I said this to Rectus, and he agreed with me.
"What I would like to do," said he, "would be to benefit the innocent Indian prisoners." "I don't know what we can do for them," said I."We can't let them out, and they'd all go back again if we did." "No, we can't do that," said he; "but we ought to do something.

I've been around looking at them all carefully, and I feel sure that there are at least forty men among those Indians who haven't done a thing to warrant shutting them up." "Why, how do you know ?" I exclaimed.
"I judge from their faces," said Rectus.
Of course this made me laugh, but he didn't care.
"I'll tell you what we could do," said he; "we could enter a protest that might be heard of, and do some good.

We could take a pot of black paint and a brush with us, and paint on one of the doors that open into the inner square,--where everybody could see it,--something like this: 'Let the righteous Indian go free.' That would create talk, and something might be done." "Who'd do it ?" said I."The captain in command couldn't.

He has no power to let any of them go free." "Well, we might address the notice to the President of the United States--in big black letters.

They could not conceal such a thing." "Well, now, look here, Rectus," said I; "this thing is going to cost too much money.