My Lady of Doubt

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE REMAINS OF TRAGEDY

  It must have been the shock of thus realizing suddenly how short a timeremained in which I should have light which restored my senses. I know Istared at the dim yellow flicker dully at first, and then with a swiftreturning consciousness which spurred my brain into activity. In thatinstant I hated, despised myself, rebelled at my weakness. Faith inClaire Mortimer came back to me in a flood of regret. If she had failed,it was through no fault of hers, and I was no coward to lie there and rotwithout making a stern fight for life. When I was found, those who cameupon my body would know that I died struggling, died as a man should,facing fate with a smile, with hands gripped in the contest. Theresolution served--it was a spur to my pride, instantly driving awayevery haunting shadow of evil. Yet where should I turn? To what endshould I devote my energies? It was useless to climb those stairs again.But there must be a way out. It was impossible to conceive that theold-time Mortimer--the stern frontiersman who had built this refuge frompossible Indian attack--had made merely a hole in which to hide. Thatwould have been insanity, for, with the house above aflame, he would havebeen cooked to a crisp. No! that was inconceivable; there must haveoriginally been an exit somewhere. But where? And if discovered would itbe found choked by the _debris_ of a century, a mere _cul de sac_? Surelynone of this present generation knew the existence of any such passage.Yet it was the single desperate chance remaining, and I dare not letdoubt numb my faculties.

  I gripped the old musket as the only instrument at hand, and begantesting the walls. Three sides I rapped, receiving the same dead, dullresponse. I was in the darkest corner now, beyond the stairs, stillhopelessly beating the gun barrel against the stone. The dim lightrevealed no change in the wall formation, the same irregular expanse ofrubble set in solid mortar, hardened by a century of exposure to the dryatmosphere. Then to an idle, listless blow there came a hollow, woodensound, that caused the heart to leap into the throat. I tried again, afoot to the left, confident my ears had played me false, but this timethere could be no doubt--there was an opening here back of a woodenbarrier.

  Half crazed by this good fortune, I caught up the inch of candle, andheld it before the wall. The dim light scarcely served as an aid, soingeniously had the door been painted in resemblance to the mortaredstone. I was compelled to sound again, inch by inch, with the gun barrelbefore I could determine the exact dimensions of the opening. Then Icould trace the slight crack where the wood was fitted, nor could I havedone this but for the warping of a board. Wild with apprehension lest mylight fail before the necessary work could be accomplished, I drew outthe single-bladed knife from my pocket, and began widening this crack.Feverishly as I worked this was slow of accomplishment, yet sliver bysliver the slight aperture grew, until I wedged in the gun barrel, andpried out the plank. The rush of air extinguished the candle, yet I carednothing, for the air was fresh and pure, promising a clear passage.

  God, this was luck! With new courage throbbing through my veins I gropedmy way back to the table after flint and steel, and relit the candlefragment, shadowing the flame with both palms as I returned to where theplank had been pressed aside. However, I found such precautionunnecessary, as there was no perceptible draught through the passage nowthe opening was clear for the circulation of air. There had been twoplanks--thick and of hard wood--composing the entrance to the tunnel, butI found it impossible to dislodge the second, and was compelled tosqueeze my way through the narrow twelve-inch opening. This was adifficult task, as I was a man of some weight, but once accomplished Ifound myself in a contracted passageway, not to exceed three feet inwidth, and perhaps five from floor to roof. Here it was apparently aswell preserved as when first constructed, probably a hundred years ormore ago, the side walls faced with stone, the roof supported by roughlyhewn oak beams. I was convinced there was no great weight of earthresting upon these, and the tunnel, which I followed without difficulty,or the discovery of any serious obstruction, for fifty feet, inclinedsteadily upward, until, in my judgment, it must have come within a veryfew feet of the surface. Here there occurred a sharp turn to the right,and the excavation advanced almost upon a level.

  Knowing nothing of the conformation above, or of the location ofbuildings, I was obliged to press forward blindly, conserving the faintlight of the candle, and praying for a free passage. It was an experienceto test the nerves, the intense stillness, the bare, gray walls, cold tothe touch, the beams grazing my head, and upholding that mass of earthabove, the intense darkness before and behind, with only the flickeringradius of yellow light barely illuminating where I trod. Occasionally thewood creaked ominously, and bits of earth, jarred by my passage, fellupon me in clods. Altogether it was an experience I have no desire torepeat, although I was in no actual danger for some distance. OldMortimer had built his tunnel well, and through all the years it had heldsafely, except where water had soaked through, rotting the timbers. Thecandle was sputtering with a final effort to remain alight when I came tothe first serious obstruction. I had barely time in which to mark thenature of the obstacle before the flame died in the socket, leaving me ina blackness so profound it was like a weight. For the moment I waspractically paralyzed by fear, my muscles limp, my limbs trembling. Yetto endeavor to push forward was no more to be dreaded than to attemptretracing my steps. In one way there was hope; in the other none.

