Dawn in the Dungeon—An Appalling Sight—Rough Visitors.
Sir John Assueton’s sleep was deep and uninterrupted until the first
dawn of morning, when he awoke and rubbed his eyelids, having, for a
moment, forgotten where he was, and all that had befallen him. The
first object that presented itself when he looked upwards was the
figure and countenance of the dead man, hanging almost immediately over
the spot where he lay. The features were horribly distorted and
discoloured, by the last agonies of the violent death he had died; the
tongue was thrust out, and the projected eyeballs were staring
fearfully from their sockets. The sight was appalling and
heart-sickening.
He could now observe that the dress of the unfortunate man was that of
a forester. The arms were rudely tied behind the back, and the body was
suspended from a huge iron ring, that hung loose in an enormous bolt of
the same metal, strongly built in vertically between the keystones of
the vault, the height of which was very considerable. It seemed as if
the wretched man had been dragged from his couch of straw to instant
punishment, or rather perhaps murder; for portions of the straw yet
littered the floor as if dragged along with him in his ineffectual
struggles, and some fragments of it still adhered between his ankles,
to the rough woollen hose he wore, as if retained there by the last
dying convulsion that had pressed and twisted the limbs unnaturally
together. Then the fatal rope was not like one intended for such a use.
It was thicker than seemed necessary, and looked as if it had been
hastily taken, as the readiest instrument for the murderous deed. After
passing through the ring, where it was fastened by two or three turns,
it stretched down diagonally to one corner of the place, where it lost
itself in an immense coil. It had manifestly been hastily brought
there, to effect the destruction of the unfortunate wretch, and
afterwards left on the floor uncut, that it might not be rendered unfit
for the purpose to which it had been originally dedicated.
It may seem strange that Assueton should have derived anything like
pleasure from a spectacle so truly appalling; but it is nevertheless
true, that a faint gleam of hope broke upon the miserable despair that
had possessed him. He saw that the coil of rope was of sufficient
extent to give him good reason to believe that, when untwisted, it
might reach to the base of the tower, at the top of which he was now
confined, if he could only detach it from what went upwards, and
conceal it until night. But how was he to sever it? He remembered that
he had concealed his dagger in his bosom at the time he put on his
disguise. Those who seized and bound him had immediately deprived him
of his sword, but they had not suspected his being possessed of any
other weapon, and his dagger, therefore, had escaped their notice. He
drew it joyfully forth; but just as he was about to divide the rope, he
paused, and observing that there were at least fourteen or sixteen feet
stretching diagonally between the coil and the ring, he hesitated to
cut it. To throw away so considerable a portion of it, when perhaps
that very piece might be essential to the preservation of his life,
would have been the height of imprudence; yet, to get at that portion,
there was but one way, and this was so disgusting, and so repugnant to
his feelings, that the very idea of it made him shudder.
But liberty, and perhaps life depended on it; and what will not the
desire of liberty and life compel human nature to attempt? To him both
were now more precious than ever, since they might yet be the means of
saving her without whom he could value neither. He hesitated not a
moment longer, but screwing up his resolution to the revolting
alternative, he laid hold of the legs of the dead man, swung himself up
from the ground, and, catching at his clothes, at last got the rope
within his gripe, and thus continued to climb, hand over hand, until he
reached the fatal ring. Holding by one sinewy arm, he drew forth his
dagger, and was again on the eve of cutting the rope close to the ring
when prudence once more stopped him. He had been from the first aware
that it was absolutely necessary to leave the dead body hanging, lest,
when his jailors should visit him, they might have their suspicions
awakened by its removal. What made him hesitate then, whilst hanging by
one arm to the ring and bolt to the arch in the vault, was the idea,
that by loosening the turns that were made in it, he might be enabled
to hoist up the body a few feet higher, then to fasten the turns of the
rope again, and thus gain so many more feet of rope. All this, with
immense fatigue of arm, he effected, and then dividing the rope with
his dagger, and descending to the floor, he lifted up the large coil,
and removing the straw of the bed, he hid it underneath, covering it up
with the greatest care. He was fully aware of the possibility of its
being missed from its place, sought for, and removed from the
concealment he had put it into; but it was also possible that the
wretches who had done the deed might not be among those who should come
to visit him, in which case its absence could never attract their
observation.
