The Continental Dragoon

by Robert Neilson Stephens

  CHAPTER VIII.

  THE SECRET PASSAGE.

  The steward immediately set about preparing the designated chamber foroccupancy, so that Peyton, on being carried up to it a few minuteslater, found it warm and lighted. It was a large, square, panelledapartment, in which the fireplace of 1682 remained unchanged, a wide,deep, square opening, faced with Dutch tile, of which there werecountless pieces, each piece having a picture of some Scripturalincident. Into this fireplace, where a log was burning crisply, Peytongazed languidly as he lay on the bed, his clothes having been removedby black Sam, who had been assigned to attend him, and who now lay inthe wide hall without. Williams had taken another look at the wound,and expressed a favorable opinion of its condition. A lighted candlewas placed within Peyton's reach, on a table by the bedside. Williamshad brought him, at Elizabeth's orders, part of what remained from thegeneral supper. The captain felt decidedly comfortable.

  He supposed that Colden, after abandoning the false chase, would makeanother call at the house, but he inferred from Elizabeth's previousconduct that she could and would send the Tory major and the rangersback to King's Bridge without opportunity of discovering her guest.And, indeed, Elizabeth had so provided. On returning to thedining-room from her fateful interview with Peyton, she had answeredthe astonished and inquisitive looks of Miss Sally and Mr. Valentine,by saying, in an abrupt and reserved manner, "For important reasons Ihave chosen not to give the prisoner up. He will stay in the house fora time, and nobody is to know he is here. Please remember, Mr.Valentine." The old man tried to recall Peyton's words in asking himto send Elizabeth to the parlor, and made a mental effort to put thisand that together; failing in which, he decided to repeat nothing ofPeyton's conversation, lest it might in some way appear that he had"lent aid." He now lighted his lantern, and sallied forth on his longwalk homeward over the windswept roads. Elizabeth, who, much to thedismay of her aunt's curiosity, had not broken silence save to giveorders to the servants, now charged Williams to stay up till Coldenshould return, and to inform him that all were abed, that there was nonews of the escaped prisoner, and that she desired the major to hastento New York and relieve her family's anxiety. This command the stewardexecuted about midnight, with the result that the major, utterlytired out and sadly disappointed, rode away from the manor-house athird time that night, more disgruntled than on either of the twoprevious occasions. By this time the house was dark and silent,Elizabeth and her aunt having long retired, the latter with a remarkconcerning the effect of late hours on the complexion, a hope that Mr.Valentine would not fall into a puddle on the way home, and acuriosity as to how the rebel captain fared.

  The rebel captain, afar in his spacious chamber, was mentally in astate of felicity. As he ceased to remember the conquered, abashedlook Elizabeth's face had last worn, he ceased to feel ashamed ofhaving deceived her. Her earlier manner recurred to his mind, and hejubilated inwardly over having got the better of this arrogant andvengeful young creature. Even had she been otherwise, and had his lifedepended on tricking her with a pretence of love, he would have valuedhis life far above her feelings, and would not have hesitated topractise on her a falsehood that many a gentleman has practised onmany a maid for no higher purpose than for the sport or for thetesting of his powers, and often for no other purpose than the maid'sundoing in more than her feelings. How much less, then, need heconsider her feelings when he regarded her as an enemy in war, of whomit was his right to take all possible advantage for the saving of hisown or any other American soldier's life! These thoughts came only atthose moments when it occurred to him that his act might needjustification. But if he thought he was entitled to avail himself ofthese excuses, he deceived himself, for no such considerations hadbeen in his mind before or during his act. He had proceeded on theimpulse of self-preservation alone, with no further thought as to theeffect on her feelings than the hope that her feelings would be movedin his behalf. He had been totally selfish in the matter, and yet,while it is true he had not stopped to reason whether the act wasmorally justifiable or not, he had _felt_ that her attitude warrantedhis deception, or, rather, he had not felt that the deception was adiscreditable act, as he might have felt had her attitude beenkindlier. Even had he possessed any previous scruples about that act,he would have overcome them. As it was, the scruples came only when hethought of that new, chastened, subdued look on her face. Only thendid he feel that his trick might be debatable, as to whether it becamea gentleman. Only then did he take the trouble to seek justifiablecircumstances. Only then did he have a dim sense of what might be thefeelings of a girl suddenly stormed into love. He had never beensufficiently in love to know how serious a feeling--serious in itstremendous potency for joy or pain--love is. In Virginia, in London,and in Ireland, he had indulged himself in such little flirtations,such amours of an hour, as helped make up a young gentleman'samusements. But he had long been, as he was now, heart-free, and,though it occurred to him that, in this girl, so great a change ofmien must arise from a pronounced change of heart, he had no thoughtthat her new mood could have deep root or long life. So, less fromwhat thoughts he did have on the subject than from his absence ofthought thereon, he lapsed into peace of mind, and went to sleep,rejoicing in his security and trusting it would last. Her face did notappear in his dreams. He had not retained a strong or accurateimpression of that face. His mind had been too full of other things,even while enacting his impromptu love-scene, to make note of herbeauty. He had been sensible, of course, that she was beautiful, butthere had not been time or circumstance for flirtation. He had not foran instant viewed her as a possible object of conquest for its ownsake. She had been to him only an enemy, in the shape of a beautifulyoung girl, and of whom it had become necessary to make use. And sohis dreams that night were made up of wild cavalry charges, ridesthrough the wind, and painful crushings and tearings of his leg.

