The old woodcutter sat in his cell, his spirits yet unbroken, and
resolved, as at first, to adhere to the faith. Still, accustomed as he
had been to a life in the open air, his spirits occasionally flagged and
his health somewhat suffered. Often and often he thought to himself, as
he examined the walls of his prison, "If I had an iron tool of some
sort, I doubt if these walls would long contain me." But everything he
had possessed had been taken from him when he was first brought to
prison, and not even a nail could he find with which to work as he
proposed. He was seated on his heap of straw, and the gaoler entered
with his usual fare of brown bread and water.
"I have a message for you, old man," said the gaoler, who, though rough
in appearance, spoke sometimes in a kind tone. "A holy monk wishes to
see you, and bade me tell you so."
"I have no desire to see a monk," answered Moretz. "He cannot make me
change my faith, and it would be time lost were he to come to me."
"But he brings you a message from your grandchildren," said the gaoler.
"He bade me say that if you refused to see him--"
Moretz thought an instant. "Let him come then," he answered.
The gaoler nodded and took his departure. In a short time he returned,
ushering in a sturdy, strong-looking man in a monk's dress. The gaoler
retired, closing the door.
"You do not know me, friend Moretz," said his visitor, in a low voice.
"I have been admitted, that I might give you spiritual comfort and
advice," he said, in a louder tone, "and I gladly accepted the office."
His visitor talked for some time with Moretz, producing from under his
dress a book from which he read, though not without difficulty, by the
gleam of light which came in through the small opening which has been
spoken of. From another pocket he produced two iron instruments
carefully wrapped up, so as not to strike against each other. "Here is
a strong chisel," he said, "and here is a stout file. I have heard of
people working their way through prison walls with worse instruments
than these. Now farewell, friend Moretz. The time I am allowed to
remain with you is ended, and the gaoler will be here anon to let me out
of the prison."
"I fear you run a great risk," said Moretz, warmly thanking his visitor.
"For the Lord's people I am ready to run any risk," was the answer, and
just then the gaoler was heard drawing back the bolts. The friar took
his departure.
The old woodcutter was once more left alone. He had piled up his straw
on the side of the wall on which the opening was placed. He now
carefully drew it back, and began working away at a stone which had
before been hidden by it. His success surpassed his expectations.
There had been a drain or a hole left for some purpose, carelessly
filled up. Thus hour after hour he scraped away, carefully replacing
the straw directly he heard the gaoler's step near his door. What a
sweet thing is liberty! The woodcutter's chief difficulty was to hide
the rubbish he dug out, the straw being scarcely sufficient for that
purpose. As he was working, however, he let his chisel drop. He
thought the stone on which it dropped emitted a hollow sound. He worked
away in consequence, to remove it, and great was his satisfaction to
find beneath a hole of some size. He was now able to labour with more
confidence. In a short time he had removed the stone from the wall,
giving him an aperture of sufficient size to pass through. The earth
beyond was soft. And now he dug and dug away, following up the hole in
the pavement. He was afraid sometimes that his hands covered with earth
might betray him, but the gaoler's lantern was dim, and he managed
always to conceal them as much as possible when the man entered.
At length he felt sure from the height he had worked that he was near
the surface of the earth on the outside. He now feared lest it might
fall in during the daytime, and this made him hesitate about working
except during the hours of the night. He had saved up as many crusts of
bread as his pockets would hold, in order, should it become necessary
for him to lie concealed for any length of time, that he might have
wherewith to support life. And now the time arrived when he believed
that he should be able to extricate himself altogether. He waited till
the gaoler had paid his last visit, and then watched anxiously till the
thickening gloom in his cell showed him that night was approaching. He
had all along of course worked in darkness, so that it being night made
no difference to him. He now dug away bravely, and as he had not to
carry the earth into the hole, he made great progress. At length,
working with his chisel above his head, he felt it pierce through the
ground. Greater caution was therefore necessary, lest the falling earth
should make a noise.
The fresh air which came down restored his strength, and in a few
minutes he was able to lift himself out of the hole. He did not,
however, venture to stand up, but lying his length on the ground, gazed
around him. The dark walls of the old castle rose up on one side. On
the other, at the bottom of a steep bank, was the moat, partly filled
up, however, with rubbish. Beyond, another bank had to be climbed, and
beyond that again was the wild open country, the castle being just
outside the walls of the town. He quickly formed his plan.
Slowly crawling on, he slid down the bank, and then stopped to see what
course he should take. There appeared to be no sentries on the watch on
that side of the castle, it being supposed probably that escape of any
prisoners was impossible. He was thus able more boldly to search for a
passage across the moat. The night was cloudy and the wind blew strong,
which, though he was in consequence not so well able to find his way,
prevented him being seen or heard. At length, partly wading and partly
scrambling over the rubbish, he reached the opposite bank. He waited to
rest, that he might the more rapidly spring up the bank. He gained the
top, when looking back and seeing no one, he hurried along the open
ground. He stopped not till he had obtained the shelter of some
brushwood, which formed, as it were, the outskirts of the forest. He
was well aware that, as at daylight his escape would be discovered, and
that he could easily be tracked, he must make the best speed his
strength would allow. He knew the country so well that he had no
difficulty in finding his way even in the dark. He could not, however,
venture to return to his own cottage. There was no lack of
hiding-places where he might remain till the search after him had
somewhat slackened.
At length, weary from his exertion, and having overrated his strength,
he sat himself down to rest, as he thought in safety, for a few minutes.
His eyelids closed in slumber, and, unconsciously to him, hour after
hour had passed away.
The sound of horns and the cries of huntsmen were heard in the forest.
They awoke old Moretz from his sleep. He started up, but it was too
late to conceal himself. A horseman in a rich costume, which showed his
rank, was close to him. "Whither away, old friend?" he exclaimed, as
Moretz instinctively endeavoured to conceal himself in some brushwood
near at hand. He stopped on hearing the voice of the huntsman.
"My lord," he answered, "I throw myself upon your mercy. I am guiltless
of any crime, and was cast unjustly into prison, from which I have made
my escape. If I am retaken, my life will be forfeited."
"That is strange," exclaimed the nobleman. "I will do my best to
protect you, but I cannot venture to dispute with the law, as I might
have done once on a time. As we came along we met a gang of persons,
hunting, they told us, for an escaped prisoner. There is no time to be
lost. Here!" and the nobleman called to one of his attendants, a tall
man, very similar in figure to the woodcutter. "Here; change dresses
with my old friend, and do you, as you are a bold forester and a strong,
active young man, climb up into the thickest tree, and hide yourself as
best you can till these hunters of their fellow-men have passed by."
The nobleman's orders were speedily obeyed, and Moretz, dressed in his
livery, mounted the groom's horse and rode on with the party. The
groom, meantime, who had put on the old man's clothes, affording no
small amusement to his companions, climbed up into a thick tree, as he
had been directed to do by his master.
"We will send thee a livery, my man, in which thou may'st return home
soon, and satisfy thy hunger, which may be somewhat sharpened by longer
abstinence than usual," said the count, as he rode on.
Scarcely had these arrangements been made, when the party from the gaol
in search of the fugitive came up. "Has the Count Furstenburg seen an
old man in a woodcutter's dress wandering through the forest?" inquired
their leader, in a tone which sounded somewhat insolent.
"The Count Furstenburg is not accustomed to answer questions unless
respectfully asked," replied the noble; "and so, master gaoler, you must
follow your own devices, and search for your prisoner where you may best
hope to find him." Then sounding his horn, he and his whole party rode
on together through the forest, taking care to keep old Moretz well in
their midst. Making a wide circuit, the count led them back to the
castle.