I BREAK OUT OF PRISON.
You are now to be ask’d to pass over the next four weeks in as many
minutes: as would I had done at the time! For I spent them in a bitter
cold cell in the main tower of Bristol keep, with a chair and a pallet
of straw for all my furniture, and nothing to stay my fast but the bread
and water that the jailer—a sour man, if ever there were one—brought
me twice a day.
This keep lies in the northwest corner of the outer ward of the
castle—a mighty tall pile and strongly built, the walls (as the jailer
told me) being a full twenty-five feet thick near the foundations, tho’
by time you ascended to the towers this thickness had dwindled to six
feet and no more. In shape ’twas a quadrilateral, a little shorter from
north to south than from east to west (in which latter direction it
measured sixty feet, about), and had four towers standing at the four
corners, whereof mine was five fathoms higher than the rest.
Guess, then, how little I thought of escape, having but one window, a
hundred feet (I do believe) above the ground, and that so narrow that,
even without the iron bar across it, ’twould barely let my shoulders
pass. What concern’d me more was the cold that gnaw’d me continually
these winter nights, as I lay thinking of Delia (whom I had not seen
since our examination), or gazing out on the patch of frosty heaven
that was all my view. ’Twas thus I had heard Bristol bells ringing for
Christmas in the town below.
Colonel Essex had been thrice to visit me, and always offer’d many
excuses for my treatment; but when he came to question me, why of course
I had nothing to tell, so that each visit but served to vex him more.
Clearly I was suspected to know a great deal beyond what appear’d in
the letter: and no doubt poor Anthony Killigrew had receiv’d some verbal
message from His Majesty which he lived not long enough to transmit to
me. As ’twas, I kept silence; and the Colonel in return would tell me
nothing of what had befallen Delia.
One fine, frosty morning, then, when I had lain in this distress just
four weeks, the door of my cell open’d, and there appear’d a young
woman, not uncomely, bringing in my bread and water. She was the
jailer’s daughter, and wore a heavy bunch of keys at her girdle.
“Oh, good morning!” said I: for till now her father only had visited me,
and this was a welcome change.
Instead of answering cheerfully (as I look’d for), she gave a little nod
of the head, rather sorrowful, and answered:—
“Father’s abed with the ague.”
“Now you cannot expect me to be sorry.”
“Nay,” she said; and I caught her looking at me with something like
compassion in her blue eyes, which mov’d me to cry out suddenly—
“I think you are woman enough to like a pair of lovers.”
“Oh, aye: but where’s t’other half of the pair?”
“You’re right. The young gentlewoman that was brought hither with me—I
know not if she loves me: but this I do know—I would give my hand to
learn her whereabouts, and how she fares.”
“Better eat thy loaf,” put in the girl very suddenly, setting down the
plate and pitcher.
’Twas odd, but I seem’d to hear a sob in her voice. However, her back
was toward me as I glanc’d up. And next moment she was gone, locking the
iron door behind her.
I turn’d from my breakfast with a sigh, having for the moment tasted
the hope to hear something of Delia. But in a while, feeling hungry, I
pick’d up the loaf beside me, and broke it in two.
To my amaze, out dropp’d something that jingled on the stone floor.
’Twas a small file: and examining the loaf again, I found a clasp-knife
also, and a strip of paper, neatly folded, hidden in the bread.
“Deare Jack,
“Colonel Essex, finding no good come of his interrogatories, hath set me
at large; tho’ I continue under his eye, to wit, with a dowager of his
acquaintance, a Mistress Finch. Wee dwell in a private house midway down
St. Thomas his street, in Redcliffe: and she hath put a dismal dress
upon me (Jack, ’tis _hideous_), but otherwise uses me not ill. But take
care of thyself, my deare friend: for tho’ the Colonel be a gentilman,
he is press’d by them about him, and at our last interview I noted a
mischief in his eye. Canst use this file?—(but take care: all the
gates I saw guarded with troopers to-day.) This by one who hath been
my friend: for whose sake tear the paper up. And beleeve your cordial,
loving comrade
“D. K.”
