by Kirk Munroe
CHAPTER XVIII
FROM ONE TRAP INTO ANOTHER
The light of another day was dimly penetrating those undergrounddepths before our prisoner was prepared to make his last effort forliberty. For all the aid he would receive from the pitiful amountallotted to him he might as well have started hours earlier; but whilehe longed to make the trial he also dreaded it. The thought of thatbox-like passage, through which he would be obliged to force his waywithout a chance of retreat, was so terrible that he shrank from it aswe all shrink from anything dangerous or painful. Then, too, if heshould escape, he would want daylight by which to guide his futuremovements. So, after tossing for hours on his hard bed and consideringevery aspect of his situation, he finally fell into a troubled sleepthat lasted until morning.
For breakfast he had only water, but of this he drank as much as hecould, for he knew not when he would find another supply. Then heselected such of the copper tools as he thought might prove useful.Into one of them, which was a sort of a pick, he fitted a rude woodenhandle, while the others, which had cutting edges and were in thenature of knives, he thrust into his pockets. Having thus completedhis simple preparations, he took a long look, that he well knew mightbe his last, on the daylight that was now so doubly precious, and thenresolutely faced the inner gloom of the ancient mine.
Determined to save his candle for use in the unknown winze, he slowlygroped his way through utter darkness, and finally reached what hebelieved to be the end of the drift. Now he lighted his candle, andfor a moment his unaccustomed eyes ached from the glare of its flame.He was, as he had thought, at the lower opening of the narrow passage,and, as he noted its steep upward slope, he was agitated byconflicting hopes and fears. It might lead to liberty, but there wasan equal chance that in it he should miserably perish.
At the very outset he was confronted by a condition that was not onlydisappointing, but exerted a most depressing influence. There was nodraught, such as he had believed would issue from the winze. In vaindid he hold up a wetted finger, in vain watch for the slightestflicker in the flame of his candle. The air was as stagnant as that ofa dungeon. And yet there certainly had been a decided current at thatvery place only a few hours before. Puzzled and disheartened, he wasstill determined to press forward, and, stooping low, he entered thepassage.
It almost immediately became so contracted that he was compelled tocreep on hands and knees, by which method he slowly and painfullyovercame foot after foot of the ascent. A little later he was forcinghis way with infinite labor, an inch at a time, through a space sonarrow that he was squeezed almost to breathlessness. He was alsobathed in perspiration, and was obliged to recruit his strength byfrequent halts.
At length his candle, which had burned low, was about to expire. Withdespairing eyes he watched its last flickering flame, feeling only theterror of impending darkness, and heedless of the fact that it wasburning his hand. With the quenching of its final spark he resignedhimself to his fate. He had fought his best, but the odds against himwere too heavy, and now his strength was exhausted. Closing his eyes,and resting his head wearily on his folded arms, he prepared for theoblivion that he prayed might come speedily.
Lying thus, and careless of the passage of time, he was visited bypleasant dreams, in which were mingled happy voices, laughter, andsinging. He rested on a couch of roses, and cool breezes fanned hisfevered brow. He was free as air itself and surrounded by illimitablespace.
All at once he became conscious that he was not dreaming, but was wideawake and staring with incredulous eyes at a glimmer of light, sowellnigh imperceptible that only by passing a hand before his face andso shutting it out for an instant could he be certain of itsexistence. At the same time an unmistakable draught of air was findingits way to him, and a voice as of an angel came to his ears faintlybut distinctly with the snatch of a gay song.
With hot blood surging to his brain, the poor fellow tried to callout, but the words died in his parched throat, and he could only emita husky whisper. Then he struggled forward, and found himself in alarger space that widened rapidly until he was able to sit up and movehis arms with freedom.
He had reached the end of the passage; for, above his head, he couldfeel only a smooth surface of rock. The singing had ceased, the ray oflight had faded into darkness, and the draught of air was no longerfelt. But Peveril had noted the aperture by which it had come, andcould now thrust his hand through this into a vacant space beyond.
It seemed to him that the rock above his head was but a slab of nogreat thickness, and he tried to lift it. For some minutes he couldnot succeed, but finally he secured a purchase, got his shouldersdirectly beneath it, and, with a mighty upward heave, moved itslightly from the bed in which it had lain for centuries.
With another powerful effort it was lifted the fraction of an inch,and, though it immediately settled back in place, the prisoner knewthat the time of his deliverance had come. He could not raise thegreat slab bodily, but with wedges he could hold the gain of eachupward lift. His first aids of this kind were the copper knives thathe had brought with him. Then, by a dim light that came through thecrevice thus opened, he used his pick to break off fragments of rock,which were slipped under the slab.
