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Crown and Sceptre: A West Country Story, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 44. In Utter Darkness |
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_ CHAPTER FORTY FOUR. IN UTTER DARKNESS It was not easy to think and lay plans in such a position as that in which Scarlett Markham found himself. His temples throbbed painfully, his head swam, and at every exertion it seemed to him as if hot molten lead were rolling from side to side of his head. But the cool damp air came by him in a continuous draught, and feeling now that before long the narrow passages and the little chamber beyond must certainly grow heated in the conflagration, perhaps be swept away in the general destruction, he set himself the task of getting Sir Godfrey upon his back, and, after several failures, found that his first step in that direction must be to unbuckle and cast aside the defensive armour his father wore. This done, the steel falling on the stone floor of the passage with a heavy clang, he once more tried, successfully, and, bending beneath the weight of his load, traversed the narrow passage, with a dull low roar sounding in a muffled way on his left. The air came fresher and fresher as he pressed on in the intense darkness, till, recalling by an effort of memory every step he and Fred had formerly taken, he felt his way into the little chamber, having drawn his sword and used it for a staff, and to guide his way. How well he recalled the shape of that little hiding-place, with its dust and cobwebs, and the colourless strands of ivy hanging down! And as he paused here, asking himself whether he should stay for the present, a silent answer was given to his question, for the hand which rested upon the wall felt that the stones were, growing sensibly warm, sufficiently so to suggest that the fire was raging on the other side. Taking a long breath of the cool fresh air, he had no difficulty in telling which way to turn for the further door, whose half-open edge the extended sword touched directly. Then, grasping it with his hand, it grated heavily as he drew it towards him, passed through the low opening, and knew that he he was at the top of the long narrow descending stairs. What a terrible depth it seemed as he went down very slowly step by step, but heartened each minute by the feeling that every step took them more out of the reach of the fire, while the steady current of air drawn in from the wilderness and the lake side by the fire within the building, rendered it certain that no flame or suffocating fume could reach them there. The bottom at last! and Scarlett paused to rest. He was bathed in perspiration, and a curious dull feeling of exhaustion was setting in, but he did not speak; he had set for himself the goal which he must reach, and at which they would rest for the present. After he had bound up his father's wounds, he might recover somewhat, so as to walk a little with assistance; and then the opening at the end of the passage was there, and freedom for them both, if the enemy had gone. But he had not reached that vault-like refuge yet, and the way seemed to be interminable. The excitement and effort had produced a dull, half stupefying effect upon his senses, and this was growing rapidly now, so much so, that with legs bending beneath him, he dropped his sword, which fell with an echoing clamour upon the stones, and supported himself by the wall. And now in that pitchy darkness he crept slowly along, with a singular nightmare-like sensation growing upon him; he ceased to have any command of the power of thought, and went on and on, inch by inch, ever ready to sink beneath his burden, but always at the last moment making a desperate effort, and regaining enough strength to go on. How long it took, how he ever got through his terrible task, he never knew. All that he could ever recall was a feeling of journeying on and on beneath an ever-increasing load, till suddenly the support on either side ceased; he made a desperate effort to save himself, but went down upon his hands and knees, felt that the burden he bore had suddenly rolled from his back, and that his face was resting on the cool damp stones. Then all was darkness, mental as well as visual, and he sank into a stupor, which lasted he could not tell how long. The awaking was strange. Scarlett opened his eyes involuntarily, and looked above him and to right and left. He closed his eyes, and the effect was the same. Then he lay for a time thinking that he must be asleep, and that this was some portion of a dream. But the sensation of faintness, his aching head, and the sore stiffness of every muscle--so painful that he could hardly move--soon warned him that he was awake, and he set himself to battle with his confused brain, to try and make out where he was, and what it all meant. For, as far as the past was concerned, it was as if a dense black curtain were drawn across his mind, and this great veil he could not thrust aside. He was cold--he was stiff and sore--he was hungry and feverishly thirsty,--he could realise all these things, but that was all, and he lay thinking and asking himself again and again, "What does it all mean?" The first