"And yet, general, there were a good many worthy Englishmen who rebelled against James and supported William the Third." "That was different, Gilmartin, different; they were patriots, and not rebels." "As these men will be if they are successful." "But they cannot be successful--they cannot be. This fellow, Allen, was a farmer. He calls himself colonel. Fancy, of the same rank as you, Gilmartin, while you were trained in your boyhood for the army, and when you were old enough got a commission----" "Which I purchased, as I have had to every promotion." Col. Gilmartin felt sore over his tardy promotions, and never waited a second opportunity to tell his grievances. Prescott had been one of the fortunates ones; he had obtained his promotion easily, so he was satisfied with the condition of the army. He was in no humor to listen to any complaints, and so he stopped his brother officer by saying: "Order at once the placing of that fellow, Allen, in the heaviest irons--stay, I will give the order myself." He sent for his orderly and gave instructions for Allen to be placed in heavy irons and taken at once on board the _Gaspee_, war ship, and all the other prisoners to be ironed and placed on board the other ships in the river. The soldiers were pleased with the order, and proceeded to carry it out to the extreme limit. Ordinary handcuffs were used for the wrists, two prisoners being manacled together, Allen being fortunate in having Eben for his fellow. But on the legs the irons were simply horrible. Anklets, very tight, were locked on each leg, and attached, in the middle of the connecting chain, to a bar of iron weighing forty pounds. The soldiers laughed as they fastened this heavy weight on Allen's legs, telling him that it was the "king's plate." The irons were so close that it was impossible for the prisoner to lie in any position save on his back. Allen and Eben were taken to the lowest deck of the schooner _Gaspee_, and a more stifling, filthy, ill-ventilated place it would be impossible to find. A mock salute was tendered to the hero of Ticonderoga as he entered the place, and out of consideration of his rank he was accorded a tool chest on which to sit, and which was also to serve as sleeping place. "Can I help you any?" whispered the guard, about an hour after Allen had been placed on the chest. "I wish you could get me some little blocks of wood to rest the iron on," answered Allen, gratefully. The man secured the blocks and so saved the constant strain of forty pounds of iron pulling at the victim's legs. While the men were kind and considerate, those in authority were just the reverse. Every indignity possible was heaped on the unfortunate prisoners. It was midnight, on the first day of Allen's imprisonment, and the Americans had managed to fall asleep.