Chapter Twenty One.
Temptation.
There was something ludicrous in the struggle that had taken place, especially as Hilary had so thoroughly won the day; but at the same time there was a very unpleasant side to his position. It was in the middle of the night and very dark, save in one corner of the stone-floored place where the remains of the heap of straw displayed a few sparks, and sent up a thin thread of smoke, which rose to the ceiling and there spread abroad, the rest having passed away, driven out by the draught caused by the open door. He had not a scrap of furniture; the straw was all burned, and the floor of his prison was stone.
Still there was one good thing upon his side—one which afforded Hilary the most intense satisfaction, and this was the fact that he had secured the cutlass. Not that he wanted it for fighting, though it might prove useful in case of need for his defence; but it suggested itself to him as being a splendid implement for raising one of the stones in the floor, with which help he might possibly get into the cellars or vaults below, and so escape.
“But I don’t like going to sleep on the stones,” said Hilary to himself, and tucking the cutlass under his arm, he felt the flooring in different places.
To his surprise he found it perfectly dry, for the intensely strong spirit had burned itself completely out, leaving not so much as a humid spot; and after climbing up to look out at the dark night, Hilary saw that the fire was as good as extinct, and ended by sitting down.
The stones were very cold, but he felt weary, and at last so intense a desire to sleep came upon him that he lay down, and in spite of the hardness of his couch and the fact that he had no pillow but his arm, he dropped off into a heavy sleep, from which he did not awaken till the sun was shining in through the window upon the smoke-blackened walls.
Hilary’s first thought was concerning his cutlass, which was safe by his side, and jumping up, he listened. Then he went to the door and listened again, but all was perfectly still.
What was he to do? he asked himself. He felt sure that Allstone would come before long, and others with him, to obtain possession of the weapon, and he was equally determined not to give it up. He might fight for it, but, now that he was cool, he felt a repugnance against shedding blood; and, besides, he knew that he must be overcome by numbers, perhaps wounded, and that would make a very uncomfortable state of things ten times worse.
The result was that he determined to hide the cutlass; but where?
He looked around the place, and, as far as he could see, there was not a place where he could have hidden away a bodkin, let alone the weapon in his hand.
Certainly he might have heaped over it the black ashes of the straw and the few unburned scraps; but such a proceeding would have been childish in the extreme.
It was terribly tantalising, for there was absolutely no place where he could conceal it; and at last, biting his lips with vexation, he exclaimed, after vainly looking out for a slab that he could raise:
“I must either fight for it or throw it out of the window; and I’d sooner do that than he should have it back. Hurrah! That will do!” he cried eagerly, as a thought struck him.
Laying down the cutlass, he leaped up to the window, pressed his face sidewise against the bars, and looked down, to see that the grass and weeds grew long below him.
He was down again directly and seated upon the floor, where, after listening for a few moments, he stripped down one of his blue worsted stoutly-knitted stockings, sought for a likely place, cut through a thread, and, pulling steadily, it rapidly came undone. This furnished him with a line of worsted some yards long.
Leaping up, he rapidly tied one end round the hilt of the cutlass, climbed to the window, and lowered the weapon down outside, till it lay hidden amongst the grass close to the wall. Then he tied the slight thread close down in the rusted-away part of one of the bars, descended again, and raked up some ashes, with which he mounted and sprinkled them over the thread, making it invisible from inside; after which he descended, feeling quite hopeful that the plan would not be discovered.
This done, he seemed to have more time for a look round at the effects of the fire; but beyond a little blackening of the ceiling and the heap of ashes, there was nothing much to see. The strong spirit had burned itself out without doing more than scorch the bottom of the door; but he had a lively recollection of the strange scene as the little blue tongues of fire seemed to be fluttering and dancing all over the place.
Just then he noticed the corner where he had placed the remains of his previous night’s meal, and there were the empty plates—for not a scrap of the food was left; and this satisfactorily indorsed his ideas respecting the touch that had so startled him into wakefulness.
“Better be awakened by that than by the blaze of fire,” he said half aloud. “Oh, won’t I give Sir Henry a bit of my mind about the treatment I meet with here, and—here he is.”
For just then he heard the tramp of feet over the boarded floor, the flinging open of the first door, then the steps in the passage, and he altered his opinion.
“No!” he exclaimed; “it’s old Allstone coming after his cutlass.”
He was quite right, for, well-armed, and followed by four men, Hilary’s jailer entered the place, glanced sharply round, and exclaimed:
“I’ve come for that cutlass.”
“Have you?” said Hilary coolly.
“Hand it over.”
“I have not got it,” said Hilary coolly.
“Don’t tell me lies,” said the fellow roughly. “Here, lay hold.”
Five to one was too much for resistance, so Hilary submitted patiently to the search that was made, to see if he had it concealed beneath his clothes.
“There’s nothing here,” said one of the men; and Allstone tried himself, flinching sharply as the prisoner made believe to strike at him.
Then he carefully looked all round the place, which was soon done, and the fellow turned to him menacingly:
“Now then,” he cried, “just you speak out, or it will be the worse for you. Where’s that cutlass?”
Hilary looked at him mockingly.
“I’ll tell you the strict truth,” he thought; and he replied, “I dropped it out of the window.”
“It’s a lie,” cried the ruffian savagely; “I don’t believe you.”
“I knew you would not,” said Hilary laughing. “Where is it then?”
“I swallowed it.”
“What!” said the fellow staring.
“Hilt and all if you like. Now, do you believe that?” The man stared at him.
“Because you would not believe the truth, so there’s what you asked for—a lie.”
