THE ESCAPE.
AS my father spoke, the gravity of our position came home to both of
us. Here we were, penned up in the torture-chamber in the innermost
recesses of the castle, likely at any moment to be surprised by the
garrison or some of the officers of the Inquisition, while every exit
was strongly guarded with armed troops.
Even should we escape from the precincts of the fortress we knew not
whither to flee. The very name of the town wherein we were was
unknown to us.
For the time being we were safe. We could hold our own 'gainst
tremendous odds in the strongly-walled chamber, but ere long hunger
would compel us to succumb. Therefore it was useless to remain
inactive: we must take steps to find a way out. But how?
"Roy, my son," exclaimed my father, "I have it. 'Tis hazardous, but
there are chances in our favour. We will don the garments of these
slain dogs, and take upon us the role of officers of the Inquisition.
'Tis now night, which is also in our favour."
"And whither? To the mountains?" was my question.
"Nay, lad, the sea--ever the sea. Thereon lies our salvation. Now,
quickly."
Without more ado we stripped the bodies of two of the slain members
of the Holy Office, girded a sword and dagger apiece beneath the
cloaks, and enveloped our heads with the hideous cowls and masks.
"This will not serve," commented my father, as we surveyed each
other. "Is it meet that two officers should thread dark passages
without a link-bearer? Cast off your attire, Roy, and take this garb.
You must be one of the hooded varlets, and bear a torch to light the
way."
In a few moments I was dressed in the garb of a "familiar." We then
prepared to cover our retreat, for should any one without gain easy
entrance, the alarm would be raised ere we could obtain a fair start.
Accordingly we dragged the rack across the floor and placed it at a
pike's length from the door. This required great effort, for the
massive frame could only be moved inch by inch. But 'twas done at
last. We then unbolted and partly opened the door, resting the butt
ends of the pikes 'gainst the lowermost portion of the rack and their
heads 'gainst the door, so that when 'twas shut the pikes would fall
to the ground, forming a wedge that would defy the efforts of half a
dozen strong men.
Then, having taken a torch, we sallied out, walking with measured
tread, and my father inclined his head over a breviary. Yet I wot we
both kept one hand upon the hilts of our daggers, ready to strike a
swift blow should occasion arise.
Unseen we traversed the lowermost passage, ascended the spiral stair,
and gained the upper corridor. At the end I knew was the low doorway
communicating with the courtyard, and the door itself would be
closely locked and bolted.
But as we approached, in fear lest our progress should be hindered, a
dark form glided from a recess that had escaped my notice when I was
brought hither, and a hooded and cloaked servant threw open the door
with obsequious mien.
My father bestowed upon him a blessing--though in his mind I doubt
not that he would rather have given the dog a dagger-thrust--and the
next moment we were under the light of the stars, breathing in the
pure air that had for so many long days been denied us.
But the most difficult part was yet to come. We were clear of the
prison itself, with its pitiless and cruel guardians, but now we must
reckon with the soldiers at the postern and the two barbicans. Should
they demand a password we should be undone.
'Twas folly to hesitate. With outward boldness, though I felt my
heart beating rapidly, I led the way, holding the torch well above my
head, while my father followed three paces in the rear, still
ostentatiously engaged with his breviary.
Now we were within a score paces of the postern, the guards were
preparing to receive us, when a hooded figure advanced and spoke to
my father with much the same tone of servility as his fellow had
done.
With admirable composure my parent replied, imitating the voice of
the Chief Inquisitor to perfection, while I walked slowly backwards
till I stood behind him, so that the flicker of the torch threw his
hooded and masked face into shadow.
After a short conversation my father turned, and, with the "familiar"
slightly behind him, walked in a totally different direction to that
leading to the postern. Whither the pair were going I had not the
slightest idea, whereas, in my capacity of link-bearer, I ought to
have preceded them. Neither dare my father give me directions or any
explanation of the conversation; so, helplessly, I trailed behind the
quasi-Inquisitor and his subordinate.
