THE YEAR 1895
The gentle luster of his eyes lifted to the burning noon sun through the small window. Mathias Icarius Montgomery leaned over and craned to see the outside world through the iron bars of the prison that held him. A cloud of dust flew in and then rushed into his eyes and he drew back irritably but quickly recovered to his earlier position at the window. His last moments of freedom
were these. He had been accused of treason, and he was on death row, sentenced to be hanged the following day.
The failing hope that now possessed his visage was owed to the thoughts of being in this state, unable to be with his ailing wife with child. He stood, relishing the pallid scene outside. The people, buried in the turmoil of the usual vending, filled the streets, stretched through every n
