University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.
THE PRISONER.

Meanwhile, Albert Corrinton, accused of
the wilful killing of Appleton Brance, had undergone
a legal examination, and an indictment
for murder had been found against him.

The young physician was committed to jail
to await his trial. At the commencement of a
promising career, in the flower of his manhood,
he was called to answer to a charge which
might blacken his character and fame forever.

Corrinton was generally believed guilty. The
evidence was strong against him — stronger
than circumstantial evidence is in many cases,

when the accused is convicted; and even his
warmest friends were afflicted with painful
doubts. Corrinton was known to be impetuous
and passionate; and that, in a moment of
excitement, he might have taken the life of an
enemy who had grossly insulted him and provoked
him to anger, was considered not impossible.

In a pleasant part of the village of Verfield
was situated the court house and county jail,
one massive stone building, which answered a
double purpose. Fronting a street was the
portion of the structure devoted to public offices
and the residence of the jailer's family, and
containing the large court room, where criminals
were tried and civil difficulties legally
adjusted; in the rear, a high and gloomy wall,
above which grated windows were distinguishable,
indicated the apartments where prisoners
were accommodated at the public expense.

The sheriff of the county, who was also the
keeper of the jail, was a man as little fitted for
that office, perhaps, as any who could have
been found. Mr. Marks was certainly a very
respectable citizen, an upright man, and a kindhearted
jailer; but a more nervous and timid

individual never arrested an evil doer, nor
turned the heavy keys upon a prisoner.

The day after Corrinton's examination,
Sheriff Marks sat in his office, poring over certain
business papers, and pondering on the
exciting events in which his oath of office had
made him a principal actor, when a visitor interrupted
his solitary meditations.

“Sir, your sarvent,” said a small, high-keyed
voice. “I am sorry if I intrude.”

“Ah! Mr. Sorrel, how do you do?” said
Sheriff Marks — who, by the way, was a very
polite and obliging individual. “Sit down,
Joseph. How is your father this morning?”

“I am well, thank you; father is quiet, I
am obliged to you. How is your last comer —
your new prisoner, Mr. Marks? I allude to Dr.
Corrinton.”

“What a singular man that is!” exclaimed
Mr. Marks, sticking a pen over his right ear,
folding his arms, and looking at Joseph with a
confidential expression. “He appears in perfect
health — makes no disturbance — is calm
and cool in his deportment. I — I assure you,
Joseph, I can't help feeling ra—rather interested
in the doctor.”

“He's one of the finest men who ever
breathed, if he is a doctor,” exclaimed Joseph.
“If he is guilty of young Brance's death,
or not, I can't say, — and I am going to wait
for more evidence before I express any opinion
on the subject, — but I will say, that, as a man,
Dr. Corrinton commands the highest esteem.”

And in the warmth of his enthusiasm Joseph
smote the table with his clinched hand, as
if he meant it.

“For one thing,” added Sheriff Marks, “I
shall always feel grateful to my prisoner. I
was alone when I arrested him; and although
he is a match for three such men as myself, he
never offered to make any resistance.

“`Dr. Corrinton,' says I, `it is my painful
duty to place you under arrest.'

“He was very pale, and a little excited, I
thought; but he bowed quite respectfully, and
says he, —

“`Do your duty, Sheriff Marks,' says he; `I
expected this.'

“And he walked off with me without another
word. Now, when I think how easy 'twould
have been for him to knock me on the head,
jump into my buggy, throw out Mr. Simpson,

whom I left in charge of my horse, and drive
off in spite of law and justice, I shudder, and
feel thankful.”

“Well you may!” cried Joseph, who fully
appreciated the jailer's feelings.

“The truth is,” pursued Mr. Marks, “I never
had any thing to do with a person accused of —
of so high a crime before; and I thought 'twould
be nat'ral for such a high-spirited, courageous
man as the doctor to be a little disprit.”

“I hope you give him the best accommodations,”
said Joseph.

