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 lock’d.
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 keyhole: 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 grey-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 leap’d 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 slip’d 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
