"It must be tonight, Joe," I said, when, our morning tasks being
done, he and I went apart from the rest for a little private talk.
"If we delay it, I cannot answer for their behavior."
"That is all very true, sir," said Joe; "but I can not see how we
are to manage it. There's a hole in the wall, to be sure, and a new
rope on the windlass of the well: but how we be going to get the
rope where 'tis needed is more than I can guess."
"Don't you think that by tonight our drum will want washing?" I
said.
He looked at me, clearly puzzled at what seemed a sudden change of
subject.
"'Tis very dirty, to be sure; but washing it won't make it sound no
better, I reckon."
"I rather think it will," I replied, and then I told him what I had
in mind.
"'Tis a main risky trick, sir," he said dubiously. "If they should
happen to want another bucketful of water we're lost men."
"We must risk something, Joe," I answered, "and fortune has so well
befriended us hitherto that I can't think she will balk us now."
But I own that my anxieties increased as the day wore on, and my
melancholy countenance was doubtless a good match with the faces of
my comrades. When one of the other prisoners twitted me on my
lugubrious mien, I had an inspiration.
"We are saving our cheerfulness for the concert tonight," I said.
"'Twill be the best we have ever given, and we shall never give a
better."
And for the rest of the day there was a great buzz of talk among
the men about the announcement I had made, and a great deal of
laughter at our mournful preparation for a cheerful entertainment.
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