The fellow stared at him again, seized hold of him, and felt him all over in the roughest way. Then, satisfied that the weapon was not concealed about the lad’s person, he looked round the place once more, walked to the side of the room so as to get a view of the window-ledge, and then he turned to Hilary once more.
“When did you drop it out?” he said sharply.
“As soon as I awoke this morning,” replied Hilary. “Just before you came.”
“Come along, my lads,” said the fellow, who then withdrew with his followers. The door clanged to, was locked, and as Hilary listened he heard them all depart, securing the farther door behind them; and, satisfied that they were gone, he nimbly climbed up to the window, raised the cutlass by means of the worsted, and having taking it in he descended once more, unfastened and rolled up the thread for further use, and then thrust the weapon down under his vest and into the left leg of his trousers, feeling pretty sure that they would not search him again.
A few minutes later he heard voices, and going beneath the window, and raising himself up till his ear was level with the ledge, he could hear all that was said, and he knew that the men were searching for the sword.
“Don’t seem to be about here,” said one of the men.
“Look well,” Hilary heard Allstone say.
“That’s just what we are doing. Think he did throw it over?”
“Must have done so,” said Allstone; “there isn’t a place anywhere big enough to hide a knife.”
“Then some one’s been by this morning and picked it up,” said one of the men, “for it don’t seem to be anywhere here.”
“Turn over that long grass,” said Allstone, “and kick those weeds aside.”
Hilary heard the rustling sounds made by the men as they obeyed their leader; but of course there was no result.
“Somebody come by and picked it up,” said the man again; and, apparently satisfied, the party went away, Hilary raising his eyes, saw the smugglers go round the corner of the house below the ivied gable, leaving him wondering whether they would come back.
“They may,” he thought; “and if they do, they will see that I’ve got this thing tucked in here.”
Quickly taking out the worsted he secured it to the cutlass, and lowering it once more out of the window, tied the thread to the bar.
“It’s safest there, I’ll be bound,” he muttered; and he had hardly made his arrangements for concealment when he heard the steps coming, and began walking up and down as the door was opened, and, staring at him doubtfully, Allstone came in with two men bearing some breakfast for the prisoner, while their leader went round Hilary again, searchingly noting every fold of his garments before once more withdrawing.
“He must have seen it if I had it on,” said Hilary, as he once more found himself alone, when he eagerly attacked the provisions that had been left.
After satisfying his hunger, he was a good deal divided in his mind as to what to do about the weapon, which might prove to be so valuable an implement in his attempt to escape. If left outside and searched for again, the smugglers must find it; but the chances were that they would not go and look again, so he decided to leave it where it was.
The morning wore on without a single incident to take his attention, and he spent the time in examining the floor of his prison, giving a tap here and a tap there, and noting where it sounded most hollow.
It was a long task, but he had plenty of time upon his hands, and he at last decided that he would make his attack upon a small stone in the corner by the wall which contained the window, that was not only the darkest place, the light seeming to pass over it, but there was a hollower echo when he struck the stone, from which he hoped that the slab was thinner than the rest.
He drove the knife in all round and found that it passed in without difficulty; and as he examined the place, he found to his great delight that some time or other there had evidently been a staple let into the slab, probably to hold a great ring for raising the stone, and undoubtedly this was a way down to the vaults below.
What he wanted now was a good supply of straw to lay over that part of the floor to conceal any efforts he might make for raising the stone, and meanwhile dusting some of the ashes and half-burned straw-chaff over the spot, he awaited Allstone’s next appearance with no little anxiety.
Towards afternoon he heard steps, and evidently his jailer was coming; but to his surprise, instead of Allstone being accompanied by two or three men, his companion was Sir Henry Norland, who had evidently just returned from a journey.
“Ah, my dear Hilary,” he exclaimed, “I have just been hearing of your narrow escape. My dear boy, I cannot tell you how sorry I am. You are not in the least hurt, I hope?”
“No, Sir Henry, not in body,” said the young man distantly; “but you see all my prison furniture has been destroyed. Will you give orders that I am to be supplied with a little more straw?”
“I gave orders that a mattress and blankets, with a table and chairs, should be brought here before I went out,” said Sir Henry, “with a few other things. Good gracious! I had no idea the fire had been so bad. Did it burn everything?”
“My furniture was what I asked to be replaced—a little straw,” said Hilary bitterly. “I had nothing else.”
Sir Henry turned frowning to the man, and said a few words in a low but commanding tone to him which made him scowl; but he went off growling something to himself in a sulky manner.
“My dear Hilary,” said Sir Henry, “I did not know you had been so badly treated. I am so much engaged upon His Majesty’s business that I am afraid I have neglected you sadly.”
“Indeed, Sir Henry? And now you have come to say that I am at liberty to go free and attend to His Majesty’s business?” said Hilary with a sarcastic ring in his words.
“Will you?” said Sir Henry eagerly.
“Yes, of course,” said Hilary. “I serve the king, and I am ready to do anything in the king’s name.”
Sir Henry smiled pityingly.
“We misunderstand each other, Hilary. But come, my boy, let us waste no words. Listen. I come to you armed with powers to make you a great and honoured man. Join us, Hilary. We know that you are a skilful officer, a clever sailor. You are the merest subordinate now; but throw yourself heart and soul into the Stuart cause, help to restore the king to his rights, and you shall rise with him. Young as you are, I have a splendid offer to make you. As you are, you serve under a miserable officer, and in time you may rise to a captaincy. Join us, and, as I say, young as you are His Majesty gives you through me the rank of captain, and knighthood shall follow if you serve him well.”
