The Escape.—A Song of the Times.
It was several minutes after Gray felt perfectly assured that the man,
whoever he was, that had passed whistling by the cupboard door, had
gone up to the highest story of the house before he could summon
courage to leave his temporary hiding-place. The urgent necessity,
however, of doing so while there was an opportunity came so forcibly
upon his terror-stricken mind, that although he trembled so excessively
as to be forced to cling to the banisters for support, he crawled from
the place of shelter which had presented itself so providentially to
him in such a moment of extremity, and treading as lightly as he could,
while his whole frame was nearly paralysed by fear, he succeeded in
reaching the room from which opened the small aperture to the vault
where Ada awaited his coming.
Jacob Gray’s mind at this moment embraced but one idea, indulged in but
one hope, and that was to reach the vault in safety, and close the
opening in the wall which had already escaped the scrutiny of Sir
Frederick Hartleton.
The extreme caution that he thought himself compelled to use in his
movements made him slow in attaining his object, and each moment
appeared an age of anxiety and awful suffering.
Now he mounted the chair, and as he did so he heard, or fancied he
heard, the descending footsteps of the stranger as he came from the
upper story. Jacob Gray then trembled so excessively that he could
scarcely contrive to put himself through the small panelled opening and
when he did, his anxiety was so great and his nervousness so intense,
that it was several moments before he could place his foot securely
upon one of the rounds of the ladder.
The shrill whistle of the man now sounded awfully distinct in his ears,
and he fancied that he must have closed the panel scarcely an instant
before the stranger entered the apartment.
Then Jacob Gray laid his ear flatly against the wainscot to listen if
more than one person was in the room, and gather from any conversation
they might indulge in what were their objects and expectations in
remaining so long in the ancient and dilapidated house.
For some minutes the whistling continued, for that was an innocent
amusement that Mr. Elias was fortunately partial to, and one to which
he invariably resorted when anything of a disagreeable character
absorbed his mind; and as now he could not withdraw his thoughts from
the fact that he must fast until sunset, he whistled with an energy and
a desperation proportioned to the exigency of the case.
At length, however, from want of breath, or that he had gone through
every tune he was acquainted with three times, he paused in his
whistling, and uttered the simple and energetic apostrophe of,—
“Well, I’m d—d!”
This did not convey a great deal of information to Jacob Gray, and he
waited very anxiously to hear what further remarks concerning his
thoughts and objects in this world might fall from the speaker who had
so cavalierly and off handedly settled his destination in the next. Nor
was he disappointed, for Mr. Elias, having no one to talk to, addressed
himself, in the following strains:—
“Well, here’s a precious old crib to be shut up in. Upon my soul, it’s
too bad of the governor. And no dinner—not a drop of nothing, no how
what so ever. How would he like it, I wonder? Why, not at all, to be
sure. The fifty pounds is something—but it’s all moonshine if the
fellow don’t come, or that ere gal as he talks on, as may make her
blessed appearance in a masculine sort o’ way. Well, I only hopes she
may, that’s all. Won’t I give that Stephy a precious nob on his
cocoa-nut, if he makes it very late afore he comes? Curse this place,
it’s as dull as a sermon, and about as pleasant and lively-looking as
mud in a wine-glass. I don’t like these kind of goes at all. Give me
fun, and a hunt after such a rollicking, slashing blade as Jack
Sheppard. Ah, he’s the fellow for my money. I love that blade. He’s got
a voice, too, like a flock o’ nightingales, that he has. Shall I ever
hear him sing that song again as I learnt of him by listening to him in
quod, and all the while as I was taken up with the tune, he was a
filing away at his darbies, bless him! Oh, he’s a rum un!”
Elias then delighted himself and astonished Jacob Gray, by singing the
following song; which was in great vogue at the time:—
What Knight’s Like the Knight of the Road?
“What knight’s like the knight of the road?
Who lives so well as he?
The proudest duke don’t lead
A life so brave and free.
Heighho! How the maidens sigh,
As he dashes proudly by!
And there’s not a gentle heart of all—
Let weal or woe betide—
That would not leap with dear delight
To be his happy bride.
“The day goes down on Hounslow-heath,
The night wind sighs amain;
Hurrah! Hurrah, for the road!