hint which his brain seemed to seize upon was given by a low deep sigh which came from close at hand. Scarlett started up, staring wildly in the direction from which the sound came, while his hands and brow grew moist with terror--a terror which passed away, as a flash of mental light illumined his obscured brain, and he cried aloud-- "Father!" There was no reply, and Scarlett's horror and dread grew more intense, not from weak foolish imagination, but from the feeling that his father was lying wounded there, perhaps at the point of death, while he, who ought to have been aiding him in every way, must have been selfishly asleep. The self-shame was not deserved, for nature had been too strong for Scarlett Markham, and it was more the stupor of utter exhaustion to which he had succumbed than sleep. He crept to where Sir Godfrey lay, and felt for his face, which was cold and clammy, sending a shudder through the fingers which touched the icy brow, and then sought for the region of the heart. Incongruous ideas of a trivial nature occur to people even in the most terrible times, and it was so here, for as Scarlett's hand sought for his father's breast, he found himself thinking of how good a thing it was that he removed the armour when he took him upon his back. The heart was beating faintly, but the pulsations could be plainly felt, and this gave Scarlett some little hope, such as was badly needed at this crucial time. But what was he to do? How could he help him? For aught he could tell, they must have been there many hours, and once more a terrible chill ran through the youth, as the thought struck him that his father might be bleeding to death. And what could he do? He was in utter darkness, and could not tell where the wounds might be. There was comfort once more in the fresh thought which came, suggested by his experience in the skirmishes in which he had been engaged, and by his duties in tending the wounded. For he recalled how, in the majority of cases, unless some important vessel was divided, Nature interposed as the great surgeon for the preservation of her children's lives, causing the veins to chill and contract, and the bleeding to cease; and as Scarlett Markham knelt beside his father, and pressed his lips to the icy brow, he prayed that it might be so now, and that his life might be spared. "Now, what is to be done?" he said to himself, half rising, as if the act he had done had given him refreshment and a new access of thought. He stood for a few moments thinking, and then, feeling his way about the place, he satisfied himself where the openings out of the little vault lay, his doubt as to which led to the lake being solved by the steps down to where it was formerly water, but which on testing he now found to be firm floor, and by the little heap of rusty arms over which he nearly fell as he crept about. His first need was light and help for his father, and to obtain these he felt that perhaps it would be best to surrender. With this aim in view, he made his way back along the passage, kicking against and recovering his sword, and up the flight of narrow stone steps, becoming conscious that the air was growing warmer as he proceeded, and finally that the walls were hot, while straight before him, as he reached the top and tried to penetrate into the chamber, there was a confused pile of heavy stones leaning towards him, as if some party wall or portion of the roof had fallen in that direction, and blocked the way. He could not stay to investigate, the heat was too great; but the freedom with which he breathed taught him that the ruins had not completely stopped all the chamber, for a steady current of air was flowing past him from below. He felt instinctively that the fire must have done its work, and that the greater part of the secret passage had been obliterated by the falling ruins, so that he must not look for help from that direction. Retracing his steps, then, he once more reached the vault, whose coolness was pleasant after the stifling heat above. Then, crossing the dark place, he slowly descended the steps, and went onward with extended hands, feeling his way toward the two entries--the original, and that which had been broken through by the fallen tree. He had not far to go before a faint light stole down to guide his way, and he reached the spot where the passage was roofed in with dead branches and twigs, and as he reached it, just faintly heard, came the shrill cry of a blackbird--_Pink-pink-pink_!