Cecil Stark and William Burnham walked side by side in their exercise yard and discussed the affairs of the world. While the American prisoners toiled like moles underground, great events marked the time. The Allies were in Paris; Napoleon had abdicated and, for a moment, the war with France was ended. The Peace of Paris had been accomplished, and Europe took breath. Yet liberty\'s glorious reveille woke the French at Prince Town to more grief than joy.
"I can find it in me to be truly sorry for them," said Stark. "They have starved and frozen and suffered for an ideal cause and the ideal is shattered. They trusted Bonaparte as our people trust God; and now the idol they adored is fallen, and the master they hate is lifted up again."
"Men from Plymouth presented them with their old national flag and advised them to wear the white cockade," answered Burnham; "but every mother\'s son of \'em sticks to the tricolour and has pinned the Bourbon favour to his dog!"
"They cry out that Elba is too small to hold the spirit of Napoleon. Perhaps they are right. Time will show that," said Stark.
"Their wives and children will soften their griefs when they get home."
"Doubtless. And their common sense, so soon as the first smart of failure is past. War teaches men to look twice into the claims of kings."
Burnham did not immediately reply. Then he said—
"I\'ve noticed a change in you since that awful experience when Miller perished. You seem—forgive me—less patriotic-minded than of yore."
"I have wider interests than of yore. I get important private letters."
"From home?"
"No—from friends in this country. To be frank, I have now a personal stake in life that I lacked until recently. We cannot live to the State only. We must also live to ourselves."
"Do those interests of self and State clash then?"
"As to that, my lad—why, mind your own business," replied Stark. His tone was amiable, but Burnham knew the subject could not be reopened.
Presently others joined them and conversation turned to the subterranean works.
A shaft, whose adit was carefully concealed, now sank upon the tunnel under Prison No. 6. The mouth was narrow, but within it space had been dug for four men to work abreast. A grand difficulty was the disposal of the excavated earth; and ingenious methods had been taken to get rid of it. A stream, which ran through each prison yard at the rate of four miles an hour, carried away many tons of fine dirt, while much was mixed with lime, plastered over the prison walls and then whitewashed. A large cavity discovered under Prison No. 5 proved also of great service, and many tons of surplus soil had been cast into it. Now, as their passage crept yard by yard nearer to the outer walls, the workers suffered for want of air; but means to eject the azotic gas were devised; a system of lighted lamps answered this purpose; and to Lovey Lee fell the task of smuggling large quantities of oil into the War Prison.
The leaders spoke with hope and enthusiasm. A week or less would see the completion of the tunnel, and already plans were being developed for the great exodus.
Burnham, fresh from his conversation with Stark, found David Leverett at his elbow; whereupon he discussed his recent rebuff with the sailor.
"Stark was wont to be open as daylight. But now there\'s a bitterness about the man, and his mind wanders. To-day he confessed to other interests than our common interests. And at such a critical time!"
"You can\'t trust any human in this world," said Leverett. "I tell you there\'s not a doodle inside these walls—narry a Yankee or Britisher—who hevn\'t got his figure. Man\'s built so; so\'s God. You can\'t even get into Heaven for nought. \'Tis a question of price. Only Hell lets you in free."
"You don\'t mean——?"
"I don\'t mean nothing. \'Tis dangerous ter mean anything in this place, when you\'ve always got unseen eyes watching you, like a hawk watches a sparrow. But let the highest amongst us be watched as well as the lowest—that\'s all. No treason in that. I hevn\'t got any ill-will against Cecil Stark, though I know you was always jealous of him. He\'s a good boss, and I trust him as much as I trust anybody else. But liberty\'s sweeter than love of man or country; and money with liberty would tempt the angels I reckon, if they found themselves in this place. Money and liberty\'s all the world can give a man."
"What\'s money to him? He\'s made of money."
"So much the more might he want ter be free ter spend it. He\'s not the sort to stop home nights anyhow."
"For that matter, there\'s money for all since the French departed. Their offices fall to our men now. The prisoners are making fifty pounds a week or more—apart from home allowances."
"Yes, an\' that tarnal miser, Lovey Lee, pouches half of it," grumbled Leverett. "Talk about money! If I\'m first through the rat-hole, I\'d like ter get my four fingers on ter her windpipe and strangle her by inches. That\'s the payment she deserves!"
"We shall be through in four or five days. Knapps sends in word that since they got a recruit—Lovey Lee\'s grandson—their rate of progress has increased. \'Tis the letters that John Lee gets to Stark that make him so unrestful, I believe."
"Stark could give \'em the slip for that matter," said Leverett. "Scores of Yankees as can speak the lingo have given up the names of Frenchmen and gone out. I\'d hev done it myself if I could parley-voo."
"Yes," admitted Burnham. "He\'s a good scholar. He could go to-morrow; but if he did he would be a coward and a knave. He knows that it is his duty to stop and see this thing through."
"\'Duty\'! Well, I haven\'t got much more use for duty myself," replied the other. "Life\'s short, and there\'s nobody on earth or in heaven cares for me but David Leverett."
"Stark happens to have bigger ideas than you," answered Burnham coldly.
"\'Tis easy for the rich ter hev big ideas; but they ain\'t no good to the likes of you and me."
William Burnham resented these sentiments and turned on his heel; while Leverett addressed Mr. Cuffee, who passed at the moment, and, in default of a better listener, grumbled to him.
"Devil take the hot-heads; and Devil take the hindermost! \'Tis every man for himself in this world, so far as I\'ve seen. And when all\'s done, and we\'re free—what? How\'s five thousand unarmed men ter get ter Tor Quay and take ship ter France? We want a fleet o\' vessels! They\'ll send the sojers after us, and they\'ll lick up and overtake us and cut us ter ribbons—that\'s what they\'ll do. \'Twould be truest kindness............