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 guardroom, 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 telltale 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 tiptoe, 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 jailer’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 taproom 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 tonight 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 kindhearted girl.
The lantern lit, I took the key and fitted it to the lock. It turned noisily, and a cold whiff of air