“O, sartin.”

“You don't keep him chained down too
close, I am sure!”

“Bless your stars! we don't chain him at all
— not a handcuff does he wear!”

“O, don't he? Well, I suppose there's no
necessity for that, if you keep him in a close
cell, all tight and strong.”

“My dear sir!” cried the warm-hearted jailer,
“you've no idea of the humanity which
enters into the management of our prisoners.
Dr. Corrinton ain't even confined to a cell;
but he has the largest liberty and all possible
privileges.”

“Pshaw!” exclaimed Joseph, his countenance
changing color slightly. “Won't he get
out?”

“O, there's no danger of that.”

“But aint you — a — a little grain timid,
when you go into the jail?”

“Well — no!” replied Sheriff Marks, deliberately.
“I am not a timid man, thank Fortune.”

“Now, my dear Mr. Marks,” said Joseph, inclining
towards the sheriff, and speaking in a
slightly tremulous tone, “I came here on purpose
to see the doctor; but if my visit is going
to be accompanied with the smallest danger,
why, I should not certainly persist in seeing
him.”

“O, there'll be no danger — not the least,”
said Mr. Marks. “I believe you never visited
the jail?”

“Never!” exclaimed Joseph. “I have no
taste for criminal matters — no curiosity touching
jails and jail birds — no ambition for a
knowledge of prison walls. I always keep as
clear of such things as I can. In this case, a
personal acquaintance with the doctor is alone
the cause of my visit; it is no morbid appetite
for horrors, I assure you.”

“Well, you shall see the doctor,” said Mr.
Marks, unlocking a safe, from which he took a
bunch of ponderous keys. “Come with me.”

Joseph felt his heart coming up into his
throat, as he followed the sheriff through a
dismal, damp passage, which led into an oblong
stone chamber. As Mr. Marks, having
selected a huge key from the bunch, inserted it
in the lock of a large, gloomy iron door, Joseph
felt his courage fail him. The grating of
prison locks inspired him with indescribable
dread, and he hastily grasped the sheriff's
arm.

“I guess I — I wont go in, after all!” said
he. “It's of no consequence — I am putting
you to too much trouble!”

“My dear sir!” exclaimed the jailer, “it's no
trouble at all. Come in.”

And the huge iron door very heavily moved on
its creaking hinges. Joseph saw that it was too
late to retreat, and went in courageously. The
heavy door was closed after him with a clang,
and locked. The young man found himself in
a sort of cell, rather obscure and dismal, communicating
with the principal apartments of
the jail by a grating of strong iron bars, which

our hero afterwards learned was a door, hung
on the stoutest of hinges, and fastened by locks
and chains.

Having secured the door by which they had
entered this gloomy anteroom, the sheriff was
about opening the next, when once more Joseph
stopped him.

“Mr. Marks! I declare,” said the considerate
young man, “this is putting you to too much
trouble. I wouldn't open that door —”

“Very well,” replied the obliging sheriff.
“If you don't wish to see the different parts of
the jail, and the prisoners, you needn't go any
farther. You can speak with your friend here,
through the bars of this door.”

“Just as you say,” murmured Joseph.

Mr. Marks knocked on the clanking chains,
and there came forward, in the interior apartment,
which was quite light and spacious,
a surly-looking man, whom Joseph recognized
as a barbarous fellow that had been arrested a
few days before for beating his wife.

“Tell Dr. Corrinton a person wishes to see
him,” said the sheriff.

The barbarian disappeared.

“The doctor will come up here to the door
and talk with you,” pursued the sheriff.

“Are all the prisoners loose in this way?”
asked Joseph.

“O, no,” replied Mr. Marks. “Only the
peaceable ones, who have not yet had their
trial, are allowed this liberty. We have only
three of these — this man, your friend, and the
fellow who was taken up for stealing Mr.
Grimes's horse. We have twelve others sentenced
to hard labor, whom we keep at work;
besides which, we have a maniac we are
obliged to keep in close confinement, in a
cell. But here comes the doctor. I may as
well leave you. I'll be back in a quarter of
an hour.”