“Have you nearly done, Sir Henry?” said Hilary coldly.
“Done, my dear boy, I want to introduce you to a band of truly chivalrous noblemen and gentlemen who will receive you with open arms. I want you to be my friend and fellow patriot—to aid me with your advice and energy. I want you to leave this wretched prison, and to soar above the contemptible task of putting down a few miserable smugglers. I want you to come out of this place with me at once, to become once more the companion of my little Adela, who sends her message by me that she is waiting to take you by the hand. Come: leave the wretched usurper’s chains, and be free if you would be a man. Adela says—Hark! There she is.”
As he spoke there came in through the window, bearing with it the memories of bright and happy times, the tones of the girl’s sweet young voice, and as Hilary listened he closed his eyes and thought of the bright sunny country, the joys of freedom, the high hopes of ambition, and a warm flush came into his cheeks, while Sir Henry smiled in the satisfaction of his heart as he whispered to himself the one word— “Won!”
Chapter Twenty Two.
A Surprise for Sir Henry.
It was very tempting. The country looked so bright and beautiful from his prison window; the voice of his old companion brought up such a host of pleasant recollections, and it would have been delightful to renew the old intimacy. Then, upon the other hand, what would he give up? A dull monotonous life under a tyrannical superior, with but little chance of promotion, to receive honour, advancement, and no doubt to enjoy no little adventure.
It was very tempting, and enough to make one with a stronger mind than Hilary Leigh waver in his allegiance.
As he stood there thinking the song went on, and Hilary felt that did he but say yes, and swear fealty to one who believed himself to be the rightful king of England, he would be at liberty to join Adela at once. There would be an end to his imprisonment, and no more wretched anxiety.
He had done his duty so far, he argued, and he was doing his duty when fortune went against him, and he was made a prisoner, so to a certain extent his changing sides might be considered excusable. He had had little else but rough usage and discomfort since he went to sea, and the offers now made to him by Sir Henry were full of promise, which he knew the baronet was too true to hold out without perfect honesty.
Taken altogether—that is in connection with his position, and the probability that he might be kept here a prisoner for any length of time, and that most likely he had already been reported by Mr Lipscombe as a deserter—there was such a bright prospect held out that Hilary felt for the time extremely weak and ready to give up.
Meanwhile the song went on outside, for all these thoughts ran very quickly through the young man’s brain. Then Adela’s voice died away, and Hilary opened his eyes to see Sir Henry standing there, with a smile upon his handsome face, and his hand extended.
“Well, Captain Leigh,” he said, laughing, “I am to clasp hands with my young brother in the good cause?”
“You will shake hands with me, Sir Henry,” said Hilary, “for we are very old friends, and I shall never forget my happy days at the old hall,” and he laid his hand in that of the baronet.
“Forget them! No, my dear boy,” cried Sir Henry enthusiastically. “But there will be brighter days yet. Come along and join Adela; she will be delighted to have you with her again. Come along! Why do you hang back? Why, Hil, my boy, you have not grown bashful?”
“You love the young Pre— I mean Charles Stuart,” said Hilary quietly, as he still held his old friend’s hand.
“Love, my boy? Yes, Heaven bless him! And so will you when you meet him. He will take to you with your frank young sailor face, Hilary.”
“No, Sir Henry,” Hilary replied sadly. “I have heard that he is generally frank, and an honourable gentleman.”
“All that, Hilary,” cried Sir Henry enthusiastically. “He is royal in his ways, and I am sure he will like you.”
“If he is what you say, Sir Henry,” replied the young man, “he would look with coldness and contempt upon a scoundrel and a traitor.”
“To be sure he would,” said Sir Henry, who in his elation and belief that he had won Hilary over to the Pretender’s cause was thrown off his guard.
“Then why do you talk of his liking me, if, after signing my adhesion to him whom I look upon as my rightful king, I deserted him at the first touch of difficulty? No, Sir Henry, I could not accept your offer without looking upon myself afterwards as a traitor and a villain, and I am sure that you would be one of the first men to think of me with contempt.”
Sir Henry dropped the hand he held in astonishment, completely taken aback, and a heavy frown came upon his brow.
“Are you mad, Hilary?” he exclaimed. “Do you know what you are refusing?”
“Yes, Sir Henry, I know what I am refusing; but I hope I am not mad.”
“Honour, advancement, liberty, in place of what you are enduring now.”
“Yes, Sir Henry, I can see it all.”
“Adela’s friendship—my friendship. Oh, my dear boy, you have not considered all this.”
“Yes, Sir Henry, I have considered it all,” said Hilary firmly; “and though you are angry now, I am sure that the time will come when you will respect me for being faithful to my king, just as you would have learned to despise me if I had broken my word.”
Sir Henry did not reply, but turned short upon his heel and walked to the door, rapped loudly till the key was turned, and then without glancing at Hilary again he left the place.
Chapter Twenty Three.
Hilary’s Way of Escape.
Hilary stood in the centre of the old chapel, gazing at the closed door, and listening to the rattle of the bolts. He was full of regrets, for, left early an orphan, he had been in the habit of looking up to Sir Henry somewhat in the way that a boy would regard a father; and he was grieved to the heart to think that so old and dear a friend should look upon him as an ingrate.
But at the same time he felt lighter at heart, and there was the knowledge to support him that he had done his duty at a very trying time.
“I should have felt that every right-thinking man had looked down upon me,” he said, half aloud, “and little Adela would have been ashamed when she knew all, to call me friend.”
