The Corvallis gazette. [volume] (Corvallis, Or.) 1862-1899, 1897-01-29


ed standing in the center of the narrow
made him understand the import of the
document which had just been read
over to him.
Free! Free! 1t is impossible" he ex-
| claimed, and then he threw himself on
the bed in an agony Of joy. The clang-
ing of the bell afresh, the slamming of
doors, the echofng of footsteps down
the resounding corridors recalled him
to a sense of his position. A warder
entered with a suit of clothes. With
trembling fingers he removed his prison
garb; worn, soiled with weather and
labor, and intolerable. The trousers
felt chilly after the thick prison tight
fitting gknickerbockers and rough, thick,
worsted stockings. The coat seemed to
| fit him nowhere. With one look around
his cell, on the walls of which he had
| done innumerable calculations to keep
| himself from insa nifty bred by the ter
| rible silence and sense of loneliness, "NO.
81" now no longer mere figure, ma
chine, but human being, stepped into
the corridor.
1uSEe WAS d UE0dhldSl lOI ullu SUCH
as he had not tasted for nine long years,
but he had no appetite. The one idea
now possessing his mind was home,
| escape whilst the Governor was willing
| for him to depart. He swallowed a
| few mouthfuls, drank few gulps of
| cocoa, and then with the allowance
| money in his pocket hurried to the gate
| way.
He was free. Free to go wherever he
| liked. Free to start for home as fast
| as steam would carry him. Free to
| stretch out his arms to the placid gray
blue waters of Western Bay, now de-
| nuded of their mantle of fog and spark
| ling in the sunshine. Free to breathe
| the pure air uncontaminated by COM
| panions criminal and vicious. But the
waters, the hillside, the lovely stretch
| of verdant country extended before his
eyes had no charm for him save that
| they spelt freedom. Behind him lay
| the prison house, the Flagstaff, from
which no ensign of dread futtered to
| tell of his escape. Before him lay free
dom.
He rushed down the road, waving his
arms with the reawakened instincts Of
| a boy escaping from school, oblivious
alike of the sympathetic gaze of wo-
men he passed and the half contemptu-
Gus remarks of the men. He. dashed
| into the bleak, shabby little railway
station, only to learn that there was no
train for an hour. Already his limbs,
unused to such riotous movement, and
still feeling the lag Of the chain, had
| begun to fail him, making the half
jocular suggestion of the solitary por-
ter that he should take a little exer-
else and walk to Weymouth" out of the
! question.
"I'n have to wait" was all he could
think of to say.
"Doin' time amt altogether exhilar-
atm nor strengthenin' work." the por-
ter remarked.
Harborde nodded his head, yet longed
to tell him that he was an innocent
man. The porter, however, had van
ished, to return In few moments with
a paper.
Here. mate" he exclaimed with
rough kindness. you won't know all
yesterdays news, I'll go bail"
Harborde seized the paper. No, he
knew nothing of yesterdays news, nor
that Of thousands of days which had
once been yesterday. He could see
nothing at first. The print swan in a
confused tumble before his eyes. When
his sight cleared he commenced to read.
| How strange it all was! He used to be
a great reader before he became "No.
81" And now he seemed to know moth
ing of the world. New names confront
ed him everywhere. Names Of those
in authority, names of towns, names
even of countries. Where was Mashona-
land and Matabeland? He was con-
fused He read on. This delicious new
found turmoil of the world, how good it
was after all.
At last his eye caught small para
graph slowed away at the bottom of
the third column on page six of the
paper. He read it and reread 1t over
and over again: 'Her Majesty the
Queen has been graciously pleased to
pardon Thomas Harborde, who was
convicted of forgery at the Westches-
ter assizes some ten years ago and is
now completing his sentence of fifteen
years penal servitude at Portland.
Harborde will be released this morn
ing. The step has been taken in conse-
quence of the dying confession of man
at Bristol" Nothing more! Now he
knew why he had been released. And
so death had taken Edward Tilwell
out of the hands of justice. 1t was
hardly fair of death.
The porter came up whistling to tell
| him the train would start in ten min
| utes. He got up, thrust the paper into
| the mans hands, pointing to the para
graph.
"That's me-"
"You Thomas HarbordeT' exclaimed
the man. "Then all I've got to say it's
a hanged shame the Queen didn't send
a coach-and-six for you. Let's have
your hand, man, to wish you good luck
| Got missis? No? So much the bet
| ter; poor soul, If you had 1t would have
cut her up terrible"
"No," said Harborde, as though speak
| ing to himself, 81 was to have been
married; but that's years ago now, and
Pm an old man."
"Oldr interjected the porter, you're
no more than five-and-thirty, I'll go
bail. You do look older, to be sure But
wait till you've been out a bit, you'll
soon rub off them lines and look a bit
more uppish."
The engine at the end Of short train
of carriages relegated to the Portland
line after becoming too thoroughly out
of date for even the Somerset and Dor
set local service between Weymouth
and Dorchester, gave a thin, wintry
squeak, and Harborde, in a fever of ap-
| nrahanSjon lost if Shau1d start without