CHAPTER XIV
Men who have eaten sufficiently and drunk heavily are not anxious toadmit into their company any one who has not dined, and whose last glassof wine was drunk the day before. The gentlemen in the public room ofthe Massereene Arms were not, most of them, drunk when Maurice St. Claircame among them, but they were gay. Their hearts, to use a Scripturephrase, were made glad with wine. They were in the mood in which mencrack jokes and laugh loud at jokes which would not pass muster beforedinner. They were ready to sing out of time and tune or to applaudthe songs of others without criticising them. But they were, with theexception of one or two, men of feeble capacity, sober enough to beconscious of the fact that they were liable to make fools of themselves,and to resent the intrusion of a cool-headed stranger.
They stared angrily at Maurice St. Clair. They said in audible tonesthings which showed him plainly that his presence was most unwelcome,but Maurice remained unabashed. He crossed the room and sat down on thewindow seat--the same seat from which Neal had watched the piper and thedancers a week or two before. He beckoned to the harassed and weariedgirl who waited on the party.
"Get me," he said, "something to eat--anything. I do not mind what itis, and bring a cup of milk. Then send my groom to me."
"The gentleman," said a young squire, who had certainly crossed theundefined line which separates sobriety from drunkenness, "is going todrink milk. Now, what I want to know is this--has any gentleman a rightto drink milk on an evening like this, after the glorious victory whichwe have won?"
"It's damned little you had to do with winning it," said an officer whosat beside him. "You can drink, but----"
"The man that says I can't drink lies," said the other. "No offenceto you, Captain; no offence meant or taken. I give you a toast, andI propose that the milky gentleman in the window--the milk-and-watergentleman--drinks it along with us. Here's success to the loyalistsand a long rope and short shrift to the rebelly croppies. Now, Mr.Milk-and-Water----"
Maurice rose to his feet.
"I understand, gentlemen, that this is a public room in which anytraveller may be supplied with what he calls for. I have no wish to pushmyself into your company. I trust that you will allow me to enjoy my ownunmolested."
The intoxicated proposer of the toast laid his hand on his sword,blustered out an oath or two, and was pulled down again into hisseat. There was good feeling enough left among the better class ofhis companions to understand that a stranger should be treated withcivility. There was sense enough among the rest to recognise thatMaurice was not the kind of man whom it would be safe to bully. The girlreturned and informed Maurice that his groom was in the kitchen, butrefused to attend him.
Maurice rose and sought the man himself. The reason of the refusal wassufficiently obvious. The kitchen was full of troopers who had advancedmuch further on the way to absolute drunkenness than their officers.James, Lord Dunseveric's groom, was decidedly the most drunken of theparty, but Maurice wanted the man, and was prepared to take some troubleto reduce him to a condition of serviceableness again. He grasped himby the collar of the coat, and pushed him through the back door into theyard. A delighted stable boy worked the pump handle while Maurice heldthe groom under the stream of cold water. The cure was ineffective.Maurice walked him up and down the yard for half an hour, and then puthim under the pump again. The man remained obstinately drunk. Mauriceflung him down in a corner of a stable and left him.
He returned to the room where the feasters sat, and looked in. Thecompany had advanced rapidly since he had seen them last. The squire whohad proposed the toast was under the table. Several others were lyingback helplessly in their chairs. Those who could talk were talkingloud and all together. The amount of liquor still to be consumed wasconsiderable. Maurice smiled. These officers and gentlemen were littlelikely to interfere with anything he chose to do at midnight. He wentout of doors and sat on the stone bench in front of the inn.
He had no plan in his head for the rescue of Neal Ward, only he wasquite determined to accomplish it somehow before morning. He did noteven know where his friend was imprisoned, or how he was guarded. Hisfather had spoken of a cellar somewhere in the inn. He supposed that foewould sooner or later be able to find it, overpower the sentry, and setNeal free. In the meanwhile, he had nothing to do but wait.
He felt a touch on his shoulder, and looked round to see the girl, theinn servant, standing beside him.
"You're the gentleman," she whispered, "that was speaking till the youngman here the morn--the young man that I give the basket to, that is afriend o' Jemmy Hope's?"
Maurice recollected the incident very well.
"He's here the now," whispered the girl again. "He's down in the winecellar, and the door's locked on him, and there's a man with a gunforninst the door, and, the Lord save us, it's goin' to hang him theyare."
"Will you show me where the cellar is?" said Maurice.
"Ay, will I no? I'll be checked sore by the master, but I'll show you, Iwill."
The girl led him down a long passage, which was nearly dark, opened adoor, and showed him a flight of stone steps.