He stood with his eyes still fixed upon the door thinking, and now his thoughts were mingled with bitter feelings, for he was still a prisoner at the mercy of a set of lawless men, Sir Henry being no doubt merely a visitor here, and possessed of but little authority.
“And I know too much for them to let me go and bring a few of our lads to rout out their nest,” he said, half aloud. “Never mind, they won’t dare to kill me, unless it is by accident,” he added grimly, and then he ran to the window to see if Adela were in sight.
Practice had made him nimble now, and leaping up, he caught the bars, drew himself into the embrasure, and peered between the bars.
“Pst! Adela!” he cried eagerly, for he could just see her light dress between the trees.
She looked up, and came running towards the window, looking bright and happy, and there was an eager light in her eyes.
“Why, Hil!” she cried. “I did not think you would be there now. Papa said he thought you would soon be at liberty, and that perhaps you would stay with us a little while before you went away.”
“And should you like me to stay with you?” he said, gazing down.
“Oh, yes; so much!” she said naïvely. “This old place is so dull and lonely, and I am so much alone with an old woman who waits upon us. Why don’t you come out?”
“Because I am a prisoner,” he said quietly.
“But I thought—I hoped—papa said you were going to give your parole not to escape,” said Adela; “or else that you were going to join our cause and fight for the true king.”
He shook his head mournfully.
“No, Addy. I cannot give my word of honour not to escape,” he said; “because I hope to get away at the first opportunity.”
“Then join our cause,” cried Adela.
“No,” he said, shaking his head, “I cannot join your cause, Addy, because I am an officer appointed in the king’s name to serve in one of King George’s vessels. I should be a traitor if I forsook my colours.”
“But I want you to come,” cried Adela, with the wayward tyranny of a child. “It seems so stupid for you to be shut up there like a wild beast in a cage. Oh, Hil, you must come on our side! Do!”
“Adela! Adela!” cried an imperious voice.
“Yes, papa, I am coming,” she cried; and looking up quickly at the prisoner, she nodded and laughed, and the next moment she had disappeared.
Hilary sat watching as if in the hope that she would come back; but he knew in his heart that she would not, and so it proved at the end of quite a couple of hours.
“He has told her that she is to hold no communication with such a fellow,” he said to himself. “Poor little Addy! what a sweet little thing she is growing, and what an impetuous, commanding way she has!”
He sat watching the place still, but without hope. Now and then the girl’s words came to him.
“I seem like a wild beast in a cage, do I?” he said laughing. “Very good, Miss Addy; then I must gnaw my way out.”
As he spoke his eyes fell upon the bit of worsted that was secured to the cutlass, and he was about to draw it up when he heard footsteps approaching from the interior, and he leaped lightly down and began walking about the place as the door was opened, and Allstone held it back for some of his men to enter with a couple of trusses of straw, a couple of blankets, a rough three-legged table, and a rougher stool, which were unceremoniously thrown or jerked down, and then, after a suspicious look at his prisoner, Allstone motioned to the men to go.
“Is there anything else your lordship would like?” he said with a sneer. “The best feather-beds are damp, and the carpets have been put away by mistake. What wines would your lordship like for your dinner and would you like silver cups or glass?”
“Now then, old Allstones, or Allbones, or Nobones, or whatever your name is,” cried Hilary, putting his arms akimbo, and taking a step nearer to the jailer, “you are a big and precious ugly man of about forty, and I’m only a boy; but look here, if I had you on board my ship I’d have you triced up and flogged.”
“But you are not on board your ship, my young cockerel,” said the man mockingly.
“No,” cried Hilary, “but I’m all here, and if you give me any of your sauce when you come in, I’ll show you why some fellows are made officers and some keep common seamen to the end of their days.”
“And how’s that?” said the ruffian with a sneer.
“Because they know how to deal with bullies and blackguards like you. Now then, this is my room, so walk out.”
He took another step forward and gazed so fiercely in the man’s eyes, that, great as was the disparity in their ages and strength, Allstone shrank back step by step until he reached the doorway, when, if not afraid of Hilary, he was certainly so much taken aback by the young man’s manner that he was thoroughly cowed for the moment, and shrank away, slipping through the door and banging it after him, leaving the prisoner to his meditations.
“Come, I’ve got a bed,” he said, laughing, “and a chair and a table, and—hurrah! the very thing.”
He then seized the table and turned it upside down to gaze beneath, and then replacing it, ran to the window, pulled up the cutlass, and going to the table once more, turned it over and inserted the point of the weapon between the side and the top, with the result that it stuck there firmly, and upon the table being replaced upon its legs it was quite concealed.
“There!” he cried, “that will be handy, and I daresay safe, for they will never think of searching that after bringing it in.”
This done, he proceeded to roll up his worsted for future use, and placed it in one pocket, the piece of cord with which he had drawn up the milk being in another.
“Why, I might have used that instead of the worsted,” he said, as he remembered it for the first time; but he recollected directly after that it would have been too easily seen.
Then he inspected the two trusses of straw, and made his bed close beside the opening he hoped to make by raising the slab; and then, having carefully examined the spot, he listened to make sure that he was not heard, and taking out his pocket-knife, went down upon his knees and began to pick out the hard dirt and cement that filled the cracks around the broad, flat stone.
It was rough work, but he had the satisfaction of feeling that he was making very fair progress, scraping up the pieces from the place around, and as fast as he secured a handful going to the window and throwing it out with a good jerk, looking out afterwards to see if it showed, and finding it was concealed by the long grass.
