The Road to Paris: A Story of AdventureStephens, Robert Neilson
History
The Road to Paris: A Story of Adventure
Stephens, Robert Neilson
Adventure stories; Historical fiction; United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction
And now Dick was hastily identified by two bold-looking women, as the
aforesaid Edward Lawson, otherwise Captain Ted. He remembered that the
whimsical gentleman met at Taunton had resembled him, and he perceived
now, considering the danger of being betrayed by the woman quarrelled
with, and of being far sought by the Bow Street men, why that gentleman
had taken the caprice of exchanging good clothes for bad. In putting
this and that together, as he stood in the dock, Dick lost track of the
court's proceedings, and it came like a sudden blow when he saw Sir John
Fielding gaze hard upon him, and heard Sir John Fielding commit him, as
Edward Lawson, to the jail of Newgate, there to be kept in custody until
he should be brought forth to stand his trial!
To Newgate, to await trial for highway robbery, the penalty of which
was death by hanging; readily identified as the guilty man by those who
would stick to their oath; unable to prove by any person in England that
he was not that man, for all his acquaintances had been made since the
exchange of clothes,--a pleasant series of thoughts to keep the
adventurous Master Dick company in the hackney coach that rattled
him swiftly away from the Bow Street court to the great, vile,
many-chambered stone cage where such gallows-birds as Master Jack
Sheppard and Monsieur Claude Duval had lodged before him! And if those
thoughts were not enough, there was that of the cart-ride out Holborn to
Tyburn tree, a picturesque ending for a journey over so many hills and
so far away!
CHAPTER XIV.
"FAIR STOOD THE WIND FOR FRANCE."
Was it worth being saved from murder at the hands of Lord Alderby's
hirelings on Breakneck Stairs, to swing a few months later at Tyburn?
Dick asked himself this question in the first few hours during which he
either sat listless in the dim-lit cell shared by him with a half-dozen
foul-mouthed and outwardly reckless rascals, or paced the courtyard upon
which his and other cells opened.
It was not so much the confinement that crushed him, though that was a
terribly galling thing; he had endured closer confinement in Boston, and
on the _Adamant_. But never had he been surrounded by so vile a herd of
beings. He accustomed himself, though, in time, to their crime-stamped
faces, their disgusting talk, and the sodden drunkenness they were
enabled to maintain by means of the liquor smuggled to them by
visitors,--for the courtyard and the cells thronged every day with
visitors of either sex, and of quality similar to that of the prisoners
themselves. Dick was presently able to discriminate among his
jail-mates, and so he found one or two of more gentle stuff.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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