UNDER THE MOAT.
It was some time ere they discovered that Scudamore was missing from the
castle, but there was the hope that he had been taken prisoner; and
things were growing so bad within the walls, that there was little
leisure for lamentation over individual misfortunes. Unless some change
as entire as unexpected--for there seemed no chance of any except the
king should win over the Scots to take his part--should occur, it was
evident that the enemy must speedily make the assault, nor could there
be a doubt of their carrying the place--an anticipation which, as the
inevitable drew nearer, became nothing less than terrible to both
household and garrison. True, their conquerors would be of their own
people, but battle and bloodshed and victory, and, worst of all,
party-spirit, the marquis knew, destroy not nationality merely, but
humanity as well, rousing into full possession the feline beast which
has his lair in every man--in many, it is true, dwindled to the
household cat, but in many others a full-sized, only sleepy tiger. To
what was he about to expose his men, not to speak of his ladies and
their children!
On the other hand, ever since the balls had been flying about his house,
and the stones of it leaving their places to keep them company, the
loyalty of the marquis had been rising, and he had thought of his
prisoner-king ever with growing tenderness, of his faults with more
indulgence, and of the wrongs he had done his family with more
magnanimity and forgiveness, so that, for his own part, he would have
held out to the very last.
'And truly were it not better to be well buried under the ruins,' he
would say to himself, looking down with a sigh at his great bulk, which
added so much to the dismalness of the prospect of being, in his
seventieth year, a prisoner or a wanderer--the latter a worse fate even
than the former. To be no longer the master of his own great house, of
many willing servants, of all ready appliances for liberty and comfort,
while the weight of his clumsy person must still hang about him, and his
unfitness to carry the same go on increasing with the bulk to be
carried--such a prospect required something more than loyalty to meet it
with equanimity. To the young and strong, adventure ought always to be
more attractive than ease, but none save those who are themselves within
sight of old age can truly imagine what an utter horror the breach of
old habits and loss of old comforts is to the aged.
But to the good marquis it was consolation enough to repeat to himself
the text from his precious Vulgate: SCIMUS ENIM; FOR WE KNOW THAT IF OUR
EARTHLY HOUSE OF THIS TABERNACLE WERE DISSOLVED, WE HAVE A BUILDING OF
GOD, AN HOUSE NOT MADE WITH HANDS, ETERNAL IN THE HEAVENS.
For the ladies, so long as their father-chief was with them, they were
at least not too anxious. Whatever was done must be the right thing, and
in the midst of tumult and threat they were content. If only their
Edward had been with them too!
But surrender, even when the iron shot was driving his stately house
into showers of dirt, the marquis found it hard indeed to contemplate.
The eastern side of the stone court was now little better than a heap of
rubbish, and the hour of assault could not be far off, although as yet
there had been no second summons; but he could not forget that, though
the castle was his, it was not for himself but for his king he held it
garrisoned, and how could he yield it without the approval of his
sovereign? The governor shared in the same chivalry with his father, and
was equally anxious for a word from the king. But that king was a
prisoner in the hands of a hostile nation, and how was he to receive
message or return answer? Nay, how were they to send message or receive
answer, not even knowing with certainty where his majesty was, and but
presuming that he was still at Newcastle? And not to mention
difficulties at every step of the way, their house itself was so beset
that no one could issue from its gates without risk of being stopped,
searched, detained until it should have fallen. For the besiegers knew
well enough that lord Glamorgan was still in Ireland, straining his
utmost on behalf of the king; and what more likely than that he should,
with the men he was still raising in Ireland, make some desperate
attempt to turn the scales of war, striking first, it might well be, for
the relief of his father's castle?
These things were all pretty freely spoken of in the family, and Dorothy
understood the position of affairs as well as any one. And now at length
it seemed to her that the hour had arrived for attempting some return
for Raglan's hospitality. No service she had hitherto stumbled upon had
any magnitude in her eyes, but now--to be the bearer of dispatches to
the king! It would suffice at least, even if it turned out a failure, to
prove her not ungrateful. But she too had her confidant, and in the
absence of lord Glamorgan would consult with Caspar.
Meantime the marquis had made matters worse by sending a request to
Colonel Morgan that he would grant safe passage for a messenger to the
king, without whose command he was not at liberty to surrender the
place. The answer was to the effect that they acknowledged no
jurisdiction of the king in the business, and that the marquis might
keep his mind easy as far as his supposed duty to his majesty was
concerned, for they would so compel a surrender that there could be no
reflection upon him for making it.
Caspar, fearful of the dangers she would have to encounter, sought to
dissuade Dorothy from her meditated proposal--but feebly, for every one
who had anything noble in his nature, and Caspar had more than his
share, was influenced by the magnanimity that ruled the place. Indeed he
told her one thing which served to clench her resolution--that there was
a secret way out of the castle, provided by his master Glamorgan for
communication during siege: more he was not at liberty to disclose.
Dorothy went straight to the marquis and laid her plan before him, which
was that she should make her escape to Wyfern, and thence, attended by
an old servant, set out to seek the king.
'There is no longer time, alas!' returned the marquis. 'I look for the
final summons every hour.'