He was well upon the qui vive, having placed the straw close to the place where he was at work, and holding himself in readiness at the slightest alarm to scatter a portion over the slab.
But no one came, and he worked steadily on hour after hour till the crack all round was quite clear, and he had no need to do more till he tried to raise the stone by using the cutlass as a lever.
To guard against surprise he now scattered about some of the chaff and small scraps that had been shaken out of the two bundles of straw, and after listening attentively, he could not resist the temptation of taking out the heavy sword and trying whether he could lift the slab.
The point went in easily, and he was just about to press upon the handle when he snatched the weapon out and hastily thrust it back in its hiding-place, for there was the sound of an opening door, and a minute later Allstone walked in with a small loaf and a jug of water, placing them upon the table with a sour and malicious look at the prisoner, who did not even notice his presence, and then left the place.
“Bread and water, eh!” thought Hilary. “Well, the greater need for me to get away, for ship living will be better than this.”
His hearty young appetite, however, was ready to induce him to look with favour upon food of any kind, and he set to at once, munching the bread and refreshing himself with draughts of water.
“If this is Sir Henry’s doing,” he said, “it is mean; but I’ll put it down to the credit of our amiable friend Allstone. Perhaps I may be able some day to return the compliment. We shall see.”
At his time of life low spirits do not last long, and he was too full of his idea of escape to trouble himself now about the quality of his food. All being well, he hoped to get down into the cellar, where, among other things it was evident that the smugglers kept their store of spirits; he might, perhaps, find firearms as well. At all events he hoped that the exit might prove easier than from the place where he now was.
He was obliged to leave off eating to try to raise the slab with the cutlass, so taking the weapon from its hiding-place, he tried the edge of the stone, inserting the point of the sword with the greatest care, and then pressing down the handle he found, to his great delight, that he could easily prise up the slab, raising it now a couple of inches before he lowered it down.
This was excellent, and the success of his project was far greater than he had anticipated; in fact, he had expected double the difficulty in loosening the stone.
“They are not much accustomed to having prisoners,” he said, with a half-laugh, as he replaced the cutlass beneath the table. “Why, any fellow could get out of here.”
Then, thinking that his remark in his self-communing was too conceited, he added:
“Down into the cellar or vaults; whether one could get out afterwards is another thing.”
Returning to his stool, he worked away at the bread, steadily munching, finding the result quieting to his hungry pains, and also a kind of amusement to pass away the time till he felt that he might set to work in safety, for he did not mean to commence till nearly dusk.
As he expected, towards evening Allstone came again, not to bring more food, but to glance sharply round at the place and carefully scrutinise his prisoner as if looking for the missing sword.
Hilary looked straight before him, whistling softly the while in the most nonchalant manner, completely ignoring his visitor’s presence, to the man’s evident annoyance, his anger finding vent in a heavy bang of the door.
Hilary did not move for quite half an hour; then, all being perfectly still, and the evening shadows beginning to make his prison very dim, he rose with beating heart, listened, and all being silent as if there was not a soul within hearing, took the cutlass from its hiding-place, and proceeded to put his project in action.
Bending down, he once more swept aside the straw, and inserted the point of the sword, to find that this time there was more difficulty in his task, for he had to try several times, and in fresh positions, finding the cutlass bend almost to breaking-point, before success crowned his efforts, and he raised the stone sufficiently far to get his fingers beneath, and then the task was easy, for with a steady lift he raised one side and leaned it right up against the wall.
He had hardly accomplished this before he fancied he heard a slight noise outside, beneath the window, and the perspiration began to stand in a dew upon his face as he realised the fact that some one had just placed a ladder against the wall and was ascending to look in.
If the stone was seen upraised his chance of escape was at an end, and there was not a moment to spare, nor the slightest chance of closing it.
He glanced around, and, to his intense delight, noted that it was getting decidedly dark in the corner where he stood; but still detection seemed to be certain; and he had only one chance, that was—to throw himself down and pretend to be asleep.
This he did at once, breathing heavily, and lying perfectly motionless, but with his eyes wide open, and his ears strained to catch the slightest sound.
He was quite right; some one was ascending a short ladder placed by his window; and as he watched attentively he saw the opening suddenly darkened, and some man’s face gazing straight in.
It was too dark now for him to distinguish the features, and he hoped that the obscurity would favour him by preventing the intruder from seeing what had been done.
It was a time of terrible suspense, probably only of a minute’s duration, but it seemed to Hilary like an hour; and there he lay, with half-closed eyes, gazing at the head so dimly-seen, wondering whether it was Allstone, but unable to make out.
Just then a thought flashed through his brain.
Might it not be a friend?—perhaps a party from the Kestrel arrived in search of him; and, full of hope, he gazed intently at the head. But his hopes sank as rapidly as they had risen, for he was compelled to own that, if it had been a friend, he would have spoken or whistled, or in some way have endeavoured to catch his attention.
At last, wearied with straining his attention, Hilary felt that he must speak, when it seemed to him that the window grew a little lighter, and as he gazed there was a faint scratching noise, telling that the ladder had been removed.
He could bear it no longer, but, softly rising, he made for the window, climbed up, and gently raising his head above the sill, peered out, to be just able to distinguish a dark figure carrying a short ladder, which brushed against the branches of a tree, and then a low, husky cough, which he at once recognised, told him who his visitor had been.
“A contemptible spy!” muttered Hilary, as he dropped back into the chapel. “Now then, has he seen or has he not?”
If he had it was useless to lower down the slab, so Hilary let it stay, and waited minute after minute to see if he would come. But all remained perfectly still, and, to all appearance, the people who made the old place their rendezvous were now away.
