They appeared; and when Transom explained the affair, so far as consisted with his knowledge, Mr S——told us that the two unfortunates in question were, one of them, a Guernsey man, and the other a man of colour, a native of St Vincent’s, whom the President had promoted to the command of two Haytian ships that had been employed in carrying coffee to England; but on their last return voyage, they had introduced a quantity of base Birmingham coin into the Republic; which fact having been proved on their trial, they had been convicted of treason against the state, condemned, and were now under sentence of death; and the government being purely military, they were to be shot tomorrow morning. A boat was immediately sent on board, the messenger returned with a prayer book; and we prepared to visit the miserable men.
Mr Bang insisted on joining us—ever first where misery was to be relieved—and we proceeded towards the prison. Following the sailor, who was the mate of one of the ships, presently we arrived before the door of the place where the unfortunate men were confined. We were speedily admitted; but the building had none of the common appurtenances of a prison. There were neither long galleries, nor strong ironbound and clamped doors, to pass through; nor jailers with rusty keys jingling; nor fetters clanking; for we had not made two steps past the black grenadiers who guarded the door, when a sergeant showed us into a long ill-lighted room, about thirty feet by twelve—in truth, it was more like a gallery than a room—with the windows into the street open, and no precautions taken, apparently at least, to prevent the escape of the condemned. In truth, if they had broken forth, I imagine the kind hearted President would not have made any very serious enquiry as to the how.
There was a small rickety old card table, covered with tattered green cloth, standing in the middle of the floor, which was composed of dirty unpolished pitch pine planks, and on this table glimmered two brown wax candles, in old fashioned brass candlesticks. Between us and the table, forming a sort of line across the floor, stood four black soldiers, with their muskets at their shoulders, while beyond them sat, in old fashioned armchairs, three figures, whose appearance I never can forget.
The man fronting us rose on our entrance. He was an uncommonly handsome elderly personage; his age I should guess to have been about fifty. He was dressed in white trowsers and shirt, and wore no coat; his head was very bald, but he had large and very dark whiskers and eyebrows, above which towered a most splendid forehead, white, massive, and spreading. His eyes were deep-set and sparkling, but he was pale, very pale, and his fine features were sharp and pinched. He sat with his hands clasped together, and resting on the table, his fingers twitching to and fro convulsively, while his under jaw had dropped a little, and from the constant motion of his head, and the heaving of his chest, it was clear that he was breathing quick and painfully.
The figure on his right hand was altogether a more vulgar-looking personage. He was a man of colour, his caste being indicated by his short curly black hair, and his African descent vouched for by his obtuse features; but he was composed and steady in his bearing. He was dressed in white trowsers and waistcoat, and a blue surtout; and on our entrance he rose, and remained standing. But the person on the elder prisoner’s left hand riveted my attention more than either of the other two. She was a respectable looking, little, thin woman, but dressed with great neatness, in a plain black silk gown. Her sharp features were high and well formed; her eyes and mouth were not particularly noticeable, but her hair was most beautiful—her long shining auburn hair—although she must have been forty years of age, and her skin was like the driven snow. When we entered, she was seated on the left hand of the eldest prisoner, and was lying back on her chair, with her arms crossed on her bosom, her eyes wide open, and staring upwards towards the roof, with the tears coursing each other down over her cheeks, while her lower jaw had fallen down, as if she had been dead—her breathing was scarcely perceptible—her bosom remaining still as a frozen sea, for the space of a minute, when she would draw a long breath, with a low moaning noise, to which succeeded a convulsive crowing gasp, like a child in the hooping-cough, and all would be still again.
At length Captain Transom addressed the elder prisoner. “You have sent for us, Mr——what can we do for you, in accordance with our duty as English officers?”
The poor man looked at us with a vacant stare—but his fellow sufferer instantly spoke. “Gentlemen, this is kind—very kind. I sent my mate to borrow a prayer book from you, for our consolation now must flow from above—man cannot comfort us.”
The female, who was the elder prisoner’s wife, suddenly leant forward in her chair, and peered intently into Mr Bang’s face “Prayer book,” said she—“prayer book—why, I have a prayer book I will go for my prayer book”—and she rose quickly from her seat,
“Restez”—quoth the black sergeant—the word seemed to rouse her—she laid her head on her hands, on the table, and sobbed out as if her heart were bursting—“Oh God! oh God! is it come to this—is it come to this?” the frail table trembling beneath her, with her heart crushing emotion. His wife’s misery now seemed to recall the elder prisoner to himself. He made a strong effort, and in a great degree recovered his composure.
“Captain Transom,” said he, “I believe you know our story. That we have been justly condemned I admit, but it is a fearful thing to die, Captain, in a strange country, and by the hands of these barbarians, and to leave my own dear”—Here his voice altogether failed him—presently he resumed. “The Government have sealed up my papers and packages, and I have neither Bible nor prayer book—will you spare us the use of one, or both, for this night, sir?”