"You shall not inflict on me and on my people through me this insult worse than death. I will not submit to it!" "I sincerely trust, sir," the Captain urged kindly, "that you will not compel me to use force." "I am a gentleman and a soldier, Captain Titlow," was the stern answer. "I know how to die--" he paused and pointed to the sentinel who stood ready. "Let your men shoot me at once--I will not submit to this outrage!" The prisoner backed away with his hand on a chair and stood waiting. The Captain turned to his blacksmiths: "Do your duty--put them on him!" [Illustration: "'Do your duty--put them on him'"] As the workman bent with his chain Davis hurled him to the other side of the cell and lifted his chair. The sentinel cocked and lowered his musket advancing on the prisoner who met him defiantly with bared breast. The Captain sprang between them: "Put down your gun. I'll give you orders to fire when necessary." He turned to the officer at the door: "Bring in four of your strongest men--unarmed--you understand?" "Yes, sir--" The men entered, sprang on their helpless victim, bore him to the floor, pinned him down with their heavy bodies and held him securely while the blacksmiths riveted the chains on one leg and fastened the clasp on the other with a heavy padlock. He had resented this cowardly insult for himself and his people. He had resisted with the hope that he might be killed before it was accomplished. He saw now with clear vision that the purpose of his jailer was to torture him to death. His proud spirit rose in fierce rebellion. He would cheat them of their prey. They might take his life but it should be done under the forms of law in open day. He would live. His will would defy death. He would learn to sleep with the tramp of three sets of sentinels in his ears. He would eat their coarse food at whatever cost to his feelings. He would learn to bury his face in his bedding to avoid the rays of the lamp with which they were trying to blind him. He had need of all his fierce resolution. He had resolved to ask no favors, but his suffering had been so acute, his determination melted at the doctor's kind expressions. The physician found him stretched on his pallet, horribly emaciated and breathing with difficulty, his whole body a mere fascine of raw and tremulous nerves, his eyes restless and fevered, his head continually shifting from side to side searching instinctively for a cool spot on the hot coarse hair pillow. "Tell me," Dr. Craven said kindly, "what I can do to add to your comfort?" The question was asked with such genuine sympathy it was impossible to resist it. A smile flickered about his thin mouth, "This camp mattress, Doctor," he slowly replied, "I find a little thin. The slats beneath chafe my poor bones. I've a frail body--though in my youth and young manhood, while soldiering in the West, I have done some rough camping and campaigning. There was flesh then to cover my nerves and bones."