For now begins his reign.
Heighho! How the ladies cry,
As they see his flashing eye.
And there’s not a pair of cherry lips,
Of high or low degree,
Would scorn a kiss from the knight of the road,
Who’s welcome as he’s free.”
As Mr. Elias, between the stanzas of his song, whistled an
accompaniment, in which there were a great number of shakes, trills,
and what musicians call variations which means something which is not
at all connected with the tune, the whole affair took some considerable
time in execution; and Jacob Gray stood upon the ladder in a perfect
agony of annoyance until it was over.
“Bravo!” cried Elias, when he had completed the last few notes of his
whistling accompaniment. “Bravo!—Encore! Bravo! Well, I do hate these
long summer days, to be sure. Why, it will be half-past eight, if it’s
a bit, before Stephy comes. There’s a infliction, I wish this cursed
fellow, or the gal, or both of them, would just trot over the fields,
and save me any further waiting. Let me see—a thin, pale covey, the
governor said, with a nervous sort of look. Very good; I shall know
him. Just let him show his physiognomy here, and I’ll pop the darbies
on him before he can say Jack, to leave alone the Robinson. Well, I’ll
take another walk through the old den. They say there’s been a murder
here. I wonder if the fellow got much swag? I never heard o’ any
gentleman being hung for a murder here, I ’spose as that affair never
put forty pound into a runner’s pocket. Some fellows is such beasts
when they does slap-up murders; they commits suicide, and so cheat
somebody of the blood-money. Curse ’em!”
Having uttered this sentiment, Mr. Elias struck up an intense whistle,
and walked from the room.
Jacob Gray could hear him descend the stairs, and the whistle gradually
died away in the distance, until it sounded only faintly upon his ears,
convincing him that the stranger had gone into some of the rooms on the
ground floor.
Jacob Gray now slowly descended the ladder, and pronounced the name of
Ada in a low, anxious tone.
“I am here,” she replied.
“Ada, our situation is now perilous and awkward in the extreme. The
persons who were here have left one of their number behind them.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes, they suspect I may return to this house.”
“Are we then to starve here?” said Ada.
“Starved?” echoed Gray, “I—I did not think of that. God of Heaven! What
shall we do?”
“Jacob Gray,” said Ada, “you are caught in your own snare. This place
which you imagined to be one of safety has now become your prison.
Remain here, if you please; I have no such urgent reasons as you may
have. If he whom you tell me is keeping guard in the house, be an enemy
to me, as well as to you, I will rather trust to his mercy than abide
here the horrors of famine. Such a death would be dreadful! Jacob Gray,
I will not remain here.”
“You will not?”
“I will not.”
“I am armed, Ada. You forget that I can force your obedience by the
fear of death.”
“You can murder me,” replied Ada, “but I cannot perceive that it is
your interest to do so.”
“Why not?”
“Let me go freely, and I promise not to disclose the secret of your
place of concealment. He who is waiting, if he be an enemy to me as
well as to you, may be satisfied with my capture, or perchance my
death, and leave you undisturbed to pursue your own course. If he prove
a friend to me, which from my heart, Jacob Gray, I verily believe, for
the voice I heard address me by name carried in its tones truth and
sincerity, then you will have less to fear, for I here promise not to
betray you.”
Gray was silent for several moments after Ada had spoken. Then bending
down his mouth, close to her ear, he said in a low, agitated voice,—
“Ada—there is another resource.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes—but one man keeps guard above.”
“I understand you. You will risk a contest with him?”
“No—no—no!”
“What mean you then, Jacob Gray?”
“To kill him.”
“But should he prove the stronger or the bolder, which he may well be,
Jacob Gray, you might be worsted in the encounter.”
“It shall not be an encounter,” said Gray.
“You speak in riddles.”
“Listen to me. He is walking uneasily from room to room of the house.
He does not suspect any one to be concealed here—that much I can gather
from his talk. At sunset I will creep forth, and hiding somewhere in
perfect security—watch my opportunity, and shoot him dead.”
“What!” cried Ada indignantly—“murder him?”
“I—I—only act in self-defence—I cannot help it—he would murder me.
Hush—hush! Do not speak so loud—you are incautious, Ada—hush—hush!”