Our conductor came to a halt before an arch, within which was
apparently a stone wall, though screened from observation from the
courtyard by two flying buttresses connected with a trellis fence of
iron, over which the roses grew in profusion.
What he did I could not see, but a large portion of the masonry swung
round on a pivot, easily and noiselessly, disclosing a yawning
cavity.
While the man was thus engaged my father found an opportunity to bid
me enter fearlessly. This I did, and found myself on the topmost of a
short flight of steps. I descended, my sire following. The next
instant we were alone.
"Providence is with us," quoth he. "This is the secret passage to the
Chapel of San Thomé, and is used by the principals of this accursed
place. Yon rogue, who has served us so well, told me that the second
drawbridge was raised, owing to some mishap."
"Then how can we gain our way from the chapel?"
"Methinks 'tis easier to escape from a chapel than from a castle, my
son. Courage! Did I not say that 'twould end well for us?"
With that we relapsed into silence, walking swiftly through the
subterranean passage, our footsteps echoing and re-echoing along the
invisible tunnel; every moment was precious.
We must have traversed a good four hundred paces when our passage was
barred by a door as strongly constructed as those in the castle.
Cautiously and carefully we examined the door, but no sign of a lock
or bolt was visible on the side on which we stood. It seemed as if we
were fairly trapped. At any moment our flight might be discovered and
the shouts of our pursuers fall upon our ears. Moreover, the torch
was rapidly burning out, and in a few minutes we should be in utter
darkness.
"Stand to your dagger," said my father. "We must take the hazard,"
and as he spoke he knocked loudly and peremptorily upon the oaken
door.
With mingled feelings of doubt and hope we heard the bolts being shot
back; the door was flung open, and we found ourselves in the
dimly-lighted chapel of St. Thomé.
A lay-brother who had opened for us bent low in deep abasement, while
my father, still retaining his marvellous presence of mind, bestowed
a benediction upon him.
Then louting to the altar as he passed--though I knew 'twas greatly
against the grain to do so--he made instinctively towards a similar
portal in the northern wall of the building.
Once more we found ourselves in the open air. We were evidently in a
priory garden. In the closely-cut turf--well kept in spite of the hot
climate--cypress and olive trees were planted, while against one of
the walls a huge vine extended its branches.
Even in our flight we paused to taste of the grapes, and never did
fruit seem sweeter to our parched throats after our strain of mind
and body, following months of miserable captivity. As we ate we
conferred as to the best course to pursue, or, rather, my father
deliberated and gave his opinion, and I unhesitatingly accepted it.
"We must not risk passing through the dormitories or other domestic
buildings," said he. "We dare not tempt fate too much. Methinks
beyond yon wall we'll find a street or lane."
So saying, he climbed a tree growing close to the vine-covered wall,
and clambering along one of its branches, allowed his weight to bend
it till he could with ease drop upon the wide coping of the
stonework.
"'Twas as I said," he whispered. "Haste, follow."
'Twas soon done, and we found ourselves in a narrow lane with houses
of a superior kind facing the long wall we had just scaled.
I had extinguished and dropped the torch ere making the climb, so
keeping well in the deep shadows, we glided rapidly along the narrow
streets in the direction we supposed the harbour to lie.
Once or twice we lay close, as a half-drunken soldier or a belated
townsman passed, but without interruption we came to an alley, at the
end of which we could just distinguish the starlit sea.
"Oh for a vessel of sorts, be it but a cock-boat!" muttered my
father, as we reached the brink of a little quay littered with nets
and other gear pertaining to the fisherman's craft.
Grinding their sides against the piles were several small boats, none
of which contained oars, masts, or sails; but farther out were moored
some ten or fifteen larger craft, evidently sea-going fishing-boats,
some of which had their masts shipped, while others had them lying
across their broad transoms.
Seizing a painter, my father tried it; then swung himself nimbly and
softly into one of the little boats, steadying her alongside while I
joined him.