After reading this a dozen times, till I had it by heart, I tore the
letter into small pieces and hid them in my pocket. This done, I felt
lighter-hearted than for many a day, and (rather for employment than
with any farther view) began lazily to rub away at my window bar. The
file work’d well. By noon the bar was half sever’d, and I broke off to
whistle a tune. ’Twas—
“Vivre en tout cas,
C’est le grand soulas—”
and I broke off to hear the key turning in my lock.
The jailer’s daughter enter’d with my second meal. Her eyes were red
with weeping.
Said I, “Does your father beat you?”
“He has, before now,” she replied: “but not to-day.”
“Then why do you weep?”
“Not for that.”
“For what then?”
“For you—oh, dear, dear! How shall I tell it? They are going to—to—”
She sat down on the chair, and sobb’d in her apron.
“What is’t they are going to do?”
“To—to—h-hang you.”
“The devil! When?”
“Tut-tut-to-morrow mo-horning!”
I went suddenly very cold all over. There was silence for a moment, and
then I heard the noise of some one dropping a plank in the courtyard
below.
“What’s that?”
“The gug-gug—”
“Gallows?”
She nodded.
“You are but a weak girl,” said I, meditating.
“Aye: but there’s a dozen troopers on the landing below.”
“Then, my dear, you must lock me up,” I decided gloomily, and fell to
whistling——
“Vivre en tout cas,
C’est le grand soulas—”
A workman’s hammer in the court below chim’d in, beating out the tune,
and driving the moral home. I heard a low sob behind me. The jailer’s
daughter was going.
“Lend me your bodkin, my dear, for a memento.”
She pull’d it out and gave it to me.
“Thank you, and now good-bye! Stop: here’s a kiss to take to my dear
mistress. They shan’t hang me, my dear.”
The girl went out, sobbing, and lock’d the door after her.
I sat down for a while, feeling doleful. For I found myself extremely
young to be hang’d. But soon the _whang—whang!_ of the hammer below
rous’d me. “Come,” I thought, “I’ll see what that rascal is doing, at
any rate,” and pulling the file from my pocket, began to attack the
window bar with a will. I had no need for silence, at this great height
above the ground: and besides, the hammering continued lustily.
Daylight was closing as I finish’d my task and, pulling the two pieces
of the bar aside, thrust my head out at the window.
Directly under me, and about twenty feet from the ground, I saw a beam
projecting, about six feet long, over a sort of doorway in the wall.
Under this beam, on a ladder, was a carpenter fellow at work, fortifying
it with two supporting timbers that rested on the sill of the doorway.
He was merry enough over the job, and paused every now and again to
fling a remark to a little group of soldiers that stood idling below,
where the fellow’s workbag and a great coil of rope rested by the
ladder’s foot.
“Reckon, Sammy,” said one, pulling a long tobacco pipe from his mouth
and spitting, “’tis a long while since thy last job o’ the sort.”
“Aye, lad: terrible disrepair this place has fall’n into. But send us a
cheerful heart, say I! Instead o’ the viper an’ owl, shall henceforward
be hangings of men an’ all manner o’ diversion.”
I kept my head out of sight and listen’d.
“What time doth ’a swing?” ask’d another of the soldiers.
“I heard the Colonel give orders for nine o’clock to-morrow,” answer’d
the first soldier, spitting again.
The clock over the barbican struck four: and in a minute was being
answer’d from tower after tower, down in the city.
“Four o’clock!” cried the man on the ladder: “time to stop work, and
here goes for the last nail!” He drove it in and prepar’d to descend.
“Hi!” shouted a soldier, “you’ve forgot the rope.”
“That’ll wait till to-morrow. There’s a staple to drive in, too. I tell
you I’m dry, and want my beer.”
He whipp’d his apron round his waist, and gathering up his nails,
went down the ladder. At the foot he pick’d up his bag, shoulder’d
the ladder, and loung’d away, leaving the coil of rope lying there.
Presently the soldiers saunter’d off also, and the court was empty.
Now up to this moment I had but one idea of avoiding my fate, and that
was to kill myself. ’Twas to this end I had borrow’d the bodkin of the
maid. Afterward I had a notion of flinging myself from the window as
they came for me. But now, as I look’d down on that coil of rope lying
directly below, a prettier scheme struck me. I sat down on the floor of
my cell and pull’d off my boots and stockings.