Hilary was divided in his mind as to what he should do. To be precipitate might ruin his chance of getting away, while if he left it too long the smugglers might return, and his opportunity would again be gone. He decided, then, on a medium course—to wait, as far as he could judge, for half an hour, and then make his attempt.
Meantime he began to think of what course he should pursue when he was free, and it seemed that all he could do would be to strike inland at once, for that would be the safest plan. If he tried to reach the coast the chances were that he would encounter one of the gang, or at all events some cottager who would most probably be in their pay.
“The half-hour must be up now,” he exclaimed; and, after listening at the door, he thrust the cutlass in his belt, and made for the hole formed by the raised flag.
“I wonder how far it is down?” he muttered. “Seven feet at the outside; and if I lower myself gently I shall be able to touch the floor, or perhaps I shall come down on some barrel or package.”
As he spoke he lowered himself gently down, with a hand on either side of the aperture, and then, swinging his legs about, one of them kicked the side, showing that the cellar or vault was a little smaller in dimensions than the place above.
He lowered himself a little more, and a little more, his sea life having made the muscles of his arms as tough almost as iron, and at last, having a good hold of the stones on either side, he let himself steadily go down till his head was beneath the floor and he hung down at the full length of his hands.
“Deeper down than I thought for,” he muttered, as he swung himself to and fro. “Shall I drop, or sha’n’t I? It can’t be above a foot; but somehow one don’t like to let go of a certainty, to drop no one can tell where—perhaps on to bottles, or no one knows what.”
He still swung in hesitation, for it seemed cowardly to go back, now he was so far down; but somehow the desire to be upon the safe side obtained the mastery, and he determined to go back.
Easier settled upon than done. His muscles were tough enough, but somehow his position was awkward, and his hold upon the stones so slight that, though he drew himself up twice, he did not get well above the opening till he managed to force one toe into the niche between a couple of the stones of the wall, when, by a sharp effort, he drew himself so far out of the hole that he was able to seat himself upon the edge, with his legs dangling down.
“What a lot of trouble I am taking!” he said, laughing lightly, though at the same time he felt discomposed. “I might just as well have dropped, but as I am up here again I may as well take soundings.”
His plan of taking soundings was to fish out his ball of worsted, and, after a moment’s thought, to tie it to the handle of the brown water-jug, and this he lowered softly down the hole.
“It’s deeper down than I thought for,” he said to himself, as he let the jug right down to the extent of the worsted thread, and then knelt down and reached as far as he could, but still without result.
“Stop a moment,” he said, pulling out his piece of line, “it’s lucky I didn’t leave go. Why, that worsted’s at least a dozen feet long.”
As he spoke he tied the end of the worsted to his piece of cord, and let the jug down lower still, to the extent of the cord as well, quite five yards more.
“Phew!” he whistled, as, with the cord round his finger, he reached down as far as he could; “I should have had a drop! and—hang it, there goes the jug!”
For at that moment the string suddenly became light, the worsted having parted; and as he knelt there, peering down into the darkness, the perspiration started once more from his forehead, and a curious sensation, as of a comb with teeth of ice passing through his hair, affected him while he listened moment after moment, moment after moment, till there came up a dull whispering splash from below, at a distance that was perfectly horrifying after the risk that Hilary had run.
So overcome was he by his discovery that he shrank away from the opening in the floor completely unnerved, and unable for a time to move. He was, in fact, like one who had received a stunning blow, and only after some minutes had elapsed was he able to mutter a few words of thankfulness for his escape, as he now thoroughly realised that he had uncovered an old well of tremendous depth.
Chapter Twenty Four.
A Strange Fish in the Net.
Hilary’s first act on recovering himself was to creep back cautiously to the side, and lower down the stone over the open well, shivering still as he realised more fully the narrowness of his escape.
“Old Allstone will be wanting to know what I have done with his jug,” he said, as he seated himself upon the stool, and began to think what he should do.
He was somewhat unnerved by his adventure, but recovering himself fast, and he had the whole night before him for making another attempt. All the same, though, the time wore on without his moving; for the recollection of that horrible whispering plash and the echoes that had smitten his ear were hard to get rid of, try how he would; but at last, feeling that he was wasting time, he began upon hands and knees creeping about the place, and tapping the floor.
There were plenty of hollow, echoing sounds in reply as he hammered away with the hilt of the cutlass, and, telling himself that there could not be wells beneath every stone, he made up his mind at last to try one which seemed to present the greatest facilities for his effort—that is, as far as he could tell by feeling the crack between it and the next.
It proved a long and a tough job before he could move it. Twice over he was about to give it up, for when at last he managed to make it move a little it kept slipping back into its place, and seeming to wedge itself farther in.
The perspiration ran down his cheeks, and his arms ached; but he was toiling for liberty, and on the nil desperandum principle he worked away.
For, as he thought matters over, he was compelled to own that, however much Lieutenant Lipscombe might feel disposed to search for him, he had been spirited away so suddenly that it was not likely that success would attend the search.
Under these circumstances there was nothing for it but that he should depend upon himself, and this he did to such a brave extent that at last he placed the point of the cutlass in so satisfactory a position that on heaving up the stone upon which he was at work it did not slip back, but was so much dislodged that a little farther effort enabled him to pull it aside; and then he sat down panting beside the black square opening in the floor.
It was so dark that most of his work had to be done by the sense of touch, and consequently the toil was twice as hard, for he could not see where it was best to apply force. All the same, though, perseverance was rewarded, and he had raised the stone.
