# The Splendid Spur/Chapter 9

pp. 125–156.

### CHAPTER IX.
#### 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 jailor—a sour man, if ever there were one—brought me twice a day.
This keep lies in the north-west corner of the outer ward of the castle—a mighty tall pile and strongly built, the walls (as the jailor 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 jailor'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,
“Col$^{nl}$ 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 Col$^{nl}$ be a gentilman, he is prest 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—
{{block center|{{fine block|
“Vivre en tout cas,
C'est le grand soulas——”
and I broke off to hear the key turning in my lock.
The jailor'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 jailor'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 work-bag 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. Afterwards 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 guard-room, 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 tell-tale 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 tip-toe, 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 jailor'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 tap-room 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 lockt.
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 key-hole: 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 gray-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 leapt 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 slipt 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 honour.”
“Hey?”
“He's a queer oldster, your honour, 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 fire-place, 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 guard-room.
“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 ray 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 intermixt; 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 half-way 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 odour 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 ship-board.
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, signall'd 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.