He now sat down to consider and arrange his plans. He at once saw that
it would be useless to attempt his descent while daylight remained, or,
indeed, while the people in the Castle might be supposed to be still
stirring, as, if he did try it then, he must do so with hardly a chance
of escaping detection. To lessen the risk of being observed and seized,
therefore, it was absolutely essential that he should postpone his
enterprise until night. But then the risk of his rope being discovered
before night crossed his mind: his judgment wavered, and he was filled
with the most cruel and perplexing doubts. He remembered that the state
of the moon, which left the earlier part of the night excessively dark,
made that by far the most favourable time to risk his fate; and he at
length determined that, a descent in day-light being perfectly
hopeless, he must be content to take his chance of the other
alternative. But what was he to do if the rope should be missed, sought
for, and detected? After some consideration, he resolved that in that
event he would draw his dagger, spring unawares on those who might
visit him, and so make a desperate endeavour to effect his escape, by
striking down all that might oppose him.
But another and a different thought now occurred to him. What if the
very first visit that might be paid him should be for the purpose of
taking down the murdered body from the ring, only to hang him up in its
place? Brave as he was he shuddered at the contemplation of such a
fate. He had already often faced death in bloody field, led on by glory
and the laudable thirst of fame; but to be hung up like a dog by the
hands of murderous ruffians in this lone chamber, far from every human
ear or eye but those of his clownish and unfeeling executioners, who
would take so small account of him, after witnessing his passing
agonies, as perhaps to leave him, as they had done the wretch who had
gone before him, till his place was wanted for a successor, and then
throw his half consumed body into some unholy spot, over which his
perturbed ghost might hover, seeking in vain for repose, this was to
strip death of the fascinating drapery which men have contrived to
throw over him, and to unveil all his terrors, But he steeled himself
for the worst, and, resolving to wait firmly, and to act as
circumstances might suggest, he determined that, happen what might, he
would sell his life dearly, should he be reduced to the unhappy
alternative of doing so.
With his mind thus wound up, he sat him down on the couch of straw,
that he might appear unconcerned to any one who might enter; and there
he remained, waiting patiently for the issue. He had been seated in
this way about a couple of hours, when he heard the heavy tread of feet
approaching along the passages. The key was inserted in the lock of the
door, and considerable force exerted before it could be turned.
“Be quick with you, old churl,” cried an impatient voice; “thou wilt be
all day working at it.”
The door half opened, and two or three heads were thrust in at once.
Seeing their prisoner calmly seated on the straw at the farther wall,
four men entered. One of these, a thick, squat, large-headed old man,
with a rough, cloddish, unfeeling countenance, and long, thick,
grizzled hair hanging about it, was clad in a close woollen jerkin and
hauselines, appeared to be the jailor, for several enormous keys hung
from divers straps attached to his leathern belt. He stationed himself
with his back at the door. The other three men were younger, but the
expression of their features betrayed such depraved and lawless
spirits, as might make them ready instruments to perpetrate any cruelty
or crime at the mere nod of a master. Their dress was similar to that
in which the murdered body was clothed. Two of them, armed with short
swords in their hands, placed themselves at the door, in front of the
old jailor, while the third, with a pewter-covered dish under his left
arm, an earthen jug of ale in his left hand, and his naked sword in his
right, advanced a little way, and deposited the provisions on the
pavement. Turning his eyes round, he beheld the dead body hanging.
“Heyday, Daniel Throckle,” said he, with a careless laugh, to the
jailor, “how camest thou to leave our comrade Tim Ord here, to keep
watch over this young man all night? By the mass, methinks he was but a
triste companion for him.”
“’Twas none o’ my doing, Master Ralpho Proudfoot; ’twas Wat Withe that
did the deed himsell. He got the key from me, and thou knowest he doth
not ever care overmuch, so he gets his job done, whether the workshop
be cleaned out or no. He thinks that be none o’ his business.”
“Nay, but, fine fellow as he thinks himself, he may come and take down
his own rubbish for me,” said Ralpho Proudfoot; “I clean out after no
sike cattle, I promise thee. An thou likest to do his dirty work thou
mayest, seeing thou art custodier of the place.” Then, turning to
Assueton, who had sat quite still all this time, “Here, sir,” said he,
“is thy morning’s meal—better eat it whiles it be hot—thou mayest not
have a many deal of sike like;” and as he said so, he threw his eye
sideways up towards the dead man. “Thou seest we be sometimes rather
more curt than courteous; thou canst not tell when it may be thy turn.”
“Young man,” said Assueton, composedly, and still without rising from
his sitting posture, “canst thou tell me why I have been so
traitorously seized and conveyed hither, and why I am thus immured, and
treated like a foul felon?”
