THE SECRET PASSAGE.
For a full hour Hugh John sat on the top step of the stairs, or went
back and forward between these and the narrow circular opening so high
above his head, which was now filled with a sort of ruddy haze, the
sign that the sun was setting comfortably and sedately outside, behind
the smooth green hills in which the Cheviots broke down into the
Solway Marshes. It was not so much that the boy dared not descend into
the secret passage. Rather he did not wish to confront the blankness
of disappointment. The steps might lead nowhere at all. They might
drop off suddenly into the depths of a well.
To prove to himself that he was quite calm, and also that he was in no
hurry, Hugh John ate the third of his bread-squares and drank the
water which had meantime collected in the stone shell. Heroes always
refreshed themselves thus before an adventure.
"'None knoweth when our lips shall touch the blessed bread again!'
This prog's too hanged dry for anything!"--that was what Hugh John
said, quoting (partly) from the "Life and Death of Arthur the King."
Then feeling that mere poetry was off and that the time for action had
definitely come, he tied to his rope a large fallen stone which lay in
a corner, and crawling over the shell to the head of the steps, he
threw it down. It did not go far, appearing to catch in some
projection. He tried again with a like result. He pulled it up. The
stone was dry. The opening was not, then, a well with water at the
bottom.
So Hugh John cautiously put his foot upon the threshold of the secret
passage, and commenced the perilous descent. He clutched the edge of
the top step as he let himself down. It was cold, wet, and clammy, but
the stones beneath seemed secure enough. So he continued to descend
till he found himself in a narrow staircase which went down and down,
gradually twisting to the left away from the light. His heart beat
fast, and there was a curious heavy feeling about his nostrils, which
doubtless came from the damp mists of a confined place so close to the
river.
The adventurous General had descended quite a long way when he came to
a level stone-flagged passage. He advanced twenty yards along it, and
then put out his hands. He found himself in a narrow cell, dripping
with wet and ankle deep in mud. The cell was so small, that by making
a couple of steps Hugh John could feel it from side to side. At the
farther end of it there was evidently a door or passage of some sort,
but it was blocked up with fallen stones and rubbish; yet through it
came the strangest muffled noises. Something coughed like a man in
pain. There was also a noise as of the feet of animals moving about
stealthily and restlessly, and he seemed even to hear voices speaking.
A wild unreasoning fear suddenly filled the boy's heart. He turned and
fled, stumbling hastily up the stairs by which he had so cautiously
descended. The thought of the black beast, great as a calf, of which
Nipper Donnan had spoken, came upon him and almost mastered him. Yet
all the time he knew that Nipper had only said it to frighten him. But
it was now dark night, even in the upper dungeon. He was alone in a
haunted castle, and, as the gloaming settled down, Hugh John cordially
agreed with Sir David Brewster, who is reputed to have said, "I do not
believe in ghosts, but I am afraid of them."
In spite of all his gallantry of the day, and the resolutions he had
made that his prison record should be strictly according to rule, Hugh
John's sudden panic took complete hold of him. He sat down under the
opening of the dungeon, and for the first time cried bitter tears,
excusing himself on the ground that there was no one there to see him,
and anyway he could easily leave that part out when he came to write
his journal. About this time he also slipped in a surreptitious
prayer. He thought that at least it could do no harm. Prissy had
induced him to try this method sometimes, but mostly he was afraid to
let her know about it afterwards, because it made Prissy so unbearably
conceited. But after all this was in a dungeon, and many very
respectable prisoners quite regularly said their prayers, as any one
may see for themselves in the books.
"You see," said Hugh John, explanatorily afterwards, "it's very easy
for them. They have nothing else to do. They haven't to wash, and take
baths, and comb their hair, and be ordered about! It's easy to be good
when you're leading a natural life."
This was Hugh John's prayer, and a model for any soldier's
pocket-book.
"Our Father Witch-Charta-Nevin" (this he considered a Christian name
and surname, curious but quite authoritative), "help me to get out of
this beastly hole. Help me to lick Nipper Donnan till he can't stand,
and bust Sammy Carter for running away. For we are all miserable
sinners. God bless father and Prissy, Arthur George (I wonder where
the little beast went to--guess he sneaked--just wait!), Janet
Sheepshanks, Mary Jane Housemaid, and everybody about the house and
down at the stables, except Bella Murdoch, that is a clash-bag and a
tell-tale-tit. And make me a good boy. For Jesus' sake. Aymen."
That the last petition was by no means a superfluous one every reader
of this history will agree. Hugh John very carefully said "Ay-men"
now, because he had said "A-men" in the morning. He noticed that his
father always said "Ay-men" very solemnly at the end of a prayer,
while Prissy, who liked going to church even on week days (a low
dodge!), insisted upon "A-men." So Hugh John used "Ay-men" and "A-men"
time about, just to show that there was no ill-feeling. Thus early in
life does the leaven of Gallio (who "cared for none of these things")
begin to show itself. Hugh John was obviously going to be a very
pronounced Broad Churchman.
