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Updated: May 24, 2025
Keeping his right hand high and tipped back, ready for the throw, he reached out with his left, just through the bars, and secured the jailer's gun. "Now it's all off," he said quietly. "If the sheriff or anybody else comes before I get out of here I'm just naturally going to have to live up to the reputation for shooting that they've fastened on me. Unlock the door."
He was more than ever determined to risk that adventure on the next day, feeling quite sure now that his courage would not fail him. It was Trumence to-night perhaps by the jailer's skilful management who was ordered to take the prisoner back to his cell, and, according to the jail-dictionary, to "curl him up" there. He called him in, and at once plainly told him what he expected him to do.
Others will at first regard it with the interest attaching to unfinished poems, interrupted by the jailer's call or by the stern voice of the executioner.
The great incident in the old jailer's life had been the rescue of a well-known citizen who was confined on a charge of misuse of public money. The keeper showed me a place in the outer wall of the front cell, where an attempt had been made to batter a hole through.
"Jimmy!... Jacklin!... throw her down an' hold her, rump up, over that cot." They obeyed. With a jerk the sheriff had her dress up and her bare buttocks in view. "I'm a-goin' to whup an' whup till you confess, Martha." Crack! Crack! Crack! the whip descended, leaving red whelts each time. The mulatto girl writhed, but did not cry quits. Beads of perspiration glistened on the jailer's face.
It was a moonlight night, and the jailer's wife clearly saw all that transpired, and even remembered that the horses were gray. Neither the man who made the complaint nor the resident of Canandaigua who came to the jail and advised the jailer's wife that she could safely let Morgan go went with the carriage.
Jeekum returned quickly and placed himself between them, seizing each by an arm, and the forward guards, pivoting to the left, set off at their steady pace across the clearing. As they entered the denser gloom of the forest on the farther side Nathaniel felt the jailer's fingers tighten about his arm, then relax and tighten again.
Michel and Jacques would hold their tongues, Roland was sure of them; but Charlotte, the jailer's daughter, she might gossip. However, it was three o'clock in the morning, every one was asleep, and the safest plan was certainly to put himself in communication with Michel. Michel would find some way of concealing his presence.
Arrest of Madame Roland. Her composure. Insults of the mob. Conversation with officers. The Abbayé. Kindness of the jailer's wife. Madame Roland enters her cell. Her first night there. Embarrassment of M. Roland. His escape from Paris. The re-arrest and escape. Cheerful philosophy of Madame Roland. The cell made a study. Delight of the jailer and his wife. Prison regulations. Coarse fare.
She offered her brow to Jacques, who touched it with his lips; and half dead, holding on to the walls, she went back to the jailer's little room. They had made up a bed for her, and she threw herself on it, dressed as she was, and remained there, immovable, as if she had been dead, overcome by a kind of stupor which deprived her even of the faculty of suffering.
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