“Nay, as to being treated like a felon, young man,” replied Ralpho
Proudfoot, evading his question, and laying particular emphasis on the
words in italics, “meseems ’tis but ungrateful of thee to say so,
seeing I have brought thee a dish of hot steaks, cut from the rump of a
good Scottish ront; and then for ale, never was better brewed about the
roots of the Cheviots, as well thou knowest, honest Daniel Throckle.”
The jailor replied by a significant chuckle, indicating his perfect
acknowledgment of Proudfoot’s assertion.
“Well,” continued Proudfoot, “we may e’en leave thee, young man, to the
full enjoyment of this pleasing sunshiny day, such as thou mayest have
on’t through yonder window on high, for thou mayest see even less on’t
to-morrow.” And, wheeling round, he was on the eve of departure, when
he suddenly stopped—“But hold,” said he, “had we not better ripe him,
to see that he hath nothing of weapon sort about him? Come forward,
young man; and do thou, old Daniel, approach, and feel his hide all
over, as thou wouldst do a fat sheep fed for the slaughter. And who
knows how soon it may be his lot? Approach, I say: we shall stand by
here, and see that he doeth thee no harm.”
Assueton perceived that resistance would be vain, and he also knew that
it was unnecessary. Before they entered, he had taken the precaution to
remove his dagger from his bosom, and conceal it among the straw near
where he sat, yet in such a manner as he could have easily seized it
had he seen any necessity for using it. He arose indignantly, and then,
with assumed carelessness, submitted to be searched; not, however,
without considerable inward alarm that they might not be contented with
the mere examination of his person, but proceed to rummage the straw
also. Should they do so, all his hopes were gone; but his heart kept
firm, and he stood with so easy and indifferent an air, that the
villains were soon satisfied.
“No, no,” cried Proudfoot, “I see all is sicker. So a jolly morning to
thee, young man. Come, lads, let us be trooping. We have work before
us, as ye well know.”
“Had I not better shake up his straw for him?” said one of the others;
“he may not be used to make his own bed.”
“Nay, nay,” said Proudfoot, “he may learn to make it, then; he can
never learn younger, I ween. Besides, hath he not Tim Ord there to help
him?—ha! ha! ha! By St. Roque, but they will have pleasant chat
together.”
“Nay, Daniel Throckle,” said the other man, “but thee shouldst come
back ere long, and remove this grim mate from his dorture.”
“Umph,” said Throckle, as if in doubt; “it’s a plaguey long stair to
climb, and I may not get hands to help me. But, nathless, I’ll see what
may be done. Wat Withe may peraunter——”
“Come, come,” cried Proudfoot, impatiently, “we are wanted ere this.
Off, I say—off;” and with these words they all four left the prison;
the door was bolted and barred with the utmost precaution, and their
heavy lumbering steps were heard retreating along the passages.
It was strange perhaps, but it was most true, that the shutting of the
rusty bolts sounded almost as sweetly in Assueton’s ear as if they had
been opened to give him liberty. The relief he felt at the retreat of
the four men was so great, that, like a pious knight, he knelt down and
offered up his heartfelt gratitude, in fervent thanksgivings to Heaven,
that his plans were as yet unfrustrated. He took up the food that had
been left with him, and made a hearty and cheerful meal. He then began
turning in his mind the circumstances that were likely to occur to him
before night, and again some cruel anticipations obtruded themselves.
Were Throckle to return to remove the body, perhaps it might be of
little consequence; but if, as he seemed to hint at when he was
interrupted—if he should call in the aid of Wat Withe, as they had
nicknamed the executioner, then all his schemes for escape must be
ruined. Nay, what if the coil of rope, the villain had so hastily
taken, should happen to be wanted before night for the purpose it had
been originally intended for? The thought was most alarming. Assueton
immediately removed the straw from it, that he might examine it
narrowly, and his mind was very much relieved when he discovered that
it was everywhere quite rough and new, as if it had never been used.
But still nothing presented itself to him, to rid him of the
apprehension of the return of Wat Withe, who could not fail to mark the
disappearance of the coil. A thousand times during the day he fancied
he heard steps approaching, and more than once he grasped his dagger to
prepare for bloody work. But it was all fancy. The only sound he heard
was that of the trampling of horses, the jingling of bridles, and the
clattering of weapons, mingled with the voices of men, as if some party
was riding forth.