’Twas such a pretty plan that I got into a fever of impatience. Drawing
off a stocking and picking out the end of the yarn, I began to unravel
the knitting for dear life, until the whole lay, a heap of thread, on
the floor. I then serv’d the other in the same way: and at the end had
two lines, each pretty near four hundred yards in length: which now I
divided into eight lines of about a hundred yards each.
With these I set to work, and by the end of twenty minutes had plaited
a rope—if rope, indeed, it could be called—weak to be sure, but long
enough to reach the ground with plenty to spare. Then, having bent my
bodkin to the form of a hook, I tied it to the end of my cord, weighted
it with a crown from my pocket, and clamber’d up to the window. I was
going to angle for the hangman’s rope.
’Twas near dark by this; but I could just distinguish it on the paving
stones below, and looking about the court, saw that no one was astir.
I wriggled first my head, then a shoulder, through the opening, and let
the line run gently through my hand. There was still many yards left,
that could be paid out, when I heard my coin tinkle softly on the
pavement.
Then began my difficulty. A dozen times I pull’d my hook across the coil
before it hitch’d; and then a full three score of times the rope slipped
away before I had rais’d it a dozen yards. My elbow was raw, almost,
with leaning on the sill, and I began to lose heart and head, when, to
my delight, the bodkin caught and held. It had fasten’d on a kink in
the rope, not far from the end. I began to pull up, hand over hand,
trembling all the while like a leaf.
For I had two very reasonable fears. First, the rope might slip away and
tumble before it reach’d my grasp. Secondly, it might, after all, prove
a deal too short. It had look’d to me a new rope of many fathoms, not
yet cut for to-morrow’s purpose; but eyesight might well deceive at that
distance, and surely enough I saw that the whole was dangling off the
ground long before it came to my hand.
But at last I caught it, and slipping back into the room, pull’d it
after me, yard upon yard. My heart went loud and fast. There was nothing
to fasten it to but an iron staple in the door, that meant losing the
width of my cell, some six feet. This, however, must be risk’d, and I
made the end fast, lower’d the other out of window again, and climbing
to a sitting posture on the window sill, thrust out my legs over the
gulf.
Thankful was I that darkness had fallen before this, and hidden the
giddy depths below me. I gripp’d the rope and push’d myself inch by
inch through the window, and out over the ledge. For a moment I dangled,
without courage to move a hand. Then, wreathing my legs round the rope,
I loosed my left hand, and caught with it again some six inches lower.
And so, down I went.
Minute follow’d minute, and left me still descending, six inches at a
time, and looking neither above nor below, but always at the grey wall
that seem’d sliding up in front of me. The first dizziness was over, but
a horrible aching of the arms had taken the place of it. ’Twas growing
intolerable, when suddenly my legs, that sought to close round the rope,
found space only. I had come to the end.
I look’d down. A yard below my feet the beam of the gallows gleam’d
palely out of the darkness. Here was my chance. I let my hands slip down
the last foot or so of rope, hung for a moment, then dropp’d for the
beam.
My feet miss’d it, as I intended they should; but I flung both arms out
and caught it, bringing myself up with a jerk. While yet I hung clawing,
I heard a footstep coming through the gateway between the two wards.
Here was a fix. With all speed and silence I drew myself up to the beam,
found a hold with one knee upon it, got astride, and lay down at length,
flattening my body down against the timber. Yet all the while I felt
sure I must have been heard.
The footsteps drew nearer, and pass’d almost under the gallows. ’Twas an
officer, for, as he pass’d, he called out—
“Sergeant Downs! Sergeant Downs!”
A voice from the guardroom in the barbican answer’d him through the
darkness.
“Why is not the watch set?”
“In a minute, sir: it wants a minute to six.”
“I thought the Colonel order’d it at half past five?”
In the silence that follow’d, the barbican clock began to strike, and
half a dozen troopers tumbled out from the guardroom, some laughing,
some grumbling at the coldness of the night. The officer return’d to the
inner ward as they dispersed to their posts: and soon there was silence
again, save for the _tramp-tramp_ of a sentry crossing and recrossing
the pavement below me.