--from somewhere in the wood above. A trifle that he would not have heeded at another time, but which now sent a thrill of hope through him, for it told of light and liberty, and help for the sufferer lying in that gloomy vault. But he wasted no time, passing over the crackling refuse of broken wood and stones which here impeded his way, till almost directly after he had cleared all this, and made a turn, catching sight of the bright star-like light low down by the floor of the passage--the opening that he had made, and by which the water which had been gathering probably for generations had been drained away. He was soon at the rough wall which stopped the arch, and, going down on one knee, he listened, for peril had made him cautious, besides which the lessons of life he was receiving in his regimental work taught the necessity for being prepared for enemies at every turn. All seemed to be perfectly still, and as far as he could judge it was early morning, soon after daybreak. The first rays of the sun appeared to be brightening the surface of the lake as he tried to peer through the orifice, and every now and then the cry of the water-fowl and the splash of water endorsed his belief in there being no danger near. Feeling satisfied that there was no danger, he returned to the broken opening and stopped short as he heard a sharp rustling, followed by a sound that was evidently the sharp utterance of some one impatient at his position, or because one expected did not come. Did whoever it was know of the existence of the hole through which the faint light streamed down, showing the configuration of the rough branches which covered the broken place? It seemed only probable, and, feeling the necessity for the greater caution, Scarlett stepped slowly and carefully among the broken fragments till he had passed the risky spot, and then hurried on as rapidly as he could till he reached the steps, and, mounting them cautiously, he stood once more in the chamber. Feeling rapidly about, he uttered a cry of joy, for his hand touched his father's brow; and as it did so, he felt it raised by the burning fingers of the sufferer, who began talking quickly. "Quick! Which way did they go--Lady Markham--my child Lilian? Why do you not speak? Tell me; they are not in the burning house?" "Father! don't you know my voice?" whispered Scarlett. "Know your voice--know you? Yes, yes, my boy. Scar, lad, help me. They must be somewhere here. I am looking for them. Yes, somewhere in the house." "No, no, father; they are in safety down at the Manor." "Here, I tell you, sir. Help me to find them. Quick! They are in the burning house and Scar, my boy, is that you?" Then, seeming to drop off to sleep as his son knelt by him, there was a sigh or two, and then he was breathing regularly, although the inspirations sounded faint and low. Scarlett could contain himself no longer, but, rising from his knees, he hurried down the few steps and along the lower passage, pausing for a moment before stealing carefully beneath the broken portion of the arched tunnel. For there could be no doubt about the matter: there was a rustling sound somewhere above that did not seem such as would be made by any wild animals likely to haunt the forest, and a certainty was given to his ideas by a low-muttering arising, followed by a hasty ejaculation as of impatience or pain. So near did this sound, that Scarlett remained motionless in the obscurity of the tunnel arch, afraid to stir for quite an hour, during which he listened, feeling assured that this opening had been discovered by the enemy, and that they had placed a sentry there to trap any one who attempted to escape. "Oh!" ejaculated Scarlett at last, softly, as what he believed to be enlightenment flashed across his brain. "Why did I not think of that before? Fred Forrester, of course! He remembered our discovery, and he has explained all to his father, with the result that there are sentinels all about, waiting to take every poor wounded wretch who seeks to escape." It was a painful thought, for it troubled him to think that Fred had been so unprincipled as to betray their old boyish secret. "He might have been content to fight with his party against ours, and not make use of his knowledge to do his old friends an evil turn." The feeling of bitter anger mingled with scorn increased as he stood there in weary inactivity, longing to rejoin Sir Godfrey, but dreading to stir, for fear he should bring danger upon his father's head. And all this time he might be awake, and in grievous suffering; perhaps dying, and feebly stretching out his hands for help, even believing that his son had left him there to die. Scarlett could bear the agony of his thoughts no longer; at any cost he must pass beneath that opening, and rejoin his father, and to this end he stepped forward softly, to find that he had planted his foot upon a rotten stick fallen from above, and lightly as he trod, the dry, decayed piece of wood parted with a loud noise. Scarlett turned cold, and the chilly moisture gathered upon his brow and within the palms of his hands. "It is all over!" he muttered, as his hand went involuntarily to the hilt of his sword; and then he dragged it from its sheath, and raised the point, thinking of how strong his position was, and how few men would dare to descend with that sharp point awaiting the first enemy who came. Then, half stifled by holding his breath, he began to breathe freely once more, for there came a low sigh from above, then a faint rustling, and then the regular, low breathing of some man asleep. Scarlett stayed no longer, but stepped quickly across the wood-strewn patch of the floor, and then hastened along the passage, and up the few steps in the total darkness; and after a very little groping about, found himself beside his father, who was sleeping peacefully, while his head was cool, telling how the fever of his wounds had gone down. _ |
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