Lochinvar: A Novel

by S. R. Crockett

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE BREAKING OF THE PRISON

  Black Peter Hals stood grumbling and snarling at the door of theprison of Amersfort. It was almost sundown, and the outer city portswere closed at that hour. A crowd of merrymakers had just passed ontheir way to sup at a dancing-tavern. They had cried tauntingly to himas they went by, and the laughing, loose-haired girls had beckonedtantalizingly with their hands.

  "Come, thou grizzled old bunch of keys," cried one of them, in avoice that tinkled like a bell, "learn to be young again for an hour.So shalt thou cheat both Father Time, and eke Jack Ketch, thy nearkinsman."

  "I am waxing old, indeed, when Bonnibel taunts me unscathed," mutteredPeter Hals, grimly, to himself, as he watched them out of sight; "it istrue there are gray hairs in my poll. But, Lord knows, I have yet in methe fire of youth. My natural strength is noneways abated. I can standon my feet and swig down the sturdy Hollands with any man--aye, evenwith a city councillor at a feast of the corporation. But I rust hereand mildew in this God-forsaken prison. 'Tis six o'clock of a morning,open the doors! Seven o'clock, take about the breakfast! Ten o'clock,comes a jackanapes spick-and-span officer for inspection! Two o'clock,a dozen new prisoners, and no cells to put them in! Six o'clock, supperand complaints! Then click the bolts and rattle the keys--to bed,sleep, and begin all the pother over again on the morrow! Pshaw!--adog's life were livelier, a-scratching for fleas. They at least bitenot twice on the same spot."

  Thus Black Peter Hals, discontentedly ruffling his gray badger'scockscomb on the steps of the prison of Amersfort.

  As he watched, a dainty slip of a maid came up the street with apitcher of coarse blue delft on her shoulder. In the by-going sheraised her eyes to those of Peter Hals. It was but a single longglance, yet it sent his ideas every way in a fine scatter, and ekePeter's hand to his mustache that he might feel whether it were inorder.

  At this moment a dog ran against the girl, and the pitcher clattered tothe ground, where it broke into a thousand pieces.

  The maid stopped, clasped her hands pitifully, and burst into tears.

  "It is all your fault," she cried, looking up at the keeper of theprison.

  Peter ran down the steps and took her by the hand.

  "Do not weep, sweet maid," he said, "I will buy thee a pitcher tentimes better, and fill it with the best of white wine or the choicestoil, only do not cry your pretty eyes all red."

  The girl stole a shy glance at Black Peter.

  "Are you of the servants of the prince?" said she, bashfully looking atthe orange facing of his tunic.

  Black Peter erected himself a little and squared out his chest. It wasthe first time that his grim prison uniform had been so distinguished.

  "I am indeed the keeper of this castle of the prince," he said, withdignity.

  "It is a fine castle, in truth," said the maid, looking at it up anddown and crossways, with blue, wide-open, most ingenuous eyes.

  "You come from the country, perhaps?" asked Peter. For such innocencewas wellnigh impossible to any maid of the city.

  "Aye," said the girl, "I have come from La Haye Sainte in the Flemishcountry of the West, where they speak French. So, therefore, I do notknow your customs nor yet your speech very well. I bide with my aunt inthe street but one to the right. I was sent to bring home a gallon ofwhite wine in a new pitcher. And now it is spilled--all with looking upat you, Sir Officer, standing at the gate of your tower."

  And she sped another glance at the castle-keeper from under the dark,seductive lashes of her almond eyes.

  Black Peter stroked his mustache. It was certainly a risk, but, afterall, there was no likelihood that the new provost-marshal would makethat night the first of his visitations. Indeed, it was by no means socertain that there had been as yet any provost appointed, after the sadaccident which had happened to my Lord of Barra--"whom," said BlackPeter, "may Abraham take to his bosom. For he had no mercy on poormen, who could not get their sleep for his surprises and inspections.A meddlesome Scots crow, all in his rusty black, ever croaking of dutyand penalties, as if he were the hangman of Amersfort calling a poorhussy's crimes at the cart-tail."

  "Come thou in by, my girl," said Black Peter, "and in a trice, if sobe you can tell me the name of the shop, I will get thee a new pitcherfull of wine, better far than the first. Deign to wait with me but amoment here in the castle-hall, where there is a fine fire of sea-coaland none save ourselves to sit by it."