'Could you not raise the report, my lord, that you have undermined the
castle, and laid a huge quantity of gunpowder, with the determination of
blowing it up the moment they enter? That would make them fall back upon
blockade, and leave us a little time. Our provisions are not nearly
exhausted, and when fodder fails, we can eat the horses first.'
'Thou art a brave lady, cousin Dorothy,' said the marquis. 'But if they
caught and searched thee, and found papers upon thee, it would go worse
with us than before.'
'Please your lordship, my lord Glamorgan once showed me such a comb as a
lady might carry in her pocket, but so contrived that the head thereof
was hollow and could contain despatches. Methinks Caspar could lay his
hand on the comb. If I were but at Wyfern! and thither my little horse
would carry me in less than hour, giving all needful time for caution
too, my lord.'
'By George, thou speakest well, cousin!' said the marquis. 'But who
should attend thee?'
'Let me have Tom Fool, my lord, for now have I thought of a betterment
of my plan: he will guide me to his mother's house by by-ways, and
thence can I cross the fields to my own--as easily as the great hall, my
lord.'
'Tom Fool is a mighty coward,' objected the marquis.
'So much the better, my lord. He will not get me into trouble through
displaying his manhood before me. He hath besides a face long enough for
three roundheads, and a tongue that can utter glibly enough what
soundeth very like their jargon. Tom is the right fool to attend me, my
lord.'
'He can't ride; he never backed a horse in his life, I believe. No, no,
Dorothy. Shafto is the man.'
'Shafto is much too ready, my lord. He would ride over my hounds. I want
Tom no farther than his mother's, and there will be no need for him to
ride.'
'Well, it is a brave offer, my child, and I will think thereupon,' said
his lordship.
All the rest of the day the marquis and lord Charles, with two or three
of the principal officers of house and garrison, were in conference, and
letters were written both to his majesty and lord Glamorgan. Before they
were finally written out in cipher, Kaltoff was sent for, the comb
found, its contents gauged, and the paper cut to suit.
About an hour after midnight, Dorothy, lord Charles, and Caspar stood
together in the workshop, waiting for Tom Fool, who had gone to fetch
Dick from the stables. Dorothy had the comb in her pocket. She looked
pale, but her grey eyes shone with courage and determination. She
carried nothing but a whip. A keen little lamp borne by Caspar was all
their light.
Presently they heard the sound of Dick's hoofs on the bridge. A moment
more and Tom led him in, both man and horse looking somewhat scared at
the strangeness of the midnight proceeding. But Tom was,
notwithstanding, glad of the office, and ready to risk a good deal in
order to get out of the castle, where he expected nothing milder at last
than a general massacre.
Lord Charles himself lifted foot after foot of the little horse to be
satisfied that his shoes were sound, then made a sign to Caspar, and
gave his hand to Dorothy. Caspar took Dick by the bridle, and led him up
to the wall near the door. Lord Charles and Dorothy followed. But Tom,
observing that they placed themselves within a chalk-drawn circle, hung
back in terror; he fancied Caspar was going to raise the devil. Yet he
knew that within the circle was the only safety; a word from Dorothy
turned the scale, and he stood trembling by her side. Nor was he greatly
consoled to find that, as he now thought, instead of the devil coming to
them, they were going to him, as, with the circle upon which they stood,
they began to sink, through a stone-faced shaft, slowly into the
foundations of the keep. Dick also was frightened, but happily his faith
was stronger than his imagination, and a word now and then from his
mistress, and an occasional pat from her well-known hand, sufficed to
keep him quiet.
At the depth of about thirty feet they stopped, and found themselves
facing a ponderous door, studded and barred with iron. Caspar took from
his pocket a key about the size of a goose quill, felt about for a
moment, and then with a slight movement of finger and thumb threw back a
dozen ponderous bolts with a great echoing clang; the door slowly
opened, and they entered a narrow vaulted passage of stone. Lord Charles
took the lamp from Caspar, and led the way with Dorothy; Tom Fool came
next, and Caspar followed with Dick. The lamp showed but a few feet of
the walls and roof, and revealed nothing in front until they had gone
about a furlong, when it shone upon what seemed the live rock ending
their way. But again Caspar applied the little key somewhere, and
immediately a great mass of rock slowly turned on a pivot, and permitted
them to pass.
When they were all on the other side of it, lord Charles turned and held
up the light. Dorothy turned also and looked: there was nothing to
indicate whence they had come. Before her was the rough rock, seemingly
solid, certainly slimy and green, and over its face was flowing a tiny
rivulet.
'See there,' said lord Charles, pointing up; 'that little stream comes
the way thy dog Marquis and the roundhead Heywood came and went. But I
challenge anything larger than a rat to go now.'
Dorothy made no answer, and they went on again for some distance in a
passage like the former, but soon arrived at the open quarry, whence Tom
knew the way across the fields to the high road as well, he said, as the
line of life on his own palm. Lord Charles lifted Dorothy to the saddle,
said good-luck and good-bye, and stood with Caspar watching as she rode
up the steep ascent, until for an instant her form stood out dark
against the sky, then vanished, when they turned and re-entered the
castle.