All this while I lay flatten’d along the beam, scarce daring to breathe.
But at length, when the man had pass’d below for the sixth time, I
found heart to wriggle myself toward the doorway over which the gallows
protruded. By slow degrees, and pausing whenever the fellow drew near,
I crept close up to the wall: then, waiting the proper moment, cast my
legs over, dangled for a second or two swinging myself toward the sill,
flung myself off, and, touching the ledge with one toe, pitch’d forward
in the room.
The effect of this was to give me a sound crack as I struck the
flooring, which lay about a foot below the level of the sill. I pick’d
myself up and listen’d. Outside, the regular tramp of the sentry prov’d
he had not heard me; and I drew a long breath, for I knew that without a
lantern he would never spy, in the darkness, the telltale rope dangling
from the tower.
In the room where I stood all was right. But the flooring was uneven to
the foot, and scatter’d with small pieces of masonry. ’Twas one of the
many chambers in the castle that had dropp’d into disrepair. Groping my
way with both hands, and barking my shins on the loose stones, I found
a low vaulted passage that led me into a second chamber, empty as the
first. To my delight, the door of this was ajar, with a glimmer of light
slanting through the crack. I made straight toward it, and pull’d the
door softly. It open’d, and show’d a lantern dimly burning, and the
staircase of the keep winding past me, up into darkness.
My chance was, of course, to descend: which I did on tiptoe, hearing no
sound. The stairs twisted down and down, and ended by a stout door with
another lamp shining above it. After listening a moment I decided to be
bold, and lifted the latch. A faint cry saluted me.
I stood face to face with the jailer’s daughter.
The room was a small one, well lit, and lin’d about the walls with cups
and bottles. ’Twas, as I guess’d, a taproom for the soldiers: and the
girl had been scouring one of the pewter mugs when my entrance startled
her. She stood up, white as if painted, and gasp’d—
“Quick—quick! Down here behind the counter for your life!”
There was scarce time to drop on my knees before a couple of troopers
loung’d in, demanding mull’d beer. The girl bustled about to serve them,
while the pair lean’d their elbows on the counter, and in this easy
attitude began to chat.
“A shrewd night!”
“Aye, a very freezing frost! Lucky that soldiering is not all sentry
work, or I for one ‘ud ensue my natural trade o’ plumbing. But let’s be
cheerful: for the voice o’ the turtle is heard i’ the land.”
“Hey?”
The man took a pull at his hot beer before explaining.
“The turtle signifieth the Earl o’ Stamford, that is to-night visiting
Colonel Essex in secret: an’ this is the import—war, bloody war. Mark
me.”
“Stirring, striving times!”
“You may say so! ’A hath fifteen thousand men, the Earl, no farther off
than Taunton—why, my dear, how pale you look, to be sure!”
“’Tis my head that aches,” answer’d the girl.
The men finish’d their drink, and saunter’d out. I crept from under the
counter, and look’d at her.
“Father’ll kill me for this!”
“Then you shall say—Is it forward or back I must go?”
“Neither.” She pull’d up a trap close beside her feet, and pointed out a
ladder leading down to the darkness. “The courts are full of troopers,”
she added.
“The cellar?”
She nodded.
“Quick! There’s a door at the far end. It leads to the crypt of St.
John’s Chapel. You’ll find the key beside it, and a lantern. Here is
flint and steel.” She reach’d them down from a shelf beside her. “Crouch
down, or they’ll spy you through the window. From the crypt a passage
takes you to the governor’s house. How to escape then, God knows! ’Tis
the best I can think on.”
I thank’d her, and began to step down the ladder. She stood for a moment
to watch, leaving the trap open for better light. Between the avenue of
casks and bins I stumbled toward the door and lantern that were just to
be discern’d at the far end of the cellar. As I struck steel on flint,
I heard the trap close: and since then have never set eyes on that
kind-hearted girl.
The lantern lit, I took the key and fitted it to the lock. It turned
noisily, and a cold whiff of air struck my face. Gazing round this new
chamber, I saw two lines of squat pillars, supporting a low arch’d roof.
’Twas the crypt beneath the chapel, and smelt vilely. A green moisture
trickled down the pillars, and dripp’d on the tombs beneath them.