  "I know not if my aunt would approve," said the maid, uncertainly."But, after all, you are most wondrously like my brother, who is abaker of bread at La Haye Sainte. Ah," she continued, clasping herhands, innocently, "at this time o' night he will be unharnessingHerminius (that is our market-dog) and bringing in the white flour andthe brown flour and the little parcel of salt."

  So poignant was the recollection that the maid was compelled to put herhands to her eyes and begin to sob.

  "Weep not," said Black Peter, coming down and putting one hand on hershoulder, and with the other drawing gently her fingers from her face,"I will be as your brother. Deign but to step within my castle, and Iwill send a servant for the jar of wine. You shall only bide with me amatter of ten short minutes, sufficient to tell me of the good brotherand of Herminius, your market-dog."

  The pretty country girl let her eyes slowly rise to his face, and againthe bewitching innocence of the appeal sent Peter's hand complacentlyto his beard. He stroked it as he regarded her.

  "This is what it is to have a way with women. It hath been like thisall my life," he confided to himself, with a sigh.

  "Then I will come with you," she said, suddenly, "and that gladly, foryou are wonderfully like my brother John. His beard also is handsomeand of the fine tissue. It is the very moral of yours."

  Peter led the way up the steps.

  Then he inquired from his new acquaintance the name of the wine-shopand the brand of the wine.

  He put his hand to his side and rattled a little alarm shaped like atriangle. In a trice a young beardless youth appeared, all whose bodyincessantly wriggled and squirmed, like a puppy's which fears the rodor desires the milk-pail.

  "Here, restless one!" cried Black Peter Hals, "go swiftly to the Inn ofthe Gouda Cheese, and bring from thence a jar of the wine of Hochheim.And, hark ye, also a couple of bottles of Hollands of the best brands.Here is money for thee to pay for all."

  He went to the door with the wriggler.

  "Now, do you understand?" he said, in a loud tone. And then, under hisbreath, he added, "Come not too soon back. An you so much as show yourugly face here for an hour and a half, with the buckle of a belly-bandI will thrash the soul out of your miserable, whimpering body."

  "I would as lief stop by the fire and watch," said the object, castinga sheep's-glance at the country-maid, who stood warming her toes, onepretty foot held up to the blaze; "if, perchance, it might be MynheerPeter's desire to refresh himself at the sign of the Gouda Cheese foran hour, as is his custom of a night."

  "Out with thee, wastrel!" cried Peter, angrily, kicking him down thesteps; "and mind, come not back for an hour on the peril of your life,and the flaying off of thy skin in handbreadths."

  So saying, Peter went back into the wide stone hall. He found hisdainty new friend sweeping up the fireplace and setting the sticks forkindling in order at the back.

  "We always do it so in our village," she said, simply, "but the men incities and in great castles like this have, of course, no time for suchtrifles."

  "What is your name, pretty maiden?" asked Peter, standing up beside heras she knelt and swept vigorously, raising a rare dust--and, to anyeyes but those of a man, doing the work most awkwardly.

  "I am called 'the Little Marie,'" said the girl, demurely, "but, ofcourse, among those who are not my friends I am called by another name."

  "Then I will call you 'the Little Marie'!" said Black Peter, in highdelight, "and never so much as ask that other name, which is but forstrangers."

  He went to a cupboa
rd in the wall which was labelled in large letters"Holy Bibles and Catechisms for the Use of the Prisoners." The jaileropened this most respectable and necessary receptacle, and took fromit a square black bottle, short-necked and square-shouldered, a fewhard biscuits such as seamen use, and two large, wide-mouthed glassesof twisted Venetian glass.

  He came back with all these in his arms, and set them down together onthe table. "Now," he said, coaxingly, "sit you down, Little Marie, andI will bring some water from the pitcher behind the door there. A glassof fine Hollands will keep out the chills of this night, for the windis both shrewd and snell."

  "Let me bring the water!" cried the Little Marie, gayly, clappingher hands ingenuously. "This is just like keeping house to John, mybrother. Did I tell you his beard was like yours? See, I will strokeit. Even so does it fall so gracefully on brother John's breast!"

  And as she tripped away with the tall jug in her hand to the pailbehind the door, the jailer devoutly hoped that it would be much morethan an hour and a half before his deputy should return.

  The Little Marie was a long time in finding the proper water-pail, andit was not till Peter was half across the floor on his way to assisther that she appeared, carrying the beaker of water in one hand and asmall earthenware cup in the other.

  "A big, big jug for the mickle great cat, And a little wee jug for the kitten."

