The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1877-10-20

tol to my left temple, while his soldiers
dexterously chained my wrists together
Then, shaking off my stupor of surprise,
l found my tongue. There was, l said,
evidently some mistake, some confusion
of persons. My passport, if they would
kindly look for it in the breast-pocket of
my ulster, would prove me to be Arthur
Musgrave, of the British diplomatic serv-
ice, junior attache of II. B. M. s Lega-
ton at Madrid.
Prisoner, you trife with justicep' said
the commandant, sternly, in French; and,
indeed, when the morocco case was drawn
out and opened, it proved to be empty.
My passport and papers were gone, mex
plicably to me. AS l stared bankly
there was a roar of laughter, mingled
with comments on my effontery.
Remove the pretended Englishman"
ordered the Colonel, and was thrust
back into the carriage, soldier on each
side of me, and conducted to the town of
Torjok, where was lodged in Jail.
! do not like, even yet, to recall what
l underwent during the miserable three
weeks that l spent in the prison of Tor
jok. 1t was not that the cell was mar
row, the bed squalid and the fare hard
and bad. l was young and strong, and
could rough it. But it was maddening
to be eternally examined and cross.ex-
amined by civil magistrates and military
functionaries, none of whom would listen
to the plain truth, and all of whom tried,
by threat, promise, persuasion, to wiring
out of me a confession which, as they
said, would enable me to claim the Cars
mercy and lighter punishment for my
crime. was brow beaten, bullied, ar
gued with, coaxed, but never accused of
anything. When l inquired the nature
of my otfense l was jeered at. When
adjured my captors to write to the Brit
ish Embassy my prayer was treated as
an impudent jest. And when l men
toned Count Orlof, the Governor of the
province, as my future father-in.law !
really thought the Judge of Instruction
would have flown at my throat, so angry
was he.
"Only bread and water for the coptu-
macious~ l heard him roar to the jailer
as he went out. l thought, between
them, that they would have driven me
mad, and should have welcomed Siberia
as a release.
grew sullen at last, and refused to re-
turn any answer to the interrogatories
with which they piled me. l began al.
most to doubt my own identity. 1t could
not be myself, Arthur Musgrave, who
was the tenant of this Russian den, and
daily questioned as to my completely in
something extremely subversive of church
and State. Let them knout me, hang me,
Danish me if they would, Ifelt as though
were the only sane man among pack
of madmen.
"Here is the wretch, your Excellen
cy," said voice one day as my cell dool
was thrown open, with CHATTER of swords
and spurs on the stone floor that indi
Gated the arrival of some distinguished
parsonage; there the desperate is, Lore
Governors" .... .....
l looked up. There, in front of the
group, stood, in rich uniform, the breast
of which sparkled with orders, the tex
cellency" in question. The recognition
was mutual.
Count Orloffm "Whatl Musgrave
Arthur, my dear boy, what terrible errol
is this?"
And to the scandal of the Judge, the
jailer, and the rest of them, the Gov.
ernor of the province hurried across the
grimy floor to clasp my hands and to
order, in voice that brooked no denial
or delay, that my chains should instantly
be taken off. ....
My poor fellow, how you must have
suffered" said the Count, feelingly, as he
saw how pale and haggard had grown.
And then came explanations, the cream
of which was that there had been a So
cialist conspiracy, a widespread one,
luckily detected in time, prime mover
in which had been my acquaintance, Vas
sill, who had evidently made a cats paw
of me in inducing me to carry his mes
sage to the priest, while at the same time
he purloined my English passport and
papers, probably for the sake of escap-
ing, in case of the worst, under my name.
But Pope John and his SOM" said /,
bewildered. ..... .. ...
The real Pope John, a sad old rogue,
answered the Count, smiling, had been
arrested the day before you reached
Staritza, and you found his house in pos
session of the police. The white bearded
person to whom you gave the message,
disguised in the priests clothes, was
Maj. Bulow, of the Imperial Gendarme.
RE; and the message itself was an artful
concoction, couched in sort Of verbal
cipher, the key to which traitor gave
us, and which, but for our military pre-
cautions, would have led to a revolt of
the Polish regiment at Tver and rails
ing of the peasantry in fifty parishes. AS
it is, all is safe, and telegram has just
informed me that Vassili himself has
been captured on the frontier. If ever
a man deserved Siberia-but you are
free, Arthur Come with me, and Marie
and Twill teach you to forget this misery"
| have been married and happy now
this many year, but do not think that
the ill-omened face of Demetrius Vassili
will ever be seen again on this side of
the Oural.-AU the Year Round.
THE other night Ben Horton, an engi.
paar on tho Nb;nann Q n