At the end of this dreary place was a broken door, consisting only of a
plank or two, that I easily pull’d away: and beyond, a narrow passage,
over which I heard the tread of troopers plainly, as they pac’d to and
fro; also the muffled note of the clock, sounding seven.
The passage went fairly straight, but was block’d here and there
with fallen stones, over which I scrambled as best I could. And then,
suddenly I was near pitching down a short flight of steps. I held the
lantern aloft and look’d.
At the steps’ foot widen’d out a low room, whereof the ceiling, like
that of the crypt, rested on pillars. Between these, every inch of space
was pil’d with barrels, chests, and great pyramids of round shot. In
each corner lay a heap of rusty pikes. Of all this the signification was
clear. I stood in the munition room of the Castle.
But what chiefly took my notice was a great door, studded with iron
nails, that barr’d all exit from the place. Over the barrels I crept
toward it, keeping the lantern high, in dread of firing any loose
powder. ’Twas fast lock’d.
I think that, for a moment or two, I could have wept. But in a while the
thought struck me that with the knife in my pocket ’twas possible to cut
away the wood around the lock. “Courage!” said I: and pulling it forth,
knelt down to work.
Luck in life has always used me better than my deserts. At an hour’s end
there I was, hacking away steadily, yet had made but little progress.
And then, pressing the knife deep, I broke the blade off short. The door
upon the far side was cas’d with iron.
_Tramp—tramp!_
’Twas the sound of man’s footfall, and to the ear appear’d to be
descending a flight of steps on the other side of the door. I bent my
ear to the keyhole: then stepp’d to a cask of bullets that stood handy
by. I took out a dozen, felt in my pocket for Delia’s kerchief that she
had given me, caught up a pike from the pile stack’d in the corner, and
softly blowing out my light, stood back to be conceal’d by the door,
when it open’d.
The footsteps still descended. I heard an aged voice muttering—
“Shrivel my bones—ugh!—ugh! Wintry work—wintry work! Here’s an hour
to send a grandfatherly man a-groping for a keg o’ powder!”
A wheezy cough clos’d the sentence, as a key was with difficulty fitted
in the lock.
“Ugh—ugh! Sure, the lock an’ I be a pair, for stiff joints.”
The door creak’d back against me, and a shaft of light pierc’d the
darkness.
Within the threshold, with his back to me, stood a grey-bearded servant,
and totter’d so that the lantern shook in his hand. It sham’d me to lift
a pike against one so weak. Instead, I dropp’d it with a clatter, and
leap’d forward. The old fellow jumped like a boy, turn’d, and fac’d me
with dropp’d jaw, which gave me an opportunity to thrust four or five
bullets, not over roughly, into his mouth. Then, having turn’d him on
his back, I strapp’d Delia’s kerchief tight across his mouth, and took
the lantern from his hand.
Not a word was said. Sure, the poor old man’s wits were shaken, for he
lay meek as a mouse, and star’d up at me, while I unstrapp’d his belt
and bound his feet with it. His hands I truss’d up behind him with his
own neckcloth; and catching up the lantern, left him there. I lock’d
the door after me, and slip’d the key into my pocket as I sprang up the
stairs beyond.
But here a light was shining, so once more I extinguish’d my lantern.
The steps ended in a long passage, with a handsome lamp hanging at the
uttermost end, and beneath this lamp I stepp’d into a place that fill’d
me with astonishment.
’Twas, I could not doubt, the entrance hall of the governor’s house. An
oak door, very massive, fronted me; to left and right were two smaller
doors, that plainly led into apartments of the house. Also to my
left, and nigher than the door on that side, ran up a broad staircase,
carpeted and brightly lit all the way, so that a very blaze fell on me
as I stood. Under the first flight, close to my left shoulder, was a
line of pegs with many cloaks and hats depending therefrom. Underfoot, I
remember, the hall was richly tiled in squares of red and white marble.
Now clearly, this was a certain place wherein to be caught. “But,”
thought I, “behind one of the two doors, to left or to right, must lie
the governor’s room of business; and in that room—as likely as not—his
keys.” Which door, then, should I choose? For to stay here was madness.