Then bidding me steer for the nearest craft at anchor, he took hold
of one of the bottom boards and paddled rapidly, grumbling softly
under his breath at the phosphorescent swirl that followed each
stroke of his unwieldy paddle.
Following his instructions, I steered, but on approaching the nearest
vessel my eye caught the outlines of a craft that seemed familiar to
me. I looked again, hoping against hope; but there was no mistaking
the vessel, though her rig had been altered. 'Twas the _Damsel of
Lyme_!
Eagerly I whispered the news of my discovery. My father ceased
paddling, and shaded his eyes as he took stock of the pinnace.
"She is much of a handful," he whispered dubiously.
"But I know her well. She is one of the swiftest boats that ever
sailed upon the sea," I added.
"If that be so," he replied, "lay us alongside as softly as you can."
Within another minute I was treading the familiar deck. My father
dropped silently into the after-cabin and also explored the fo'c'sle
to make sure that no one was aboard. Having satisfied himself on that
point, he turned the cock-boat adrift and proceeded to set sail.
In place of the huge spread of square sails two long, unwieldy yards
lay athwart her deck, their halyards still bent. Her new owners had
converted her rig into that of a felucca, possibly intending to use
her on the Mediterranean, since that form of sail is somewhat rare on
the north-west coasts of Spain and Portugal. Whether her speed would
be thus affected we knew not.
Swiftly, yet deliberately, we set to work to make sail. I was sent
aloft with a leather bucket half full of water, with instructions to
thoroughly douse the blocks lest the squeaking of the tackle would
betray us. Then slowly but surely the foreyard was hoisted, the cable
cut, and with scarce a ripple the pinnace heeled and glided towards
the fort-guarded entrance to the harbour.
It must have been betwixt midnight and the early hours of the morning
that we set sail. Behind us lay the dark outlines of the town, with
ne'er a light visible, backed by the dark, tree-clad hills. Not a
sound was to be heard save the howl of a dog. Otherwise 'twas like a
city of the dead.
But ahead lanterns twinkled on the buttresses of the two castles,
showing that their garrisons kept watch and ward. Even with her dark
brown sails and sombre hull the _Damsel of Lyme_ would run great risk
of discovery as she ran the gauntlet.
My father stood at the tiller, his feet placed wide apart and his
hands lightly grasping the curved wood. His old facility had come
back to him, and already he had gained the feel of the vessel's helm,
while he critically watched the huge sail, ready to order me to tend
the sheets the moment the wind veered as little as half a point.
Satisfied with the speed of the pinnace, we made no attempt to set
the mainsail till clear of the harbour. To do so would require our
united efforts, and with the helm left unattended in that narrow
waterway the consequences would be fatal to our enterprise. So we
held on, praying that our bid for freedom would be successful.
As we swept past the fort on the larboard hand a hoarse voice hailed
us, to which my father promptly replied.
Evidently the reply did not satisfy the vigilant sentinel, for he
hailed again, ordering us (so I was afterwards told) to heave-to
while a boat put off to make the customary examination.
"Lie down, Ralph; their bullets will be singing past us ere long," he
cautioned, and directly afterwards the report of a musket echoed in
the still night, a shot whistling betwixt our masts.
The firing was taken up on both sides of the harbour, bullets
striking the water or passing overhead; though several cut through
our foresail the damage was but slight, and the pinnace still held on
her course.
Then to the bark of the small pieces was added the deep roar of the
heavy ordnance, the weighty missiles singing blithely as they skimmed
above our heads, knocking up showers of spray as they struck the
water.
But already the _Damsel of Lyme_ was slipping away rapidly from the
forts, and their shots began to fall short, though for a long time
afterwards the flashes of the ordnance were plainly visible.
"Blaze away, you Spanish dogs!" shouted my father gleefully. "Ralph,
my boy, we're out of it at last, so yo ho! for Old England."