palm, and then rode off on horseback at a wild gallop.”
“Was he a French soldier?”
“I believe, sir, he was,” answered the old Canadian. “But he was dirty and unshaven and looked as if he had not eaten his fill for a week or more.”
The note thus strangely brought to light ran as follows, although written in French:
“To General Murray:
“I am a Frenchman leaving Quebec, an honest man, but your enemy in war. I write this to save the young soldier who was caught in the cellar of the goldsmith’s shop. He is innocent and the man who knocked him down is guilty. I write this at my own peril, because I cannot stand idly by and see the innocent suffer.
“Yours in truth,