Hilary did not feel in any great hurry to try his fortune this time; for after his experience when he raised the last stone, he did not know what might be here. Try to laugh it off as he would, there was a curious, creeping sensation of dread came over him. He knew that this was a chapel, and what more likely than that the vault beneath might be the abiding place of the dead—of those who had occupied this old place in the past; and, mingled with this, Adela’s words would come back about the place being haunted.
“Bah!” he exclaimed at last. “What a fool you are, Hil!”
As he spoke he gave himself a tremendous blow in the chest with his doubled fist, hurting himself a great deal more than he intended, and this roused him once more to action.
He was not going to lower himself down this time without trying for bottom; and pulling out his cord, he tied it to the hilt of the cutlass, lowered it into the hole, and began to fish, as he expressed it.
Clang! Jingle!
Steel upon stone, as far as he could judge, just over six feet below where he was leaning over.
He tried again, here, there, and everywhere within his reach, and the result was always the same, and there could be no mistake this time; he might drop down in safety.
He could not help hesitation, for the hole was black and forbidding. But it was for liberty, and after pausing for a few moments while he leaned down and felt about as far as he could reach, he prepared to descend.
His examination had taught him that the vault below was arched, for, close by him, he could feel the thickness of the floor, while at the other side of the square opening he could not reach down to the edge of the arch, try how he would. In fact, his plan of sounding the floor had answered admirably, and he had raised a stone just in the right place.
Hesitating no longer he thrust the cutlass into his waistband and proceeded to lower himself down. His acts were very cautiously carried out, for his former experience had taught him care, and holding on tightly by the edge he gradually slid down, till at the full extent of his arms he felt firm footing.
Still he did not leave hold, but passing himself along first one edge and then another of his hole till he had gone along all four sides, and always with the same result, he let go, and stood in safety upon a stone floor.
Drawing his cutlass, he felt overhead the opening where the stone had been removed, and wondered what he was to do to find it again in the intense darkness; but he was obliged to own that he could do nothing.
A thrust to right touched nothing; a thrust to left had no better result; and then he stood and wiped his brow.
“I wonder what I shall find,” he said to himself. “Cases and tubs, or old coffins.”
He thrust out the sword once more straight in front of him, and this time it touched wood, and made him shiver.
For a few moments he did not care to move and investigate farther; but rousing himself once more, he tried again with his hand, to find that he touched hoops and staves, and that it was a goodly-sized tub.
He tried again, cautiously, feeling carefully with one foot before he attempted to move another, for the thought struck him that not very far from him the opening down into that terrible well must be yawning in the floor, and under these circumstances he moved most carefully.
He found that he need not have been so cautious, for after a little more of this obscure investigation he learned that he was in a very circumscribed area, surrounded on all sides by a most heterogeneous collection of tubs, full and empty, rough cases, bales, ropes, blocks, and iron tackle, such as might be used in a fishing-boat; and the next thing his hands encountered was a pile of fishing-nets.
It was as he had expected: the vault or cellar below the chapel was full of the stores belonging to the smugglers, and his task now was to find his way out.
It was of no avail to wish for flint and steel, to try, if only by the light of a few sparks, to dispel this terrible darkness, which seemed to surround and close him in, prisoning his faculties, as it were, and preventing him, now he had got so far, from making his escape.
There was always the dread of coming upon that terrible well acting like a bar to further progress. Then there was the utter helplessness of his position. Which way was he to go?
“At all events,” he said to himself at last, “I can’t go down the well if I’m climbing over tubs;” and he felt his way to the place where he had first touched a cask, and climbing up, he found that he could progress a little way, always getting higher, with many an awkward slip; and then he had to stop, for his head touched the roof.
A trial to right and left had no better result, and there was nothing for it but to return and begin elsewhere.
This he did, crawling over nets and boxes and packages, whose kind and shape he could not make out, but he always seemed to be stopped, try where he would, and at last, panting and hot with his exertions, he lay down on some fishing-nets close by to rest himself and endeavour to think out what was best to do.
Suddenly, and without the slightest warning, there was a heavy grating creak; a door was thrown open; and what to his eyes seemed to be a dazzling light shone into the place, revealing a narrow passage not ten feet from where he lay, but which he had passed over in the darkness again and again.
“Better light two or three more candles,” said a gruff voice.
“All right,” was the reply; and from just on the other side of a pile of merchandise that reached to the ceiling Hilary could hear some one blowing at the tindery fluff made by lighting the top of a fresh candle.
What was he to do? He could not see the men who had come down, for he was separated from them by the piled-up contents of the cellar; but any attempt to regain the chapel must result in discovery, so he lay motionless, hardly daring to breathe, till he heard more footsteps coming—heavy, shuffling footsteps, as if those who came were loaded; and, waiting till they came nearer and one of the first comers said something aloud, Hilary raised himself slightly, and, almost with the rapidity of thought, covered himself with some of the soft, loose fishing-nets, feet and legs first, then shoulders and head, finally throwing a few more folds over his head, and then lying down.
“Wouldn’t be a bad plan to give them a good dose of brimstone,” said one of the men.
“Give who a good dose?” said another.
“Why, the rats. Didn’t you hear ’em?”
“Oh, ay, yes; I did hear a bit of scuffling. Let ’em bide; they don’t do much mischief.”
“Not much mischief!” said the other as Hilary felt his hopes rise as he heard the noise attributed to rats. “Why, there’s a couple o’ hundred fathom o’ mack’rel net lying t’other side there gnawed full of holes.”
“What o’ that?” said the other. “Why, one such night as this, lad, is worth two months o’ mack’rel fishing.”
