Chapter XIII: The Escape

AS my father spoke, the gravity of our position came home to both of us. Here we were, penned up in the torture-chamber in the innermost recesses of the castle, likely at any moment to be surprised by the garrison or some of the officers of the Inquisition, while every exit was strongly guarded with armed troops.

Even should we escape from the precincts of the fortress we knew not whither to flee. The very name of the town wherein we were was unknown to us.

For the time being we were safe. We could hold our own 'gainst tremendous odds in the strongly-walled chamber, but ere long hunger would compel us to succumb. Therefore it was useless to remain inactive: we must take steps to find a way out. But how?

"Roy, my son," exclaimed my father, "I have it. 'Tis hazardous, but there are chances in our favour. We will don the garments of these slain dogs, and take upon us the role of officers of the Inquisition. 'Tis now night, which is also in our favour."

"And whither? To the mountains?" was my question.

"Nay, lad, the sea--ever the sea. Thereon lies our salvation. Now, quickly."

Without more ado we stripped the bodies of two of the slain members of the Holy Office, girded a sword and dagger apiece beneath the cloaks, and enveloped our heads with the hideous cowls and masks.

"This will not serve," commented my father, as we surveyed each other. "Is it meet that two officers should thread dark passages without a link-bearer? Cast off your attire, Roy, and take this garb. You must be one of the hooded varlets, and bear a torch to light the way."

In a few moments I was dressed in the garb of a "familiar." We then prepared to cover our retreat, for should any one without gain easy entrance, the alarm would be raised ere we could obtain a fair start.

Accordingly we dragged the rack across the floor and placed it at a pike's length from the door. This required great effort, for the massive frame could only be moved inch by inch. But 'twas done at last. We then unbolted and partly opened the door, resting the butt ends of the pikes 'gainst the lowermost portion of the rack and their heads 'gainst the door, so that when 'twas shut the pikes would fall to the ground, forming a wedge that would defy the efforts of half a dozen strong men.

Then, having taken a torch, we sallied out, walking with measured tread, and my father inclined his head over a breviary. Yet I wot we both kept one hand upon the hilts of our daggers, ready to strike a swift blow should occasion arise.

Unseen we traversed the lowermost passage, ascended the spiral stair, and gained the upper corridor. At the end I knew was the low doorway communicating with the courtyard, and the door itself would be closely locked and bolted.

But as we approached, in fear lest our progress should be hindered, a dark form glided from a recess that had escaped my notice when I was brought hither, and a hooded and cloaked servant threw open the door with obsequious mien.

My father bestowed upon him a blessing--though in his mind I doubt not that he would rather have given the dog a dagger-thrust--and the next moment we were under the light of the stars, breathing in the pure air that had for so many long days been denied us.

But the most difficult part was yet to come. We were clear of the prison itself, with its pitiless and cruel guardians, but now we must reckon with the soldiers at the postern and the two barbicans. Should they demand a password we should be undone.

'Twas folly to hesitate. With outward boldness, though I felt my heart beating rapidly, I led the way, holding the torch well above my head, while my father followed three paces in the rear, still ostentatiously engaged with his breviary.

Now we were within a score paces of the postern, the guards were preparing to receive us, when a hooded figure advanced and spoke to my father with much the same tone of servility as his fellow had done.

With admirable composure my parent replied, imitating the voice of the Chief Inquisitor to perfection, while I walked slowly backwards till I stood behind him, so that the flicker of the torch threw his hooded and masked face into shadow.

After a short conversation my father turned, and, with the "familiar" slightly behind him, walked in a totally different direction to that leading to the postern. Whither the pair were going I had not the slightest idea, whereas, in my capacity of link-bearer, I ought to have preceded them. Neither dare my father give me directions or any explanation of the conversation; so, helplessly, I trailed behind the quasi-Inquisitor and his subordinate.

Our conductor came to a halt before an arch, within which was apparently a stone wall, though screened from observation from the courtyard by two flying buttresses connected with a trellis fence of iron, over which the roses grew in profusion.

What he did I could not see, but a large portion of the masonry swung round on a pivot, easily and noiselessly, disclosing a yawning cavity.

While the man was thus engaged my father found an opportunity to bid me enter fearlessly. This I did, and found myself on the topmost of a short flight of steps. I descended, my sire following. The next instant we were alone.

"Providence is with us," quoth he. "This is the secret passage to the Chapel of San Thomé, and is used by the principals of this accursed place. Yon rogue, who has served us so well, told me that the second drawbridge was raised, owing to some mishap."

"Then how can we gain our way from the chapel?"

"Methinks 'tis easier to escape from a chapel than from a castle, my son. Courage! Did I not say that 'twould end well for us?"

With that we relapsed into silence, walking swiftly through the subterranean passage, our footsteps echoing and re-echoing along the invisible tunnel; every moment was precious.

We must have traversed a good four hundred paces when our passage was barred by a door as strongly constructed as those in the castle.

Cautiously and carefully we examined the door, but no sign of a lock or bolt was visible on the side on which we stood. It seemed as if we were fairly trapped. At any moment our flight might be discovered and the shouts of our pursuers fall upon our ears. Moreover, the torch was rapidly burning out, and in a few minutes we should be in utter darkness.

"Stand to your dagger," said my father. "We must take the hazard," and as he spoke he knocked loudly and peremptorily upon the oaken door.

With mingled feelings of doubt and hope we heard the bolts being shot back; the door was flung open, and we found ourselves in the dimly-lighted chapel of St. Thomé.

A lay-brother who had opened for us bent low in deep abasement, while my father, still retaining his marvellous presence of mind, bestowed a benediction upon him.