  With groping fingers I verified the situation, as that brief glance erethe candle failed had revealed it. A beam had fallen letting down a massof earth, but was wedged in such a way as to leave a small opening abovethe floor, barely sufficient for a man to wiggle through. How far eventhis slight passage extended, or what worse obstruction lay hidden beyondwas all conjecture. It was a mere chance in which I must risk life inhope of saving it--I might become helplessly wedged beneath the timbers,or any movement might precipitate upon me a mass of loosened earth. Itwas a horrid thought, the death of a burrowing rat; and I dare not let mymind dwell upon the dread possibility. Slowly, barely advancing an inchat a time, I began the venture, my hands blindly groping for the passage,the cold perspiration bathing my body. The farther I penetrated amid the_debris_, the greater became the terror dominating me, yet to draw backwas next to impossible. The opening grew more contracted; I couldscarcely force myself forward, digging fingers and toes into the hardearth floor, the obstructing timber scraping my body. It was an awful,heartrending struggle, stretched out flat like a snake in the darkness,the loose earth showering me with each movement. There was more than onesupport down; I had to double about to find opening; again and again Iseemed to be against an unsurpassable barrier; twice I dug through a massof fallen dirt, once for three solid feet, throwing the loosened eartheither side of me, and pushing it back with my feet, thus utterlyblocking all chance of retreat. Scarcely was this accomplished whenanother fall from above came, half burying head and shoulders, andcompelling me to do the work over. The air grew foul and sluggish, but Iwas toiling for life, and dug at the _debris_ madly, reckless of whatmight fall from above. Better to be crushed, than to die of suffocation,and the very desperation with which I strove proved my salvation. Forwhat remained of the roof held, and I struggled through into the firmergallery beyond, faint from exhaustion, yet as quickly reviving in thefresher air. I had reached the end of the passage before I comprehendedthe truth. It opened in the side of a gulley, coming out between theroots of a great tree, and could only have been discovered throughsheerest accident. Years of exposure had plastered the small opening withclay, and I was compelled to break this away before I could creep throughout into the open air.

  I was a wreck in body and mind, my face streaked with earth, my hairfilled with dirt, my clothing torn and disreputable. Laboring for breath,my fingers raw and bleeding, I lay there, with scarcely enough strengthremaining to keep from rolling to the bottom of the ravine. For somemoments I was incapable of either thought or action, every ounce ofenergy having been expended in that last desperate struggle. I laypanting, with eyes closed, hardly
realizing that I was indeed alive.Slowly, throb by throb, my heart came back into regularity of beat, andmy brain into command. My eyes opened, and I shuddered with horror, as Irecognized that dismal opening into the side of the hill. Clinging to thetree trunk I attained my feet, still swaying from weakness, and was thusable to glance about over the edge of the bank, and gain some conceptionof my immediate surroundings.

  It was early dawn, the eastern sky that shade of pale gray which precedesthe sun, a few, white, fleecy clouds sailing high above, already tingedwith red reflection. I must have been in that earth prison since themorning of the previous day; it seemed longer, yet even that expirationof time proved that those who had imprisoned me there had left me to die.God! I couldn't believe that--not of her! Clear as the evidence appeared,I yet fought down the thought bitterly, creeping on hands and knees overthe edge of the bank, to where I could sit on the grass, and gaze aboutin the growing light. The house was to the left, an apple orchardbetween, and a low fence enclosing a garden. I could gain but glimpses ofthe mansion through the intervening trees, but it was large, imposing, asquare, old-fashioned house, painted white, with green shutters. Itappeared deserted, and no spirals of smoke ascended from the kitchenchimney. Apparently not even the servants were yet stirring. However,there was smoke showing farther to the right, but I had to move before Icould see the cause clearly--the smouldering remains of what must havebeen a large barn. I advanced in that direction, skirting the orchard,and a row of negro cabins. These were deserted, the doors open, and twoof them exhibited evidences of fire. A storehouse had its door batteredin, a huge timber, evidently used as a ram, lying across the threshold,and many of the boxes and barrels within had been smashed with axes. Theground all about had been trampled by horses' hoofs, and only asmouldering fragment of the stables remained.

  I stared about perplexed, unable to decipher the meaning of suchdestruction. Surely Grant would never dare such a deed with his unarmedforce. Besides Elmhurst was the property of a loyalist, ay! the Colonelof his regiment. Not even the madness of anger would justify so wanton anact. The Hessians might be guilty for sake of plunder, but not whileunder Grant's command, and knowing they must march under parole throughrebel territory to again attain their own lines. And this had occurredduring the night; indeed, it seemed to me, the raiders must have departedwithin an hour, while Grant's column was to take up its march forPhiladelphia as soon as it became dark. Whatever the mystery I couldnever hope to solve it loitering there; the house itself would doubtlessreveal the story, and I turned in that direction, skirting the fence, yetexercising care, for there might still remain defenders within, behindthose green blinds, to mistake me for an enemy. I saw nothing, no sign oflife, as I circled through the trees of the orchard, and came out uponthe grassplot facing the front porch. The sun was up now, and I couldperceive each detail. There was a smashed window to the right, a greenshutter hanging dejectedly by one hinge; the great front door stood wideopen, and the body of a dead man lay across the threshold, a dark stainof blood extending across the porch floor.