crowbars, but so carefully had the work been carried on that it was a long time before the openings were discovered. He then questioned many as to what they had done with the earth, but all answered that they ate it.
To prevent further attempts the prisoners were removed from the yard which enclosed Nos. 5, 6, 7, into the enclosure on the north side which contained Nos. 1, 2, 3, but as there was no suspicion of the attempt in No. 4, that prison was left as it was. The other tunnels were filled with large stones, and the captives were kept in No. 2 while this was done, and then removed to No. 4, as No. 2 was badly out of repair. The prisoners did not give up all hope, but for the present kept very quiet. A court of inquiry was held, and several were tried, but as the penalty was death the evidence was not considered sufficient to convict. Afterwards the discovery of the plan was thought to have been made through the turnkeys hearing voices in the tunnel.
After a time tunnelling was begun again in No. 4, and the blacks were ordered to do the work, which went on again until it reached within 20 feet of the road level, and then a council of war was held and the following plan of escape agreed upon:
The prisoners working as blacksmiths had from time to time made from old iron a number of clumsy daggers. One was given to each man, and they were all to scatter, each for himself, as they left the tunnel. The rendezvous was to be at Torbay, a fishing hamlet on the South Devon coast; the fishing-boats were to be seized and all sail was to be made for France. Hearts beat high, and wan faces beamed with the thought of freedom. But when all was ready one morning a man named Bagley, of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, walked straight up to the guard, was taken to the guardhouse, disclosed the plans, and vanished.
On December 29 the news of the Treaty of Ghent arrived, and there was great rejoicing; also the news that H.M.S. Favourite would sail for the United States with the treaty for ratification on January 2, 1815, and that in three months all would be free. Arrangements were made for a great celebration. Powder was smuggled in and cartridges were wrapped with twine, so they would explode with a loud noise. An ensign and pendant for each prison, and one large flag with "Free Trade and Sailors' Rights" on it, were procured. Next morning, to the wonder of officers and guard, the bunting was displayed on each prison; and on No. 3, called the Commodore, the large flag with "Free Trade and Sailors' Rights" was also hoisted, and a salute of seventeen cartridges was fired. Captain Shortland then came into the yard and asked the men to remove the white flag, as its sentiments would bring the censure of his government upon him; but the prisoners, wild with joy, paid no attention, and kept up the celebrations until evening. Captain Shortland again came into the yard, with only a sergeant's guard—he did not lack for pluck, whatever his faults,—and, addressing the prisoners, said if they would take down the ensign with "Free Trade and Sailors' Rights" on it, he would hoist the American ensign on one end of his own house and the British on the other, but if they were not content with this, he would order all hauled down. After a demur the prisoners agreed, out of respect for him, to lower the flags and wait for the ratification of peace to again display them. There were now 5326 prisoners on Dartmoor.
On March 14 news came that the Favourite had arrived with the ratification of the treaty, and great joy and demonstrations again broke out. The ensigns and pendants were once more raised, and Captain Shortland was addressed in a poem.
On the 17th Captain Shortland said he was ready to discharge all prisoners as soon as he had an order from Mr. Beasley that he was ready to receive them. All was now at the straining-point, and men could hardly wait for the order of release. Captain Shortland read a letter from Mr. Beasley saying he would take only those prisoners who had been inoculated for smallpox. The agent was most uneasy about this, as the African pox—the worst of all—had raged in the prison. In consequence, the men were so enraged that they decided to hang and then burn Beasley in effigy. The following dirge was chanted as it was burning:
