THE OLD FORT
Coming events do not always cast their shadows before them; or, if they
do, those shadows are so filmy and ghostlike that only one endowed with
the keenest of vision is able to see them. Never was there a fresher,
calmer sea than that which greeted the three girls, Betty, Pearl and
Ruth, when they pushed off in Ruth’s punt that morning bound for Fort
Skammel. A perfect morning, not a shadowy suggestion of adventure. And
yet——
An hour after they left the sandy beach of the island, Ruth’s unnerved
fingers dropped a lighted electric torch on the floor at the heart of the
ancient fort. It fell with a dull thud, and blinked out.
“Hot,” Ruth whispered. “The air down there is hot!”
“I told you,” Betty whispered back. She was working feverishly,
struggling to free a second flashlight from the tangled mesh of her
knitted sweater pocket.
Sensing what she was about, Ruth whispered:
“Get—get it?”
“Not yet.” The younger girl’s words came in short gasps.
Little wonder that they were startled. Having penetrated into the very
heart of the old fort, having made their way through a one-time secret
passage to a dungeon, they had come at last to the door in the floor. And
the door stood wide open. Against their cheeks, grown cold from constant
contact with clammy air, had blown a breath that seemed hot like the
blast of a furnace.
They had come to a sudden halt, and there they stood.
Even in the broad light of day there is something gloomy, foreboding and
mysterious about old Fort Skammel. Children who have ventured across the
bay to the all but deserted island, where this ancient abandoned fort
stands, will tell you of curious tales of adventures met with there, how
the red eyes of rats as big as cats gleamed at them in the dark, how they
have discovered secret passageways that led on and on until in fright
they turned and went racing back into the bright light of day, and how at
times ghostlike voices sounded down the echoing aisles.
In a little cove where the sand was snow white the three girls had drawn
their punt high on the beach. Pearl had volunteered to stand guard
outside. The other two had begun wending their way over a path that winds
between tall grass and bushes to the fort.
Finding themselves at last before a great open stone archway that led
directly into the chill damp of the fort, they had paused to listen and
to think. The next moment, with a little quickening at her heart, Ruth
had led the way into the semi-darkness of a stone corridor, and from
there on and on into the deepening darkness. Now, here they were. Ruth
had longed to look into that mysterious room. The opening to it was now
at her feet, yet she felt more inclined to run away than to linger.
“Can’t you get it?” she whispered again, as no light appeared.
“It’s caught in my pocket. No, now I have it.”
The next instant a yellow light brought out once more the damp and
dripping walls of stone with the mysterious opening in the floor at their
feet.
“It was hot.” Ruth’s tone was full of awe. “I felt it. I felt hot air on
my cheek!”
“So did I.”
Putting out two fingers, Ruth felt the fanning of hot air. “Warm,” she
said, “not hot. Just seemed that way. But how could it be?”
“Can’t be a stove?”
“No. Tons of granite above.” Her eyes sought the low stone arch over
their heads.
“Going to see,” said Ruth stoutly, dropping on her knees.
With a gasp Betty put out a hand to stop her. She was too late. Ruth had
caught the ledge and swung down. Betty could but follow. The next instant
they were looking upon a strange scene. This room, warmed by some
mysterious power, as Betty had said, was piled high with bales and boxes
of every description.
One of the boxes had slid from its place and burst open, revealing a half
dozen silk dresses of bright and varied hues.
At once Ruth’s heart was in her throat. Here was treasure. Where was its
keeper?
A rapid survey of the room revealed the surprising fact that there was no
keeper, or at least, if there was one, he was away.
The thing that the two girls did after recovering from their astonishment
might, by some cold and practical people, seem the height of folly.
Certainly, under the circumstances, it could not be called wise. But who
of us all behave wisely at all times?
Placing the flashlight carefully in the niche in the wall, Ruth picked up
the top dress of the half dozen in the broken cardboard box.
It was a beautiful thing of purple, so thin and soft that it waved like a
rippling sea.
“How strange!” she murmured. “Just my size.”
Before she knew what she was about, her khaki waist and knickers were off
and the beautiful dress was on.
Not a moment had passed before Betty, too, was dressed in silk, a
marvelous creation of flaming red.
And then, faint and from far away, there echoed down the long-abandoned
corridors the sound of footsteps.
“This way!” Seizing the flashlight, with no thought of how she was
garbed, Ruth leaped up and out, then on tiptoe went racing down the aisle
that led away from the chamber of mysteries, and on and on into the dark.
Madly the feet of the two girls flew down a winding corridor, wildly
their hearts beat, as they fled from resounding footsteps.
Now the round circle of yellow light from their electric torch guided
them. And now, as Ruth suddenly realized that the light would reveal
their whereabouts, the light blinked out, and, dropping to a walk, then
to a slow creep, guided only by the sense of touch, they moved along
between the dripping walls.
“Could anything be worse?” said Betty.
“Nothing,” Ruth came back.
She was thinking, thinking hard. Tales had been told of ancient wells dug
there years ago to enable the garrison to withstand a siege. That the
wells now stood uncovered down there somewhere in the depths of the
earth, she knew all too well.
“If we blunder into one of those!” Her heart stopped beating.
“The dresses!” Betty whispered suddenly. “Our khakis! We left them. We
must go back for them. They will have us arrested.”
“We can’t. They won’t,” said Ruth, still pushing ahead in the dark.
“Ought to turn on the light,” she told herself. “Must! It’s not safe.”
Pausing to listen, she caught the shuffling scamper of rats, the snap of
bats. But louder still came the tramp—tramp of heavy feet.
In her fear and despair, she sprang forward, to go crashing against a
solid wall.
Knocked half senseless, she sank to her knees. There for a moment she
remained motionless. For a moment only, then she was on her feet and
away. Her eyes had caught a faint glimmer of light. Far down the narrow
passage to the left shone the steady light of day.
“Light!” she whispered solemnly. “Light and hope.”
One moment of mad racing and they were blinking in the sunlight.
The race was not over. Out of the passage, down a set of ancient stone
steps, into the grass and bushes, skirts tight and high, they flew until
they came up short and panting at the beach.
There in the calm morning were Pearl and the punt.
“You’re here!” Ruth puffed. “Thank God, you’re here!”
Next moment she stood knee deep in water, launching the punt. Then with a
little gasp of hope, she swung the punt about and began rowing as if for
her very life.