So saying, the sheriff unlocked the big door
by which they had entered, went out, and
locked it after him, leaving Joseph alone in
the anteroom.

The younger Mr. Sorrel felt exceedingly uncomfortable;
but he had no time to reflect on
his peculiar situation. Dr. Corrinton was already
standing on the other side of the grated
door.

The young physician was attired in his ordinary
plain but tasteful dress, and he astonished
Joseph by looking as little like a prisoner as

that young man could have imagined. Corrinton
stood erect, bowed down by no heavy
chains; his brow was smooth and calm, and
his smile cordial and unaffected.

Joseph was much embarrassed, fearing to
address the prisoner, lest he should give offence
by some careless expression; and he could not
drive the impression from his mind, that Corrinton
must consider him an intruder, impelled
by the same curiosity which brings people to
visit robbers in chains and wild beasts in cages.
A word, however, from the doctor, relieved his
mind prodigiously.

“It is very kind in you to come here, Mr.
Sorrel,” said Corrinton, putting his fingers
through the bars for Joseph to shake. “You
are the first of my friends who has visited me
to-day.”

“Yes,” replied Joseph, scarcely knowing
what he was talking about. “I have no doubt
of it, sir. It is a very fine day. I hope you
don't suffer much inconvenience here.”

“Very little,” said Corrinton. “I have every
thing a prisoner could expect.”

“I have come,” said Joseph, gradually regaining
his self-possession, “to see if I can

do any thing to make you more comfortable.
You have no relations in town, and I didn't
know but there might be some desirable things
you couldn't well obtain without friendly assistance.”

“I am infinitely obliged to you for thinking
of such a thing,” answered Corrinton.

“O, as for that matter,” cried Joseph, eagerly,
“you mustn't give me all the credit. I am
ashamed to confess that I should never have
thought of the thing, if it hadn't been suggested
by another.”

“By whom?” asked Corrinton, interested.

“By one dear to every body, whom every
body respects — my cousin,” said Joseph.

“She thinks kindly of me, then!” exclaimed
the prisoner, who felt a thrill of joy.

“Bless you, doctor, yes! And all her
mother, Mr. Brance, or any body else can say,
can't change her mind.”

“Mrs. Silby and Mr. Brance do not think
kindly of me, then, Joseph?”

“I — I don't know what they think,” said
Mr. Sorrel. “You know — it is natural they
should be opposed to a man who was — opposed
to Appleton.”

“True,” said Corrinton. “I cannot blame
them. And when the truth has come to light,
and my innocence proved, I shall not remember
it against them that they ever doubted me.
How is your cousin?”

“Alice is nicely. I never saw her so serious
before; but she is cheerful, and calm, and
perfectly collected.”

“Remember me to her kindly,” said the doctor,
with emotion.

The conversation turned upon other subjects,
and Joseph regaled the doctor with the current
gossip of the village. Then, having taken it
upon himself to perform several commissions
Corrinton confided to his care, and wishing the
prisoner much happiness, he departed in company
with the sheriff, who came in due season
to unlock the big door.

“I hope you didn't think it strange that I
locked you in there,” mildly observed the
jailer.

“O — no! That is, I did. With that other
door fastened,” said Joseph, “I must say, I
could not very clearly see the necessity of locking
this one.”

“A very just remark,” replied the sheriff,

complacently. “But you must know that
men in office have to observe certain formalities,
which in private life can be dispensed
with.”

“The conclusion I had come to,” said the
younger Mr. Sorrel. “I felt sure you were
doing nothing but your duty. However, had
any but a humane man like yourself, in whom
I put confidence, confined me in such a peculiar
situation, I am sure I should have felt
uneasy.”

And Joseph, wiping the perspiration from
his forehead, emerged with a lightened heart
into the open air.