Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1889-01-18

Une Gay my 1000 was thrust through the
opening to me and in the meat bone Of Pc
culiar shape, not unlike a laborer's pick, gave
rise to thoughts which, for some strange rea-
son, had never visited me before. kept it
and sharpening it against the stone began to
dig away the wood on the edge of my bed.
struck something hard
joy! The pinions were Of iron. Here was
hope, here was an occupation, here were
the tools to labor with OIL how worked,
and ere long held in my hands six spikes four
inches long Day after day with these I
picked and scraped and dug at the stone wall
Of my cell until at last loosened a stone,
then another and then another, and then
came to the moist earth, Again and again .
kissed that soil, calling itby endearing names,
as mother would call child that had been
lost and restored. Using the fragments Of
stone to save my hands, I loosened the soil,
filed the broken lantern and brought it back
into my cell, filling the corners, slowing it
away under the bed and spreading it on the
planks where 1 slept But my cell would not
hold all the dirt must move before | could
hope to make an exit. I must have place
for it or all my labors would be in vain.
Hoping against hope, l began to dig at the
wall opposite the door. The spikes were
almost worn away before the opening was
made, but my efforts were not unavailing,
for beyond the wall there had been, at some
distant tine four cells like my own. These
had been thrown into one. The doors had
been walled up with solid masonry, and it
remained, suppose, only as a support to the
structure above.
Into this walled Enclosure packed away
the earth as fast as I could loosen it and
bring it-back.
had daJ 1111tt yror fx
when I found a treasure of inestimable value
to me, a broken sword, rusty and crumbling
! at the end and edges, but still substantial
enough to serve in place of the worn out
spikes.
The hilt had once been richly jeweled, but
most of the gems were gone. The few re-
naming l removed with piece Of broken
stone, and wrapping them in a fragment IF
f, my clothing, treasured carefully in the fond
hope that some day should see the streets Of
| London again. With this new implement
my work proceeded more favorably, and
using my own length as a measure, esti-
mated that I had pushed along 200 feet.
| l then began to incline my course upward,
and ere many days had passed l knew by the
| quantity of earth in the cells that l must be
nearing the surface Onward and upward
crept, and yet no sounds to tell me that was
nearing my goal. I had slowed away all
| that could. I would now dig straight up
and press the waste against the sides of my
tunnel by placing my back against one side.
Then came the thought, s'May not be
under the Thamesl Will the swift influx of
water food my cell and bear to them the
unwritten story Of my struggles?'
| knew that must be beyond the moat and
| beyond the double WALL if had come out on
| the side with the gates. 1t was my only hope,
| and that failing me, death would be welcome,
SO pushed upward.
How my heart throbs as I recall that
instant, when, pushing through the turf,
| felt the air of heaven again blowing across
my facel I had come out into the open space
| diagonally across from the tower gate. The
stars were shining in the sky, and now and
| then cloud swept over the moon as though
| to shroud my escape.
Grasping what was left of the broken
| sword I climbed up to the level ground Not
| a soul was in sight. Lame and weak as I
was, some strange, new found power i'm
,elled me onward, and I fled, not knowing,
taught caring whittier was tending. If
net any one do not know it, My blood
seemed on fire. was free. Let them take
NE back tomorrow if they would. 1 had
tasted the air of freedom again, and now I
: cOulQ Ole. Ou3 Oh 1 NSuu ult1l du ldSu
l weak, worn and exhausted left me painting
| at the door Of an inn. 1 recall the keepers
burly form and red, good natured face, and
| then my senses must have left me, for I
1 awoke to find myself in this bed where am
I writing. have seen only the little girl who
brought me materials for writing, and I
have sent down the jewels from the sword
hilt to compensate the innkeeper for his care.
shall see him tomorrow, and then l shall
| know if those who love me still live; if those
for whom I have cared will now care for this
broken reed that the storms of life have
blasted. In the seventh house beyond the
wooden bridge at Herne Hill road l left my
wife and children. Shall see them again?
Shall I ever
| Here the MS. breaks off, incomplete, and
in scrawling hand probably that of the
innkeeper, are these words:
written by an old and ragged man, with
long white hair and beard, who died in the
kitchen chamber of the Blue. Bird inn. We
have, as duty called, sent to the seventh
house from the wooden bridge, On Herne
Hill road, but happy family lives therein,
who seek no aged dying man, and know not
who he may be.-James Clarence Harvey in
Pittsburg Bulletin.