cruelty. I will recall the truth, and can do no more.

I can recall that far-away dawn now as the opening portals of a
beautiful morning, although at the time my thought was so closely
centered upon other things, the deep blue of the sky, and the
glimmering gold of the sun scarcely left an impression on my mind. It
was still early morning when we were brought out under heavy guard,
and marched somberly forth through the opened gates of the gaol. There
had been rain during the night, and the cobble-stones of the village
street were dark with moisture, slipping under our hob-nailed shoes as
we stumbled along down the sharp incline leading to the wharf. Ahead
we could perceive a forest of masts, and what seemed like a vast crowd
of waiting people. Only the murmur of voices greeting us as we
emerged, told that this gathering was not a hostile one, and this
truth was emphasized to our minds by the efforts of the guard to
hasten our passage. That we had been sentenced to exile, to prolonged
servitude in some foreign land, was all that any of us knew--to what
special section of the world fate had allotted us remained unknown.

In spite of curses, and an occasional blow, we advanced slowly,
marching four abreast, with feet dragging heavily, the chains binding
us together clanking dismally with each step, and an armed guard
between each file. Experiences have been many since then, yet I
recall, as though it were but yesterday, the faces of those who walked
in line with me. I was at the right end of my file, and at my shoulder
was a boy from Morrownest, a slim, white-faced lad, his weak chin
trembling from fear, and his eyes staring about so pleadingly I spoke
a word of courage to him, whispering in his ear, lest the guard behind
might strike. He glanced aside at me, but with no response in the
depths of his eyes, in which I could perceive only a dumb anguish of
despair. Beyond him marched Grover, one time butcher at Harwich, a
stocky, big-fisted fellow, with a ghastly sword wound, yet red and
unhealed on his face, extending from hair to chin, his little pig eyes
glinting ugly, and his lips cursing. The man beyond was a soldier, a
straight, athletic fellow, with crinkly black beard, who kept his eyes
front, paying no heed to the cries. The guard pressed the people back
as we shuffled along, but there was no way of keeping them still. I
heard cries of encouragement, shouts of recognition, sobs of pity, and
occasionally a roar of