The Road to Paris: A Story of Adventure

by Robert Neilson Stephens

Did that officer, Dick asked himself, know the story of the miniature? Probably not, or he would have made some attempt, on Blagdon's behalf, to obtain it. Such an attempt would doubtless have failed, however, as was shown in the search made of Dick's person on his capture, a search which had not disclosed the picture. For Dick, to be ready against the chance of war, had encased the keepsake in a tight-fitting silken bag, which he had then concealed in his plentiful back hair, fastening it by means of tiny cords entwined with locks of hair and with the ribbons that tied his queue. There it remained during his imprisonment.

Of the thirty prisoners taken by the British in the battle, only a few were in Dick's cell, the others being confined in other apartments in the jail. Among Dick's roommates were some citizens of Boston, in durance for various alleged offences against the royal government. One was charged with having drawn plans of British fortifications, another with having given intelligence to the rebels by means of correspondence smuggled through the lines, another with having had firearms concealed in his house,—the people having, on unanimous vote of town meeting, delivered up their weapons on April 27th. A printer was held under the accusation of having published seditious matter, and one childlike old gentleman pined in the cell because he was said to have made signals to the rebels from a church steeple.

This last-mentioned person, a mild, bewigged individual, his features rendered sharply angular by age, spent his time sitting in a corner of the cell, his eyes fixed distressedly on vacancy, his lips now and then opening to utter a childish whimper of protest against his situation. The printer knew this old gentleman, and gave Dick an account of him. He was, it appeared, a retired merchant and ship-owner, who, at a time when people were frequently ascending to roofs to view the doings of the besieging Yankees, had climbed to a church steeple, on being bantered by some jocular fellows who had cast doubts on his ability for such exertion. The gesticulations with which he had called attention to his success were taken by some prominent Tories to be designed for the information of the rebels outside the city. Denunciation and imprisonment had speedily followed. The printer, although he had no sympathy for the old man, whom he pronounced a rank Tory, said that the charge was all the more absurd for the very reason of the prisoner's Toryism, which captivity had not extinguished. When the old gentleman came out of his state of staring and moaning, as he infrequently did, it was to deplore articulately the rebellion that had got him into trouble, and to curse the rebels who were responsible. "Though he has enemies among the Tories," said the printer, "he has friends among them also, and it is quite likely he will be released as soon as General Gage takes time to consider his case."

But July came and went, and the old Tory still lingered in prison, growing constantly more fretful in his active moments, more trance-like in his passive ones, more feeble and more attenuated. Meanwhile, Dick suffered exasperatingly from the heat, confinement, vile air, want of sleep, and lack of exercise. His wound, slight as it was, was slow in recovery, because of the bad conditions of his prison life; yet he scarcely heeded it, so insignificant it was in comparison with the wounds and other ailments of some of his fellow prisoners. One of these, in whose thigh a grape-shot had torn a hideous gash that finally became insupportable to more senses than one, was declared by the surgeon to require amputation, and the operation was consequently performed in the prison, little to the sufferer's immediate relief, although he ultimately recovered. Accounts came, through guards and surgeon's assistants, of similar operations in the jail, not all of which were as successful as that performed on Dick's cell-mate.

Fevers and numerous internal disorders assailed Dick and his comrades, and their cell, in its half light by day and in its black darkness by night, was the lodging of enfeebled wretches who sat or lay in close contact on the floor, thrown by pain or restlessness into every conceivable attitude. Accustomed as he was to outdoor air, and deprived, as he came to be, of a breath of it, as well as of all exercise, Dick began early in August to lose vitality with alarming rapidity. He became as thin and as sharp of feature as the old Tory himself. His exclusion from the occasional outings in the prison yard became a theme of general talk in the cell.

One day the surgeon examined Dick's wound, assuming as he did so a kind of grave frown, and uttering certain ominous ejaculations to himself, his manifestations having, to Dick's keen intelligence, the appearance of being put on for a purpose. Later, the same day, through a good-natured guard, the prisoners received two pieces of news. The first was that the new commander-in-chief of the rebels, Washington, who had arrived at Cambridge early in July, had threatened retaliation for any ill-treatment of American prisoners, and was taking measures that must eventually result in the exchange of those now in the jail. The second was that the old Tory's friends were working vigorously on his behalf, and that an order of release from General Gage might soon be expected. To every one's surprise, the old gentleman heard this information with stupid indifference.

The next day, the surgeon returned, accompanied by the Irish officer, and made another examination of Dick's wound. This done, the surgeon turned to the officer, and said, in a kind of forced tone and shamefaced manner, as if he were acting a part he despised, "Amputation will be necessary in this case, sir."

"Indeed?" said the officer, without even a serious pretence of surprise. "Then let it be done immediately."

"Immediately, the devil!" cried Dick. "Cut my leg off? Why, there's nothing the matter with it! I walked on it all the way to this prison!"

"My good man," said the officer, loftily, "you don't know what is best for you. It's our duty to care for you, even against your own will. Don't double up your fists! You'll only hurt yourself by resisting. We shall use force, for your own welfare, if need be." The officer left the cell, and the surgeon briefly told Dick to be ready to be taken down-stairs in half an hour, by which time preparations would be made for the operation in the room used for such purposes; then he followed the officer.