ning the entire length of the building. The lieutenant's plan was,
that "he should feign sickness and get into the hospital," says our
hero, in describing the scheme; "and that I, in the meanwhile, should,
with a saw-backed knife, cut a board out of the sink large enough to let
us through." This looked feasible enough, and the two conspirators were
beginning to felicitate themselves upon their approaching freedom, when
they discovered that any such opening as they proposed, would let them
out "directly opposite the guard," so _that_ plan had to be dropped.
Glazier then proposed a plan of operations, promising better and safer
results. It was, that Tresouthick should still carry out his original
idea of a feigned sickness and consequent admission to the hospital;
that he (Glazier) should procure a piece of rope, eight or ten feet
long, and then, "some dark, rainy night," the pair should "steal down
into the basement"--the outer doors of which were "not locked until ten
o'clock"--and await their opportunity. That, when they once reached the
exterior of the building, and the sentry's back was turned, they should
rush past him on either side, and, with the rope, trip him up, in the
hope of being beyond the reach of his musket before he could fire. This
was approved by the lieutenant, and they made up their minds to try it.
Of course, it was necessary that Lieutenant Tresouthick's illness should
come on very gradually, and progress naturally from bad to worse, until
he became a fit subject for the hospital, so that some time was occupied
in preliminary preparations before any steps could be taken for the
execution of their plan.

Meanwhile, through the kindness of one of the surgeons, young Glazier
was furnished with some reading matter, a very great luxury to a man in
his situation and of his tastes. In his more serious hours he re-read
the Bible, and committed to memory daily a portion of "Saint Matthew's
Gospel;" and for relaxation read "Napoleon and his Marshals." This with
an occasional game at chess, checkers, or dominos, games in which the
invalids were permitted to indulge, made the hours pass much more
pleasantly than those spent in the convalescent department. It is true
their chess-board was made with chalk upon the floor, the "men" being
pieces wrought out of bone saved from their soup, and the "checkers" old
buttons ripped from their scanty wardrobe. But these rude implements
afforded as much real sport as if the