  So she chanted, to the tune of a Flanders nursery rhyme. Then shelaughed merrily. And the amorous Black Peter, subdued to the soles ofhis boots, vowed that he had never heard anything half so prettilywitty in all his life.

  Then the Little Marie poured out a full tumbler of the Hollands andwater from the jug which she had brought for him, and also adjusted atiny portion for herself.

  "Milk for the kitten," she said; "taste it," and she offered to feedhim with a spoonful--"nice, nice--is it not, brother John?"

  And brother John smiled and tasted.

  "Now drink, great black cat!" she commanded, stamping her foot. And,nothing loath, Peter drank her health--once, twice, and thrice. Hewould have come about the table to mix another, and, mayhap, to takethe Little Marie by the waist. But even as he rose he began to see aflock of Little Maries, and he put his hand hard on the oaken settle.

  "I think I will sit down," he said; "drink thou to my health, LittleMarie!" And with his eyes drooping with leaden sleep, Peter watched aregiment of country girls drinking his health out of tall green glasseswith twisted stems. The last words his ears caught, ere the drowsy,lisping ocean of infinite sleep swelled up and drowned everything,were, "Kittens' milk, brother John--only nice sweet milk for prettyinnocent kittens."

  And then Black Peter's chin sank on his breast.

  * * * * *

  So soon as the jailer's head fell and his eyes finally closed, aninstantaneous change passed over the face of the Little Marie. Thewayward mirth and provocation died out of it. A haggard, anxiousexpression came into her eyes. She ran forward and grasped the bundleof keys that swung at Peter's girdle. She tried with all her mightto pull them away, but they were locked to a strong steel band whichpassed about his waist.

  The girl stood a moment in despair. Then she thrust a quick handinto all his pockets and pulled out many trifles such as mencarry--love-tokens, buttons, coins, and the like, mixed with ends ofstring and stray scraps of tobacco.

  These she flung down instantly. She was at her wits' end. But suddenlyshe saw peeping out from under the beard which had reminded her ofbrother John's, a tiny bit of yellow chain. She ran her hand along it,and out of Black Peter's bosom there leaped a key.

  Without the loss of a moment Marie fitted it into the padlock whichsecured the great bunch to his waistband of steel. In another instantthey were in her possession. Then, opening the door on the left, whichhad been left unlocked, when she brought the water-pitcher, she speddown the passage in the direction of the round tower, in which she knewWat to be confined.

  But when she thought that she must be approaching the place, she founda number of cell-doors. Marie felt that it would not do to make anymistake. Once more her quick wits aided her, as they had already donethat night to some purpose.

  "Visiting rounds!" she cried, in a hoarse voice, as she had heard theguard do at the posts; "the name of the prisoner detained within?"

  But she had tried quite a dozen before she heard the welcome sound ofWat Gordon's voice, speaking from the pallet on which he had been lyingthinking of Kate, weary and sleepless.

  Swiftly she tried key after key. The fourth grated in the lock andstuck. But the Little Marie thrust the stem of a larger key through thehandle, and, setting her knee to the panel and putting all her strengthinto her hands, she turned the wards of the lock. The door swung to thewall of its own accord, and there lay Wat on his bed.

  He leaped to his feet with a startled exclamation when he saw her.

  "Marie!" he cried, "what do you here?"

  "Hush!" she said, "I am here to save you. Come!"

  And carefully locking the door of the cell behind them, they stolealong the passage. Black Peter still slept in the outer hall, noddingand swaying stertorously on the settle, and there was no other soundsave the breathing of the resting prisoners. Without, the street wasstill, Peter's lieutenant being busy carrying out his instructions atthe excellent Hostel of the Cheese of Gouda.

  Marie opened the huge bolted door, closed and locked it, threw the keyinto the canal, and the pair glided silently and unmolested down thestreet.

  "Have you anywhere to go where you will be safe?" asked Marie.

  "Nowhere," said Wat. "I should indeed like to find my comrade, JohnScarlett, but if he be not in his lodgings, I dare not go to the campto seek him."

  "Come with me," said Little Marie. "I will hide you safe and bring yourfriend to you. For I also am your friend, though you think it not--and,indeed, care not even if you did believe it."

  "But indeed, and in God's truth, I do count you my friend," said Wat;"for who but you, Little Marie, during all these black days, has somuch as thought upon poor Wat Gordon?"

  At his kind words Marie bent her head, and for the first time inher life her heart was filled with the fresh spring-water of purestpleasure. And what wonder if a little of it overflowed into her eyes?