While I stood pondering, the doubt was answer’d for me. From behind the
right-hand door came a burst of laughter and clinking of glasses, on top
of which a man’s voice—the voice of Colonel Essex—call’d out for more
wine.
I took a step to the door on the left, paus’d for a second or two with
my hand on the latch, and then cautiously push’d it open. The chamber
was empty.
’Twas a long room, with a light burning on a square centre table, and
around it a mass of books, loose papers and documents strewn, seemingly
without order. The floor too was litter’d with them. Clearly this was
the Colonel’s office.
I gave a rapid glance around. The lamp’s rays scarce illumin’d the far
corners; but in one of these stood a great leathern screen, and over
the fireplace near it a rack was hanging, full of swords, pistols, and
walking canes. Stepping toward it I caught sight of Anthony’s sword,
suspended there amongst the rest (they had taken it from me on the day
of my examination); which now I took down and strapp’d at my side. I
then chose out a pistol or two, slipped them into my sash, and advanced
to the centre table.
Under the lamplight lay His Majesty’s letter, open.
My hand was stretch’d out to catch it up, when I heard across the hall a
door open’d, and the sound of men’s voices. They were coming toward the
office.
There was scarce time to slip back, and hide behind the screen, before
the door latch was lifted, and two men enter’d, laughing yet.
“Business, my lord—business,” said the first (’twas Colonel Essex): “I
have much to do to-night.”
“Sure,” the other answer’d, “I thought we had settled it. You are to
lend me a thousand out of your garrison—”
“Which, on my own part, I would willingly do. Only I beg you to
consider, my lord, that my position here hangs on a thread. The extreme
men are already against me: they talk of replacing me by Fiennes—”
“Nat Fiennes is no soldier.”
“No: but he’s a bigot—a stronger recommendation. Should this plan
miscarry, and I lose a thousand men—”
“Heavens alive, man! It _cannot_ miscarry. Hark ye: there’s Ruthen of
Plymouth will take the south road with all his forces. A day’s march
behind I shall follow—along roads to northward—parallel for a way, but
afterward converging. The Cornishmen are all in Bodmin. We shall come
on them with double their number, aye, almost treble. Can you doubt the
issue?”
“Scarcely, with the Earl of Stamford for General.”
The Earl was too far occupied to notice this compliment.
“’Twill be swift and secret,” he said, “as Death himself—and as sure.
Let be the fact that Hopton is all at sixes and sevens since the Marquis
shipp’d for Wales: and at daggers drawn with Mohun.”
Said the Colonel slowly—“Aye, the notion is good enough. Were I not in
this corner, I would not think twice. Listen now: only this morning they
forc’d me to order a young man’s hanging, who might if kept alive be
forc’d in time to give us news of value. I dar’d not refuse.”
“He that you caught with the King’s letter?”
“Aye—a trumpery missive, dealing with naught but summoning of the
sheriff’s posse and the like. There is more behind, could we but wait to
get at it.”
“The gallows may loosen his tongue. And how of the girl that was taken
too?”
“I have her in safe keeping. This very evening I shall visit her, and
make another trial to get some speech. Which puts me in mind—”
The Colonel tinkled a small hand bell that lay on the table.
The pause that followed was broken by the Earl.
“May I see the letter?”
The Colonel handed it, and tinkled the bell again, more impatiently. At
length steps were heard in the hall, and a servant open’d the door.
“Where is Giles?” ask’d the Colonel. “Why are you taking his place?”
“Giles can’t be found, your honor.”
“Hey?”
“He’s a queer oldster, your honor, an’ maybe gone to bed wi’ his aches
and pains.”
(I knew pretty well that Giles had done no such thing: but be sure I
kept the knowledge safe behind my screen.)
“Then go seek him, and say—No, stop: I can’t wait. Order the coach
around at the barbican in twenty minutes from now—twenty minutes, mind,
without fail. And say—’twill save time—the fellow’s to drive me to
Mistress Finch’s house in St. Thomas’ Street—sharp!”
As the man departed on his errand, the Earl laid down His Majesty’s
letter.
“Hang the fellow,” he said, “if they want it: the blame, if any, will
be theirs. But, in the name of Heaven, Colonel, don’t fail in lending me
this thousand men! ’Twill finish the war out of hand.”
