The Argosy for May — page 76: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE CRIMSON HARVEST. taking my sword from its scabbard, and leading the way toward the door, I followed close at his heels, my two guards clanking along on either side of me. “No! No!” screamed Elise, starting from her daze of horror, and struggling to fling herself forward past her father’s detaining arms, “you must not! Lieu- ' tenant, he is—’’ But De Périer’s hand closed over her mouth, choking back the cry. And. so I left them. “Vive la Guillotine!” shrilled a be- lated street urchin, as we passed into the midnight darkness of the Rue St. Honoré, CHAPTER X. SHADRACH BEMIS, MIRACLE-WORKER. TuRouGH the stillness of the almost empty Paris streets we marched, my cap- tors and I. The tramp of feet and click- ing of martial accouterments echoed from the tall houses lining the roadway. We crossed the Boulevard, To my surprise, we did not turn toward either the Conciergerie or La Force, the two foremost prisons, but in a different di- rection from either. “Where are we going?’ I asked the lieutenant. “To jail,” he answered laconically. “Really!” I exclaimed in mock amazement. ‘I fancied, from your weird. costumes, that we were on our way to a comic masquerade.” Now, if there was one thing a French National Guardsman adored in_ those days, it was his gaudy uniform. Many a duel was fought with those who criti- cized the absurd costume. So, as I had intended, my sneer added tenfold to my escort’s hitherto impersonal dislike for myself. I was glad of this. The more they hated me the surer they were not to sus- pect they had made any error in my ar- rest. I wished to be taken to the prison office. To be locked up for the night, if possible, as the Comte de Grieux. This would give the real De Grieux ample time to escape from Paris and to take Elise and her father along, if might be. 263 For myself, now that I had time to think matters over, I had little to fear. I was an American citizen. As such, the French government would think twice before beheading me. All I need do was to make known my plight to the Hon. Gouverneur Morris, our minister to France. We made our way through an alley or two, and thence northward. I knew now where we must be going. For that way lay the prefecture of police. There I was doubtless to be lodged for the night and undergo my prelim-— inary examination next morning, prior to commitment to one of the prisons. As we came out upon the wider thor- oughfare again, beyond the Halles, I descried a figure crossing the street in front of us. One glance was enough. And, despite the lieutenant’s sharp order for silence, I called: ‘Bemis! Shadrach Bemis! ”’ The old trapper, on the way home from one of his customary nightly ram- bles, heard and turned toward me, his lean face screwed up with astonishment at my odd plight. “Le Grand Sauvage!’ laughed the lieutenant, recognizing him, But Bemis shoved past him, and was at my side. ‘“ How in blazes—”’ he began. I cut him short, and told him briefly and in English as much of my story as was needful. This I. had to do in de- cidedly few words. -For the guards, as quickly as possible, thrust us asunder. ‘Shall I shoot one of ’em, an’ give you a chance to cut an’ run?” Shadrach asked. ‘“No,” I answered. “ I’m going to the prefecture. Go, first thing in the morn- ing, to the American embassy. Tell—”’ ‘“T understand,” he called back, as the guards broke off my instructions by hustling me away. And I felt I could safely leave my case in the shrewd old backwoodsman’s hands. So, with a lighter heart, I ac- companied my captors to the prefecture. There my name and pedigree were de- manded by a yawning, blear-eyed desk official. Feigning sullenness, I refused to answer. The official, eager to get back to bed, gruffly consigned me to a cell for the COmmicloooks (C (C@