CHAPTER XX.
THE SECRET PASSAGE.
For a full hour Hugh John sat on the top step of the stairs, or wentback and forward between these and the narrow circular opening so highabove his head, which was now filled with a sort of ruddy haze, thesign that the sun was setting comfortably and sedately outside, behindthe smooth green hills in which the Cheviots broke down into theSolway Marshes. It was not so much that the boy dared not descend intothe secret passage. Rather he did not wish to confront the blanknessof disappointment. The steps might lead nowhere at all. They mightdrop off suddenly into the depths of a well.
To prove to himself that he was quite calm, and also that he was in nohurry, Hugh John ate the third of his bread-squares and drank thewater which had meantime collected in the stone shell. Heroes alwaysrefreshed themselves thus before an adventure.
"'None knoweth when our lips shall touch the blessed bread again!'This prog's too hanged dry for anything!"--that was what Hugh Johnsaid, quoting (partly) from the "Life and Death of Arthur the King."
Then feeling that mere poetry was off and that the time for action haddefinitely come, he tied to his rope a large fallen stone which lay ina corner, and crawling over the shell to the head of the steps, hethrew it down. It did not go far, appearing to catch in someprojection. He tried again with a like result. He pulled it up. Thestone was dry. The opening was not, then, a well with water at thebottom.
So Hugh John cautiously put his foot upon the threshold of the secretpassage, and commenced the perilous descent. He clutched the edge ofthe top step as he let himself down. It was cold, wet, and clammy, butthe stones beneath seemed secure enough. So he continued to descendtill he found himself in a narrow staircase which went down and down,gradually twisting to the left away from the light. His heart beatfast, and there was a curious heavy feeling about his nostrils, whichdoubtless came from the damp mists of a confined place so close to theriver.
The adventurous General had descended quite a long way when he came toa level stone-flagged passage. He advanced twenty yards along it, andthen put out his hands. He found himself in a narrow cell, drippingwith wet and ankle deep in mud. The cell was so small, that by makinga couple of steps Hugh John could feel it from side to side. At thefarther end of it there was evidently a door or passage of some sort,but it was blocked up with fallen stones and rubbish; yet through itcame the strangest muffled noises. Something coughed like a man inpain. There was also a noise as of the feet of animals moving aboutstealthily and restlessly, and he seemed even to hear voices speaking.
A wild unreasoning fear suddenly filled the boy's heart. He turned andfled, stumbling hastily up the stairs by which he had so cautiouslydescended. The thought of the black beast, great as a calf, of whichNipper Donnan had spoken, came upon him and almost mastered him. Yetall the time he knew that Nipper had only said it to frighten him. Butit was now dark night, even in the upper dungeon. He was alone in ahaunted castle, and, as the gloaming settled down, Hugh John cordiallyagreed with Sir David Brewster, who is reputed to have said, "I do notbelieve in ghosts, but I am afraid of them."
In spite of all his gallantry of the day, and the resolutions he hadmade that his prison record should be strictly according to rule, HughJohn's sudden panic took complete hold of him. He sat down under theopening of the dungeon, and for the first time cried bitter tears,excusing himself on the ground that there was no one there to see him,and anyway he could easily leave that part out when he came to writehis journal. About this time he also slipped in a surreptitiousprayer. He thought that at least it could do no harm. Prissy hadinduced him to try this method sometimes, but mostly he was afraid tolet her know about it afterwards, because it made Prissy so unbearablyconceited. But after all this was in a dungeon, and many veryrespectable prisoners quite regularly said their prayers, as any onemay see for themselves in the books.
"You see," said Hugh John, explanatorily afterwards, "it's very easyfor them. They have nothing else to do. They haven't to wash, and takebaths, and comb their hair, and be ordered about! It's easy to be goodwhen you're leading a natural life."
This was Hugh John's prayer, and a model for any soldier'spocket-book.
"Our Father Witch-Charta-Nevin" (this he considered a Christian nameand surname, curious but quite authoritative), "help me to get out ofthis beastly hole. Help me to lick Nipper Donnan till he can't stand,and bust Sammy Carter for running away. For we are all miserablesinners. God bless father and Prissy, Arthur George (I wonder wherethe little beast went to--guess he sneaked--just wait!), JanetSheepshanks, Mary Jane Housemaid, and everybody about the house anddown at the stables, except Bella Murdoch, that is a clash-bag and atell-tale-tit. And make me a good boy. For Jesus' sake. Aymen."
That the last petition was by no means a superfluous one every readerof this history will agree. Hugh John very carefully said "Ay-men"now, because he had said "A-men" in the morning. He noticed that hisfather always said "Ay-men" very solemnly at the end of a prayer,while Prissy, who liked going to church even on week days (a lowdodge!), insisted upon "A-men." So Hugh John used "Ay-men" and "A-men"time about, just to show that there was no ill-feeling. Thus early inlife does the leaven of Gallio (who "cared for none of these things")begin to show itself. Hugh John was obviously going to be a verypronounced Broad Churchman.