The prayer did the captive General much good. He was not now nearly so
much afraid of the beasts. The hole did not seem to yawn so black
beneath him; and though he kept his ear on the cock for anything that
might come at him up the stairs, he could with some tolerable
composure sit still and wait for the morning. He decided that so soon
as it was even a little light, he would try again and find out if he
could not remove the rubbish from the further door.
The midsummer morn was not long in coming--shorter far indeed to Hugh
John than to the anxious hearts that were scattered broadcast over the
face of the country seeking for him. Scarcely had the boy sat down to
wait for the daylight when his head sank on his breast. Presently he
swayed gently to the side, and turning over with a contented little
murmur, he curled himself up like a tired puppy and went fast asleep.
When he awoke, a fresher pink radiance than that of eventide filled
the aperture above his head--the glow of the wide, sweet, blushful
dawn which flooded all the eastern sky outside the tall grey walls of
the Castle of Windy Standard.
Hugh John rose, stretched himself, yawned, and looked about him in
surprise. There was no Toady Lion in a little white ship on four iron
legs, moored safe alongside him; no open door through into Prissy's
room; no birch-tree outside the window, glimmering purest white and
delicatest pink in the morning light--nothing, in short, that had
greeted his waking eyes every morning of his life hitherto.
But there were compensations. He was a prisoner. He had endured a
night in a dungeon. His hair would almost certainly have turned pure
white, or at least streaky. What boy of his age had ever done these
things since the little Dauphin, about whom he was so sorry, and over
whose fate he had shed such bitter tears? Had Sammy Carter? Hugh John
smiled a sarcastic and derisive smile. Sammy Carter indeed! He would
just like to see Sammy Carter try it once! _He_ would have been dead
by this time, if he had had to go through the tenth of what he (Hugh
John) had undergone. Had Mike or Peter? They were big and strong. They
smoked pipes. But they had never been tortured, never shut up in a
dungeon with wild beasts in the next compartment, and no hasp on the
door.
The staircase--the secret passage! Hugh John's heart fluttered wildly.
He might even yet get back in time for breakfast. There would be
porridge--and egg-and-bacon--oh! crikey, yes, and it was kidney
morning. Hugh John's mouth watered. There was no need of the cool
fluid in the shell of limestone now! Could there indeed be such
dainties in the world? It did not seem possible. And yet that very
morning--he meant the morning before--no, surely it must have been in
some other life infinitely remote, he had grumbled because he had not
had cream instead of milk to his porridge, and because the bacon was
not previously crisp enough. He felt that if ever he were privileged
to taste as good bacon again, he would become religious like
Prissy--or take some such extreme measure as that.
[Illustration: "OVER THE CLOSELY PACKED WOOLLY BACKS HE SAW A STRETCH
OF RIPPLED RIVER."]
Hugh John had no appetite for the "poison squares" now. He tried one,
and it seemed to be composed in equal parts of sawdust and the
medicament called "Rough-on-rats!" He tried the water in the shell,
and that was somewhat better; but just to think of tea from the
urn--soft ivory cream floating on the top, curded a little but light
as blown sea-foam! Ah, he could wait no longer. The life of a prisoner
was all very well, but he could not even get materials with which to
write up his diary till he got home. For this purpose it was necessary
that he should immediately make his escape. Also it was kidney
morning, and if he did not hurry that little wretch Toady Lion would
have eaten up every snatch. He resolved to lose no time.
So with eager steps he descended the steep wet stairs into the little
stone chamber, which smelt fearfully damp and clammy, just as if all
the snails in the world had been crawling there.
"I bet the poor chap down here had toothache," said Hugh John,
shivering as he went forward to attack the pile of fallen stones in
front of the arched doorway. For an hour he worked most manfully,
pulling out such as he could manage to loosen, and tossing others
aside. Thus he gradually undercut the mass which blocked up the door,
till, with a warning creak or two the whole pitched forward and
inward, giving the daring pioneer just time to leap aside before it
came toppling into the narrow cell, which it more than half filled. As
soon as the avalanche had settled, Hugh John staggered over the top of
the fallen stones and broken _debris_ to the small door. As his head
came on a level with the opening he saw a strange sight. He looked
into a little ruined turret, the floor of which was of smoothest green
sward--or, rather, which would have been of green sward had it not
been thickly covered with sheep, all lying placidly shoulder to
shoulder, and composedly drawing in the morning air through their
nostrils as if no such word as "mutton" existed in the vocabularies of
any language.
Beyond and over the closely packed woolly backs he saw a stretch of
rippled river, faceted with diamond and ruby points, where the rising
sun just touched the tips of the little chill wavelets which were
fretted by the wind of morning, that gust of cooler air which the dawn
pushes before it round the world. Hugh John was free!