“I’ll do it,” answered the Colonel slowly.
“And I’ll remember it,” said the Earl. “To-morrow, at six o’clock, I set
out.”
The two men shook hands on their bargain and left the room, shutting the
door after them.
I crept forth from behind the screen, my heart thumping on my ribs. Thus
far it had been all fear and trembling with me; but now this was chang’d
to a kind of panting joy. ’Twas not that I had spied the prison keys
hanging near the fireplace, nor that behind the screen lay a heap of
the Colonel’s riding boots, whereof a pair, ready spurr’d, fitted me
choicely well; but that my ears tingled with news that turn’d my escape
to a matter of public welfare: and also that the way to escape lay
plann’d in my head.
Shod in the Colonel’s boots, I advanc’d again to the table. With
sealing-wax and the Governor’s seal, that lay handy, I clos’d up the
King’s letter, and sticking it in my breast, caught down the bunch of
keys and made for the door.
The hall was void. I snatch’d down a cloak and heavy broad-brimm’d hat
from one of the pegs, and donning them, slipp’d back the bolts of the
heavy door. It opened without noise. Then, with a last hitch of the
cloak, to bring it well about me, I stepp’d forth into the night,
shutting the door quietly on my heels.
My feet were on the pavement of the inner ward. Above, one star
only broke the blackness of the night. Across the court was a sentry
tramping. As I walk’d boldly up, he stopped short by the gate between
the wards and regarded me.
Now was my danger. I knew not the right key for the wicket: and if I
fumbled, the fellow would detect me for certain. I chose one and drew
nearer; the fellow look’d, saluted, stepp’d to the wicket, and open’d it
himself.
“Good night, Colonel!”
I did not trust myself to answer: but passed rapidly through to the
outer ward. Here, to my joy, in the arch’d passage of the barbican gate,
was the carriage waiting, the porter standing beside the door; and
here also, to my dismay, was a torch alight, and under it half a dozen
soldiers chatting. A whisper pass’d on my approach—
“The Colonel!” and they hurried into the guardroom.
“Good evening, Colonel!” The porter bow’d low, holding the door wide.
I pass’d him rapidly, climb’d into the shadow of the coach, and drew a
long breath.
Then ensued a hateful pause, as the great gates were unbarr’d. I gripp’d
my knees for impatience.
The driver spoke a word to the porter, who came round to the coach door
again.
“To Mistress Finch’s, is it not?”
“Ay,” I muttered; “and quickly.”
The coachman touched up his pair. The wheels mov’d; went quicker. We
were outside the Castle.
With what relief I lean’d back as the Castle gates clos’d behind us! And
with what impatience at our slow pace I sat upright again next minute!
The wheels rumbled over the bridge, and immediately we were rolling
easily down hill, through a street of some importance: but by this time
the shutters were up along the shop fronts and very few people abroad.
At the bottom we turn’d sharp to the left along a broader thoroughfare:
and then suddenly drew up.
“Are we come?” I wonder’d. But no: ’twas the city gate, and here we had
to wait for three minutes at least, till the sentries recogniz’d the
Colonel’s coach and open’d the doors to us. They stood on this side
and that, presenting arms, as we rattled through; and next moment I was
crossing a broad bridge, with the dark Avon on either side of me, and
the vessels thick thereon, their lanterns casting long lines of yellow
on the jetty water, their masts and cordage looming up against the dull
glare of the city.
Soon we were between lines of building once more, shops, private
dwellings and warehouses intermix’d; then pass’d a tall church; and in
about two minutes more drew up again. I look’d out.
Facing me was a narrow gateway leading to a house that stood somewhat
back from the street, as if slipping away from between the lines of
shops that wedg’d it in on either hand. Over the grill a link was
burning. I stepp’d from the coach, open’d the gate, and crossing the
small court, rang at the house bell.
At first there was no answer. I rang again: and now had the satisfaction
to hear a light footfall coming. A bolt was pull’d and a girl appear’d
holding a candle high in her hand. Quick as thought, I stepped past her
into the passage.
“Delia!”
“Jack!”
“Hist! Close the door. Where is Mistress Finch?”