Then louting to the altar as he passed--though I knew 'twas greatly against the grain to do so--he made instinctively towards a similar portal in the northern wall of the building.

Once more we found ourselves in the open air. We were evidently in a priory garden. In the closely-cut turf--well kept in spite of the hot climate--cypress and olive trees were planted, while against one of the walls a huge vine extended its branches.

Even in our flight we paused to taste of the grapes, and never did fruit seem sweeter to our parched throats after our strain of mind and body, following months of miserable captivity. As we ate we conferred as to the best course to pursue, or, rather, my father deliberated and gave his opinion, and I unhesitatingly accepted it.

"We must not risk passing through the dormitories or other domestic buildings," said he. "We dare not tempt fate too much. Methinks beyond yon wall we'll find a street or lane."

So saying, he climbed a tree growing close to the vine-covered wall, and clambering along one of its branches, allowed his weight to bend it till he could with ease drop upon the wide coping of the stonework.

"'Twas as I said," he whispered. "Haste, follow."

'Twas soon done, and we found ourselves in a narrow lane with houses of a superior kind facing the long wall we had just scaled.

I had extinguished and dropped the torch ere making the climb, so keeping well in the deep shadows, we glided rapidly along the narrow streets in the direction we supposed the harbour to lie.

Once or twice we lay close, as a half-drunken soldier or a belated townsman passed, but without interruption we came to an alley, at the end of which we could just distinguish the starlit sea.

"Oh for a vessel of sorts, be it but a cock-boat!" muttered my father, as we reached the brink of a little quay littered with nets and other gear pertaining to the fisherman's craft.

Grinding their sides against the piles were several small boats, none of which contained oars, masts, or sails; but farther out were moored some ten or fifteen larger craft, evidently sea-going fishing-boats, some of which had their masts shipped, while others had them lying across their broad transoms.

Seizing a painter, my father tried it; then swung himself nimbly and softly into one of the little boats, steadying her alongside while I joined him.

Then bidding me steer for the nearest craft at anchor, he took hold of one of the bottom boards and paddled rapidly, grumbling softly under his breath at the phosphorescent swirl that followed each stroke of his unwieldy paddle.

Following his instructions, I steered, but on approaching the nearest vessel my eye caught the outlines of a craft that seemed familiar to me. I looked again, hoping against hope; but there was no mistaking the vessel, though her rig had been altered. 'Twas the _Damsel of Lyme_!

Eagerly I whispered the news of my discovery. My father ceased paddling, and shaded his eyes as he took stock of the pinnace.

"She is much of a handful," he whispered dubiously.

"But I know her well. She is one of the swiftest boats that ever sailed upon the sea," I added.

"If that be so," he replied, "lay us alongside as softly as you can."

Within another minute I was treading the familiar deck. My father dropped silently into the after-cabin and also explored the fo'c'sle to make sure that no one was aboard. Having satisfied himself on that point, he turned the cock-boat adrift and proceeded to set sail.

In place of the huge spread of square sails two long, unwieldy yards lay athwart her deck, their halyards still bent. Her new owners had converted her rig into that of a felucca, possibly intending to use her on the Mediterranean, since that form of sail is somewhat rare on the north-west coasts of Spain and Portugal. Whether her speed would be thus affected we knew not.

Swiftly, yet deliberately, we set to work to make sail. I was sent aloft with a leather bucket half full of water, with instructions to thoroughly douse the blocks lest the squeaking of the tackle would betray us. Then slowly but surely the foreyard was hoisted, the cable cut, and with scarce a ripple the pinnace heeled and glided towards the fort-guarded entrance to the harbour.

It must have been betwixt midnight and the early hours of the morning that we set sail. Behind us lay the dark outlines of the town, with ne'er a light visible, backed by the dark, tree-clad hills. Not a sound was to be heard save the howl of a dog. Otherwise 'twas like a city of the dead.

But ahead lanterns twinkled on the buttresses of the two castles, showing that their garrisons kept watch and ward. Even with her dark brown sails and sombre hull the _Damsel of Lyme_ would run great risk of discovery as she ran the gauntlet.

My father stood at the tiller, his feet placed wide apart and his hands lightly grasping the curved wood. His old facility had come back to him, and already he had gained the feel of the vessel's helm, while he critically watched the huge sail, ready to order me to tend the sheets the moment the wind veered as little as half a point.

Satisfied with the speed of the pinnace, we made no attempt to set the mainsail till clear of the harbour. To do so would require our united efforts, and with the helm left unattended in that narrow waterway the consequences would be fatal to our enterprise. So we held on, praying that our bid for freedom would be successful.

As we swept past the fort on the larboard hand a hoarse voice hailed us, to which my father promptly replied.

Evidently the reply did not satisfy the vigilant sentinel, for he hailed again, ordering us (so I was afterwards told) to heave-to while a boat put off to make the customary examination.

"Lie down, Ralph; their bullets will be singing past us ere long," he cautioned, and directly afterwards the report of a musket echoed in the still night, a shot whistling betwixt our masts.

The firing was taken up on both sides of the harbour, bullets striking the water or passing overhead; though several cut through our foresail the damage was but slight, and the pinnace still held on her course.

Then to the bark of the small pieces was added the deep roar of the heavy ordnance, the weighty missiles singing blithely as they skimmed above our heads, knocking up showers of spray as they struck the water.

But already the _Damsel of Lyme_ was slipping away rapidly from the forts, and their shots began to fall short, though for a long time afterwards the flashes of the ordnance were plainly visible.

"Blaze away, you Spanish dogs!" shouted my father gleefully. "Ralph, my boy, we're out of it at last, so yo ho! for Old England."