The prayer did the captive General much good. He was not now nearly somuch afraid of the beasts. The hole did not seem to yawn so blackbeneath him; and though he kept his ear on the cock for anything thatmight come at him up the stairs, he could with some tolerablecomposure sit still and wait for the morning. He decided that so soonas it was even a little light, he would try again and find out if hecould not remove the rubbish from the further door.
The midsummer morn was not long in coming--shorter far indeed to HughJohn than to the anxious hearts that were scattered broadcast over theface of the country seeking for him. Scarcely had the boy sat down towait for the daylight when his head sank on his breast. Presently heswayed gently to the side, and turning over with a contented littlemurmur, he curled himself up like a tired puppy and went fast asleep.When he awoke, a fresher pink radiance than that of eventide filledthe aperture above his head--the glow of the wide, sweet, blushfuldawn which flooded all the eastern sky outside the tall grey walls ofthe Castle of Windy Standard.
Hugh John rose, stretched himself, yawned, and looked about him insurprise. There was no Toady Lion in a little white ship on four ironlegs, moored safe alongside him; no open door through into Prissy'sroom; no birch-tree outside the window, glimmering purest white anddelicatest pink in the morning light--nothing, in short, that hadgreeted his waking eyes every morning of his life hitherto.
But there were compensations. He was a prisoner. He had endured anight in a dungeon. His hair would almost certainly have turned purewhite, or at least streaky. What boy of his age had ever done thesethings since the little Dauphin, about whom he was so sorry, and overwhose fate he had shed such bitter tears? Had Sammy Carter? Hugh Johnsmiled a sarcastic and derisive smile. Sammy Carter indeed! He wouldjust like to see Sammy Carter try it once! _He_ would have been deadby this time, if he had had to go through the tenth of what he (HughJohn) had undergone. Had Mike or Peter? They were big and strong. Theysmoked pipes. But they had never been tortured, never shut up in adungeon with wild beasts in the next compartment, and no hasp on thedoor.
The staircase--the secret passage! Hugh John's heart fluttered wildly.He might even yet get back in time for breakfast. There would beporridge--and egg-and-bacon--oh! crikey, yes, and it was kidneymorning. Hugh John's mouth watered. There was no need of the coolfluid in the shell of limestone now! Could there indeed be suchdainties in the world? It did not seem possible. And yet that verymorning--he meant the morning before--no, surely it must have been insome other life infinitely remote, he had grumbled because he had nothad cream instead of milk to his porridge, and because the bacon wasnot previously crisp enough. He felt that if ever he were privilegedto taste as good bacon again,
he would become religious likePrissy--or take some such extreme measure as that.
"OVER THE CLOSELY PACKED WOOLLY BACKS HE SAW A STRETCHOF RIPPLED RIVER."]
Hugh John had no appetite for the "poison squares" now. He tried one,and it seemed to be composed in equal parts of sawdust and themedicament called "Rough-on-rats!" He tried the water in the shell,and that was somewhat better; but just to think of tea from theurn--soft ivory cream floating on the top, curded a little but lightas blown sea-foam! Ah, he could wait no longer. The life of a prisonerwas all very well, but he could not even get materials with which towrite up his diary till he got home. For this purpose it was necessarythat he should immediately make his escape. Also it was kidneymorning, and if he did not hurry that little wretch Toady Lion wouldhave eaten up every snatch. He resolved to lose no time.
So with eager steps he descended the steep wet stairs into the littlestone chamber, which smelt fearfully damp and clammy, just as if allthe snails in the world had been crawling there.
"I bet the poor chap down here had toothache," said Hugh John,shivering as he went forward to attack the pile of fallen stones infront of the arched doorway. For an hour he worked most manfully,pulling out such as he could manage to loosen, and tossing othersaside. Thus he gradually undercut the mass which blocked up the door,till, with a warning creak or two the whole pitched forward andinward, giving the daring pioneer just time to leap aside before itcame toppling into the narrow cell, which it more than half filled. Assoon as the avalanche had settled, Hugh John staggered over the top ofthe fallen stones and broken _debris_ to the small door. As his headcame on a level with the opening he saw a strange sight. He lookedinto a little ruined turret, the floor of which was of smoothest greensward--or, rather, which would have been of green sward had it notbeen thickly covered with sheep, all lying placidly shoulder toshoulder, and composedly drawing in the morning air through theirnostrils as if no such word as "mutton" existed in the vocabularies ofany language.
Beyond and over the closely packed woolly backs he saw a stretch ofrippled river, faceted with diamond and ruby points, where the risingsun just touched the tips of the little chill wavelets which werefretted by the wind of morning, that gust of cooler air which the dawnpushes before it round the world. Hugh John was free!