“Upstairs, expecting Colonel Essex. Oh, the happy day! Come—” she
led me into a narrow back room and setting down the light regarded
me—“Jack, my eyes are red for thee!”
“I see they are. To-morrow I was to be hang’d.”
She put her hands together, catching her breath: and very lovely I
thought her, in her straight grey gown and Puritan cap.
“They have been questioning me. Didst get my letter?”
The answer was on my lip when there came a sound that made us both
start.
’Twas the dull echo of a gun firing, up at the Castle.
“Delia, what lies at the back here?”
“A garden and a garden door: after these a lane leading to Redcliff
Street.”
“I must go, this moment.”
“And I?”
She did not wait my answer, but running out into the passage, she came
swiftly back with a heavy key. I open’d the window.
“Delia! De-lia!” ’Twas a woman’s voice calling her, at the head of the
stairs.
“Aye, Mistress Finch.”
“Who was that at the door?”
I sprang into the garden and held forth a hand to Delia. “In one moment,
mistress!” call’d she, and in one moment was hurrying with me across the
dark garden beds. As she fitted the key to the garden gate, I heard the
voice again.
“De-lia!”
’Twas drown’d in a—wild _rat-a-tat!_ on the street door, and the shouts
of many voices. We were close press’d.
“Now, Jack—to the right for our lives! Ah, these clumsy skirts!”
We turn’d into the lane and rac’d down it. For my part, I swore to drown
myself in Avon rather than let those troopers retake me. I heard their
outcries about the house behind us, as we stumbled over the frozen
rubbish heaps with which the lane was bestrewn.
“What’s our direction?” panted I, catching Delia’s hand to help her
along.
“To the left now—for the river.”
We struck into a narrow side street; and with that heard a watchman
bawl—
“_Past nine o’ the night, an’ a—!_”
The shock of our collision sent him to finish his say in the gutter.
“Thieves!” he yell’d.
But already we were twenty yards away, and now in a broader street,
whereof one side was wholly lin’d with warehouses. And here, to our
dismay, we heard shouts behind, and the noise of feet running.
About halfway down the street I spied a gateway standing ajar, and
pull’d Delia aside, into a courtyard litter’d with barrels and timbers,
and across it to a black empty barn of a place, where a flight of wooden
steps glimmer’d, that led to an upper story. We climb’d these stairs at
a run.
“Faugh! What a vile smell!”
The loft was pil’d high with great bales of wool, as I found by the
touch, and their odor enough to satisfy an army. Nevertheless, I was
groping about for a place to hide, when Delia touch’d me by the arm, and
pointed.
Looking, I descried in the gloom a tall quadrilateral of purple, not
five steps away, with a speck of light shining near the top of it, and
three dark streaks running down the middle, whereof one was much thicker
than the rest. ’Twas an open doorway; the speck, a star fram’d within
it; the broad streak, a ship’s mast reaching up; and the lesser ones
two ends of a rope, working over a pulley above my head, and used for
lowering the bales of wool on shipboard.
Advancing, I stood on the sill and look’d down. On the black water,
twenty feet below, lay a three-masted trader, close against the
warehouse. My toes stuck out over her deck, almost.
At first glance I could see no sign of life on board: but presently was
aware of a dark figure leaning over the bulwarks, near the bows. He
was quite motionless. His back was toward us, blotted against the black
shadow; and the man engag’d only, it seem’d, in watching the bright
splash of light flung by the ship’s lantern on the water beneath him.
I resolv’d to throw myself on the mercy of this silent figure; and put
out a hand to test the rope. One end of it was fix’d to a bale of wool
that lay, as it had been lower’d, on the deck. Flinging myself on the
other, I found it sink gently from the pulley, as the weight below moved
slowly upward: and sinking with it, I held on till my feet touch’d the
deck.
Still the figure in the bows was motionless.
I paid out my end of the rope softly, lowering back the bale of wool:
and, as soon as it rested again on deck, signalled to Delia to let
herself down.
She did so. As she alighted, and stood beside me, our hands bungled. The
rope slipp’d up quickly, letting down the bale with a run.
We caught at the rope, and stopp’d it just in time: but the pulley above
creak’d vociferously. I turn’d my head.
The man in the bows had not mov’d.