With the end of the year came a persistent rumour that the crew of the _Marblehead_ was about to be exchanged, but this hoped-for circumstance did not happen, and William Burnham, with his faction, grew more desperate and more unwise. Unfortunately, they numbered secret friends among the soldiers and non-commissioned officers at the Prison, for not a few of the baser sort were disaffected against their own superiors, and at least pretended sympathy with the Americans. On the other side laboured many more sensible men, and while each heart throbbed for the news so long withheld, law and order were re-established, and the schools, arranged for the young and ignorant, were opened again. For two years these institutions had done valuable work; it was only after the failure of the great plot to burrow out of the Prison that they became neglected. There fell a memorable day at the year's end when news reached Prince Town that the Commissioners at Ghent had signed the Treaty of peace and that the sloop-of-war, _Favourite_, would sail immediately with the document to the United States. This occasion was seized for widespread rejoicings within the Prison, and Captain Short felt as thankful at heart as any of his charges. But while the day of thanksgiving drew to its close, the tumult in the prisons drew deafening; great masses of men stampeded from yard to yard; a mad spirit animated reckless thousands; the air grew heavily charged with human passion; and danger threatened in many shapes. Burnham's party had obtained a quantity of gunpowder unknown to their guards, and with this they manufactured bombs which exploded with reports like cannon. Alarming rumours followed these discharges; some said efforts were being made to blow down the walls; many junior officers approached Commandant Short with fear upon their faces. At midday a pennant was seen to flutter out above each division of the Prison, and on No. 3, styled "The Commodore," a huge white flag broke and revealed a legend printed upon it. "Free Trade and Sailors' Rights." A salute of seventeen bombs accompanied this display and the riot became deafening. Far distant upon the Moor many a traveller heard the sound, as of remote thunders grumbling under the horizon, and hastened upon his journey in dread of approaching tempest. At the Prison, as the flags flew out, and the multitudes roared, Cecil Stark approached Burnham and prayed him to consider his position. "You are doing a mad thing," he said. "You know as well as I that while a spark of reason lurked in efforts to escape authority, I was eager as any man. Ay, and beyond reason too, for, looking back, I see that the tunnel plot was folly. But now, to what purpose is this frantic nonsense? We shall be free men in three months. Then why make vexatious friction and lend the weight of your support to so much brainless folly?" Burnham had been drinking and he answered fiercely.