Cecil Stark and William Burnham walked side by side in their exercise yard and discussed the affairs of the world. While the American prisoners toiled like moles underground, great events marked the time. The Allies were in Paris; Napoleon had abdicated and, for a moment, the war with France was ended. The Peace of Paris had been accomplished, and Europe took breath. Yet liberty's glorious reveille woke the French at Prince Town to more grief than joy.
"I can find it in me to be truly sorry for them," said Stark. "They have starved and frozen and suffered for an ideal cause and the ideal is shattered. They trusted Bonaparte as our people trust God; and now the idol they adored is fallen, and the master they hate is lifted up again."
"Men from Plymouth presented them with their old national flag and advised them to wear the white cockade," answered Burnham; "but every mother's son of 'em sticks to the tricolour and has pinned the Bourbon favour to his dog!"
"They cry out that Elba is too small to hold the spirit of Napoleon. Perhaps they are right. Time will show that," said Stark.
"Their wives and children will soften their griefs when they get home."
"Doubtless. And their common sense, so soon as the first smart of failure is past. War teaches men to look twice into the claims of kings."
Burnham did not immediately reply. Then he said--
"I've noticed a change in you since that awful experience when Miller perished. You seem--forgive me--less patriotic-minded than of yore."
"I have wider interests than of yore. I get important private letters."
"No--from friends in this country. To be frank, I have now a personal stake in life that I lacked until recently. We cannot live to the State only. We must also live to ourselves."
"Do those interests of self and State clash then?"
"As to that, my lad--why, mind your own business," replied Stark. His tone was amiable, but Burnham knew the subject could not be reopened.
Presently others joined them and conversation turned to the subterranean works.
A shaft, whose adit was carefully concealed, now sank upon the tunnel under Prison No. 6. The mouth was narrow, but within it space had been dug for four men to work abreast. A grand difficulty was the disposal of the excavated earth; and ingenious methods had been taken to get rid of it. A stream, which ran through each prison yard at the rate of four miles an hour, carried away many tons of fine dirt, while much was mixed with lime, plastered over the prison walls and then whitewashed. A large cavity discovered under Prison No. 5 proved also of great service, and many tons of surplus soil had been cast into it. Now, as their passage crept yard by yard nearer to the outer walls, the workers suffered for want of air; but means to eject the azotic gas were devised; a system of lighted lamps answered this purpose; and to Lovey Lee fell the task of smuggling large quantities of oil into the War Prison.