“Well, yes, so it be. Ah! that’s better. We shall see now what we’re about. I say, it was rather a near one with the cutter to-night. I thought she’d ha’ been down upon us.”
“Down upon us? ay! I wish her skipper was boxed up safe along with young cockchafer yonder.”
“Hang his insolence!” thought Hilary. “Young cockchafer, indeed! He’ll find me more of a wasp.”
“Think anyone sent word to the cutter?”
“Nay, not they. Who would? She’s hanging about after her boy.”
“Boy, eh? That’s I,” said Hilary again to himself. “Well, maybe I shall show ’em I can fight like a man!”
“Here, I say,” said another voice: “why don’t you two begin to stow away these kegs?”
“Never you mind. You bring ’em down from the carts: we know what we’re doing.”
There was a sound of departing footsteps, and Hilary listened intently.
“Ah!” said one of the men, “if I was the skipper I’d send the young Tom chicken about his business; but the skipper says he knows too much.”
“How long’s he going to keep him then?”
“Altogether, I s’pose, unless he likes to join us.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the other, who was evidently moving something heavy.
“Well, he might do worse, my lad. Anyhow, they ar’n’t going to let him go and bring that cutter down upon us.”
“No, that wouldn’t do. Lend a hand here. This bag’s heavy. What’s in it?”
“I don’t know. Feels like lead. P’r’aps it is.”
“Think the cutter will hang about long?”
“How should I know? I say, though, how staggered them chaps was when they got up to the rock and found no one to fight!”
“I wasn’t there.”
“Oh, no—more you wasn’t. Come along, come along, lads. Here we are waiting for stowage, and you talk about us keeping you waiting.”
“You mind your own job,” growled the voice that Hilary had heard finding fault before.
There was more scuffling of feet, and then the two men went on talking.
“The cutter’s sailors had come, of course, after the boy, and they stumbled on the way through the rocks, just same as the boy did; and we waited for ’em with a few sticks, and then give ’em as much as were good for ’em, and then retreated, big Joey keeping the way till we had all got up the rock, and then up he come in the dark, and you’d have laughed fit to crack your sides to hear them down below whacking at the stones with their cutlashes till they was obliged to believe we was gone, and then they went back with their tails between their legs like a pack of dogs.”
The other man laughed as Hilary drank in all this, and learned how the crew had been after him, and realised most thoroughly how it was that he had been brought there, and also the ingenious plan by which the smugglers and the political party with whom they seemed to be mixed up contrived to throw their enemies off the scent. There was an interval, during which the two men seemed to be very busy stowing away kegs and packages, and then they went on again.
“Skipper of the cutter come next day—that one-eyed chap we took in so with the lugger—and his chaps brought him up to the rocks, and then, my wig! how he did give it ’em for bringing them a fool’s errand, as he called it! It was a fine game, I can tell you.”
“Must have been,” said the other, as Hilary drank in this information too, and made mental vows about how he would pay the scoundrels out for all this when once he got free.
Then there was a cessation of the feet coming down the stairs, broken by one step that Hilary seemed to recognise.
“How are you getting on?”
Hilary was right; it was Allstone.
“Waiting for more,” was the reply.
“They’ll bring up another cart directly,” said Allstone in his sulky tone of voice.
“Sooner the better. I’m ’bout tired out. Fine lot o’ rats here,” said the man.
“Ah, yes! There’s a few,” said Allstone.
“Heard ’em scuffling about like fun over the other side,” said the man.
Hilary felt the cold perspiration ooze out of him as he lay there, dimly seeing through the meshes of the net that he was in a low arched vault of considerable extent, the curved roof being of time-blackened stone, and that here and there were rough pillars from which the arches sprang.
He hardly dared to move, but, softly turning his head, he saw to his horror that the square opening whence he had taken the stone was full in view, the light that left him in darkness striking straight up through the hole.
If they looked up there, he felt that they must see that the stone had been moved, and he shivered as he felt that his efforts to escape had been in vain.
“They’re a plaguey long time coming,” said the man who had been talking so much. “Here, just come round here, my lad, and I’ll show you what I mean about the nets.”
“It’s all over,” said Hilary as he took a firm grip of the hilt of his cutlass, meaning as soon as he was discovered to strike out right and left, and try to escape during the surprise his appearance would cause.
As he lay there, ready to spring up at the smallest indication of his discovery, he saw the shadows move as the men came round by the heap of packages, and enter the narrow passage where he was. The first, bearing a candle stuck between some nails in a piece of wood, was a fair, fresh-coloured young fellow, and he was closely followed by a burly middle-aged man bearing another candle, Allstone coming last.
“There,” said the younger man, “there’s about as nice a mess for a set o’ nets to be in as anyone ever saw;” and he laid hold of the pile that Hilary had drawn over his face.
It was only a matter of moments now, and as he lay there Hilary’s nerves tingled, and he could hardly contain himself for eagerness to make his spring.
“Look at that, and that, and that,” said the man, picking up folds of the soft brown netting, and seeming about to strip all off Hilary, but by a touch of fate helping his concealment the next moment, by throwing fold after fold over him, till the next thing seemed to be that he would be smothered.
“Tell you what,” he said. “They nets are just being spoiled. There’s plenty of time before the next cart unloads. Lend a hand here, and let’s have ’em all out in the pure air. I hate seeing good trade left down here to spoil in a damp—”
He laid hold of the nets, and as he gave a drag Hilary felt the meshes gliding over his face, and prepared himself to spring up and make a dash for his liberty.