"There's three doors," she said. "It's the one at the end forninst youthat's the cellar door. Are ye going down? It's venturesome ye are.Whisht, then, and go canny, and dinna go ayont the bottom of the steps."
Maurice went cautiously. When he reached the bottom of the steps he sawbefore him a long passage, stone-flagged, low-roofed, narrow. From aniron hook at the far end hung a lamp. Beyond it stood a sentry, one ofCaptain Twinely's yeomen. The man was awake and alert. There was no signof drunkenness about him. He was well armed. The light from the lamp wasdim and feeble at Maurice's end of the passage, but it shone brightlyenough for a space in front of the sentry. Maurice saw that it wouldbe impossible to approach the man unseen, impossible to steal on him orrush at him without having a shot fired which would startle every one inthe inn. He crept up the stairs again. The girl was waiting for him.
"Is the door of the cellar locked?" he asked.
"Ay, it is, I fetched the last bottles of wine out mysel', and I sawthem put the man in--sore draggled he was, and looking like a body in adwam. The master locked the door himsef, and the captain took the keysoff with him. But there's no harm in that. There's another key that themistress used to have afore she died, the creature. It's in a drawer inthe master's room, but it's easy got at."
"Get it for me," said Maurice.
He looked into the public room again. The revel was far advanced now.It was nearly midnight, and only three or four of the most seasoneddrinkers survived. Even they, as Maurice saw, were in no position toassert themselves, or to understand anything that was going on. Afew minutes later even these veterans felt that they had had enough.Supporting each other, reeling against tables and chairs, they staggeredupstairs to their beds. The greater part of the merry company lay onthe floor in attitudes which were neither dignified nor comfortable,and snored. The rest of the inn was silent. From outside came the steadytramp of the soldiers who patrolled the town, and from far off theirchallenges to the sentries on watch at the ends of the streets.
The girl came back to Maurice with the key in her hand.
"I got it," she said. "The master's cocked up sleepin' by the kitchenfire. There was a man in his bed, or maybe twa, but I didna wake them."
"Come back to me in half an hour," said Maurice, "I may want your help.And listen, my lass, if you stand by me to-night I'll see you safeafterwards. You shan't want for a handful of silver or a bran new gown."
"I want none of your siller nor your gowns," said the girl. "I'll lendye a han' because you're a friend of the lad that's the friend of JemmyHope."
At about half-past twelve the sentry who stood in front of Neal's cellarheard some one descend the stairs into the passage with shuffling steps.A slatternly girl with shoes so down at the heel that they clatteredon the stone flags every time she lifted her feet, approached him. Sherubbed her eyes and yawned like one lately wakened out of sleep. Shecar
ried a lantern in her hand.
"What do you want here?" said the man.
"The master sent me, sir, with another lamp. He was afeard the yin yehad would be out again the morn. There isna that much oil in it."
"Your master's civil," said the man. "I've no fancy for standing sentryhere in the dark. He's a civil man, and I'll speak a good word for himto-morrow to the captain. I hope you're a civil wench like the man youserve."
"Ay, amn't I after fetchin' the lamp till ye?"
"And a kiss along with it," said the soldier. "Come now, you needn't becoy, there's none to see you."
He put his arms round her waist and pulled her towards him.
"Mind now, mind, will ye, have you neither sense nor shame? Ye'll havethe lamp spilt and the house in a blaze this minute."
She escaped from him, and, standing on tip-toe, reached the lamp whichhung from the roof and put it on the ground. The soldier caught heragain, and this time succeeded in kissing her.
"Ye may hang the fresh lamp up yourself," said the girl. "I willna lay afinger on it for ye now."
Rubbing her mouth with her hand, as if to wipe away the kiss forced onher, she shambled down the passage, taking the first lamp with her. Thesentry heard her shuffle up the stairs again, making a great deal ofnoise with her clattering shoes. Then he hung the fresh lamp on his hookand stood back again against the door of the cellar.
It was very dull work standing all night in the passage, but he wasdetermined to keep awake. Neal Ward had slipped through the fingers ofCaptain Twinely's men twice. There was not much chance of his escapingthis time, but the sentry, for the honour of his corps, and for the sakeof the personal ill-will that every member of it bore to the prisoner,was not going to run the smallest risk. Earlier in the night he hadamused himself by shouting insults of various kinds through the doorof the cellar. Later on he had given the prisoner a vivid and realisticdescription of the way in which men are hanged, but Neal had made nosign of hearing a word that was said to him, so the occupation grewuninteresting. Now he whistled a few of his favourite airs, speculatingon the amount of the fifty pounds reward offered for Neal's capturewhich would fall to his share, and estimating his chances of takingsome of the other United Irishmen for whom the Government had offeredsubstantial sums. Then he began to count the flagstones on the floor ofthe passage. He had done this once or twice before, and had been able todistinguish as many as twenty-five, which brought him more than half wayto the staircase, before the light failed him. This time he couldonly count twenty. Beyond that the floor lay dimly visible, but it wasimpossible to distinguish one stone from another.