It was thus raised and supported an inch at a time, until at lengthan opening nearly two feet in width was presented. The moment this waseffected Peveril drew himself through it, and, with a great sigh ofthankfulness for his marvellous escape, lay for some minutesrecovering breath after his tremendous exertions and studying his newsurroundings.
Although the small amount of light greeting his eyes as he lifted therock had shown him that he was not to emerge into the open air, hecould not help a feeling of disappointment at finding himself stillunderground. To be sure, he was in a spacious chamber or cavern, hecould not yet tell which, illumined by a faintly diffused light thatgave promise of some connection with the outer world; but he fearedthis might prove to be another unscalable shaft, in which case hewould be no better off than before--in fact, he might find himselfworse off, for he was desperately thirsty and could see no sign ofwater.
"It would be pretty hard lines if I should be compelled to return tomy old well for a drink," he said to himself.
As soon as he had recovered breath, Peveril rose to his feet and beganto walk slowly towards that part of the cavern where the light seemedbrightest. As he went he looked eagerly on all sides for some trace ofthe singer whose voice had inspired him with a new hope at the momentof his blackest despair, but no person was to be seen or heard.
At the same time he found abundant proof that human beings hadrecently visited that place, and would doubtless soon do so again.This was in the shape of boxes, bales, and casks piled against thewalls on both sides of the passage. For a moment Peveril was greatlypuzzled by these; then, as he recalled Joe Pintaud's conversationregarding smugglers, he concluded that he had stumbled across a depotof goods belonging to those free-traders of the great lake.
"In which case," he said to himself, "I shall surely be out of herewithin a few minutes; for an entrance for smugglers must mean an exitfor prisoners."
This was a sound theory, but, like a great many other theories, onethat proved faulty upon practical application, as our young frienddiscovered a few minutes later.
Directly beyond the packages of goods he came upon a small derrick,set firmly into the solid rock at both top and bottom. It had asubstantial block-and-fall attachment, and was swung inward. At thispoint also a heavy tarpaulin, reaching from floor to ceiling, was hungcompletely across the cavern.
Cautiously raising one corner of this, Peveril was blinded by such aflood of light that for a moment he was completely dazzled. As hisvision was gradually restored he found himself on the brink of aprecipice and gazing out over a boundless expanse of water--in fact,over the great lake itself. A narrow ledge projected a little beyondthe curtain that he had lifted, and as he hesitatingly stepped outupon it he also instinctively grasped a small cedar that grew from itto steady himself whi
le he looked down.
The descent was sheer for twenty feet, and so smooth as not to afforda single foothold along its entire face. From the rippling water atits base rose a jagged ledge of black rocks, which Peveril recognizedthe moment his eyes fell upon them.
"Of all mysteries this is the most inexplicable!" he cried; "and yetit surely is the very place."
As he spoke he turned to look at the curtain which he had let fallbehind him, and very nearly tumbled from the ledge in amazement atwhat he saw. Instead of the sheet of dingy canvas that he expected, hewas confronted by a sheer wall of cliff, stained the same rusty red asthat extending for miles on either side, and apparently not differingfrom it in any particular. He was compelled to reach out his hand andtouch it before he could dispel the illusion and convince himself thatonly a sheet of painted canvas separated him from the cavern he hadjust left.
"It is one of the very cleverest things in the way of a hiding-place Iever heard of," he said, half aloud; "and now I understand thedisappearance of that girl. But where on earth did she come from? Howdid she get here? and where did she go to? Could it have been she whomI heard singing a little while ago? If so, where is she now? Not inthe cavern. That I'll swear to."
Peveril might have speculated at much greater length concerning thismystery had not the sight of water that he could not reach soaggravated his thirst that for the moment he could think of littleelse. All at once he hit upon a plan, and two minutes later had drawnaside the curtain, swung out the little derrick, and was lettinghimself down towards the ledge by means of its tackle.
Lying flat on the rough rocks, he drank and drank of the deliciouswater, lifting his head for breath or to gaze ecstatically about him,and then thrusting it again into the cool flood for the pleasure offeeling the water on his hot cheeks.
At length a slight sound caused him to turn quickly and look upward.To his dismay and astonishment the tackle by which he had loweredhimself had disappeared. Unless he could make up his mind to swim formiles through water of icy coldness, he was as truly a prisoner onthat ledge of rock as ever he had been in the underground depths fromwhich he had so recently escaped.