"Damn it," He growled, "this isn't near as good a lamp as the first."
He counted again, and only reached a total of eighteen slabs of stone.He glanced down the passage, and found that he could not see the end ofit. He looked at the lamp. It was burning very low. It occurred to himas an unpleasant possibility that the girl had taken away the wronglamp--had taken the one with the oil in it and left him the empty one.He reassured himself. This lamp was a different shape from that whichhung in the passage when he first took his post as sentry. He made uphis mind that its wick must require to be turned up. Perhaps it had beenbadly trimmed. The girl who brought it was evidently sleepy; she wouldbe very likely to forget to trim it. He stepped forward to where thelamp hung. He paused, startled by a slight noise at the far end of thepassage. He listened, but heard nothing more. It was necessary to liftthe lamp off the hook before he could trim the wick. He laid his musketon the ground and reached up to it. As he did so he heard swift steps,steps of heavy feet, on the flagged passage. They were quite close tohim. He looked round and caught a glimpse of Maurice St. Clair in theact of springing on him. He was grappled by strong arms and flung to theground before he could do anything to defend himself. Maurice, kneelingon him, put the point of a knife to his throat.
"If you speak one word or utter the slightest sound I cut your throat atonce."
The unfortunate soldier lay still. Maurice, the knife still pricking theman's throat, crept slowly off him and knelt on the floor. With his lefthand he unclasped the soldier's belt.
"Now," he said, "turn over on your face, and put your hands behind you."
The man obeyed, and felt the sharp point of the knife slip slowly roundhis neck until it rested behind his ear.
"'Remember," said Maurice, "one good cut downwards now and you are adead man. Put your hands together."
He pulled the leather belt clear with his left hand, then, dropping theknife, he knelt on the man's back and gripped his wrists.
In a moment he had them securely strapped together with the leatherbelt. Then he stuffed a cloth into the soldier's mouth and bound itthere with a stout cord tied tight round his head. Another cord--Mauricehad come well supplied with what he was likely to want--was made fastround the man's legs. Then Maurice stood up and surveyed his handiwork.He laughed softly, well satisfied. The lamp flickered and went out.
"It's a good job for you," said Maurice, "that the light lasted as longas it did. I couldn't have gagged and tied you in the dark. I shouldhave been obliged to kill you."
He felt along the wall until he came to the cellar door and found thekeyhole. After much fumbling he got the key in, turned it, and pushedopen the door.
"Neal," he called. "Neal, are you there?"
"Yes. Who is that? Is it you, Maurice? It's like your voice."
Stumbling forward through the pitch dark, Neal gripped Maurice at last.Hand in hand they went cautiously along the passage and up the stairs.
"Come in here," said Maurice. "There's a light here, and I want tosee if it's really you. Oh! you needn't be afraid. There are plenty ofsoldiers, but they won't hurt you. They're all dead drunk. Now, Neal,there's lots to eat and drink. Sit down and make the best of your time.You'll want a square meal. I'll just take a light and go down to thatfellow in the passage. I've got a few fathom of good, stout rope--I'mnot sure that it isn't the bit that they meant to hang you with in themorning--and I'll fix him up so that he'll neither stir nor speak tillsome one lets him loose."
In a quarter of an hour Maurice returned.
"The next thing, Neal, is to get you out of this town. It's full ofsoldiers, and there are sentries at every turn, but I've got the wordfor the night, and I think we'll be able to manage."
He walked round the room peering carefully at the drunken men who lay onthe floor.
"'Here's a fellow that's about your size, Neal. He seems to be a captainof some sort, a yeomanry captain by the look of him. I'm hanged if itisn't our friend Twinely again. We'll take the liberty of borrowinghis uniform for you. There'll be a poetic justice about that, and he'llsleep all the better for having these tight things off him."
He knelt down and stripped Captain Twinely.
"Now then, quick, Neal. Don't waste time. Daylight will be on us beforewe know where we are. Take your own things with you in a bundle. Changeagain somewhere when you get out of the town, you'll be safer travellingin your own clothes. Take some food with you. Here, I'll make up aparcel while you dress. I'll stick in a bottle of wine. Now you'reright. Walk boldly past the sentries. If you're challenged curse the manthat challenges you. The word for the night is 'Clavering.' Travel bynight as much as you can. Keep off the main roads. Strike straight forhome. It'll be a queer thing if you can't lie safe round Dunseveric fora few days till we get you out of the country."