  Elizabeth's thoughts were in a whirl, her feelings beyond analysis.She was sensible mainly of a wholly novel and vast pleasure at theadoration so impetuously expressed for her by this audaciousstranger, of a pride in his masterful way, of applause for that verymanner which she had rebuked as insolence. Was this love at last?Undoubtedly; for she had read all the romances and plays and poems,and, if this feeling of hers were a thing other than the love theyall described, they would have described such a feeling also.Because she had never felt its soft touch before, she had thoughtherself exempt from it. But now that it had found lodgment in her,she knew it at once, from the very fact that in a flash sheunderstood all the romances and plays and poems that had beforeinterested her but as mere tales, whose motives had seemed arbitraryand insufficient. Now they all took reality and reason. She knew atlast why Hero threw herself into the Hellespont after Leander, whyall that commotion was caused by Helen of Troy, why Oriana tooksuch trouble for Mirabel, why Juliet died on Romeo's body, why MissRichland paid Honeywood's debts. The moon, rushing through a cleftin the clouds (she had opened one of the shutters on putting out thecandles), had for her a sudden beauty which accounted for the finethings the poets had said of it and love together. Yes, because itopened on her world of romance a magic window, letting in a wondrouslight, waking that world to throbbing life, clothing it withindescribable charm, she knew the name of the key that had unlockedher own heart. Now she knew them all,--the heroes, the fairy princes,the knights errant; perceived that they were real and live,recognized their traits and manners, their very faces, in thatbold, free, strong young rebel; he was Orlando, and Lovelace, andPrince Charming, and AEneas, and Tom Jones, and King Harry the Fifth,and young Marlowe, and even Captain Macheath (she had read forbiddenbooks guilelessly, in course of reading everything at hand), andRoderick Random, and Captain Plume, and all the conquering, gallant,fine young fellows, at the absurd weakness of whose sweethearts shehad marvelled beyond measure. She understood that weakness now, andknew, too, why those sweethearts had, in the first delicious hoursof their weakness, trembled and dropped their eyes before those younggentlemen. For, as she mentally be
held his image, she felt her owncheeks glow, and in imagination was fain to drop her own eyesbefore his bold, unquailing look. She wondered, with confusion andunseen blushes, how she would face him at their next meeting, andfelt that she must not, could not, be the one to cause thatmeeting. Right surely had this fair castle, that had withstoodmany a long siege, fallen now at a single onslaught, and that buta sham onslaught. The haughty princess in her tower had not longedfor the prince, but the prince had arrived, not to her rescue, but tothe taming of her. And alas! the prince, whom she fondly thought herlover, was no more lover of her than of the picture of her femaleancestor on his bedroom wall!

  She gave no thought to consequences, and, as for Jack Colden, shesimply, by power of will, kept him out of her mind.

  It was three days before Peyton could walk about his room, and twodays more before he felt sufficient confidence in his wounded leg tocome down-stairs and take his meals with the household. And even then,refusing a crutch, he used a stick in moving about. During the fivedays when he kept his room, he was waited on alternately by Sam andCuff, who served at his bath and brought his food; and occasionallyMolly carried to him at dinner some belated delicacy or forgottendish. Williams, too, visited him daily, and expressed a kind ofprofessional satisfaction at the uninterrupted healing of the wound,which the steward treated with the mysterious applications known tohome surgery. Williams lent his own clean linen to Harry, whileHarry's underwent washing and mending at the hands of the maid. OldValentine, who visited the house every day, the weather being cold andsometimes cloudy, but without rain, called at the sick chamber nowand then, and filled it with tobacco smoke, homely philosophy, andrustic reminiscence. Harry had no other visitors. During these fivedays he saw not Elizabeth or Miss Sally, save from his window twice orthrice, at which times they were walking on the terrace. In daytime,when no artificial light was in the room to betray to some possibleoutsider the presence of a guest, he had the shutters opened of one ofthe two south windows and of one of the two west ones. Often hereclined near a window, pleasing his eyes with the view. Westward laythe terrace, the wide river, the leafy, cliffs, and fair rollingcountry beyond. His eye could take in also the deer paddock, which thehand of war had robbed of its inmates, and the great orchard northwardoverlooking the river. Through the south window he could see thelittle branch road and boat-landing, the old stone mill, the windingNeperan and its broad mill-pond, and the sloping, ravine-cut, woodedstretch of country, between the post-road on the left and the deep-setHudson on the right. The spire of St. John's Church, among theyew-trees, with the few edifices grouped near it, broke gratefully thedeserted aspect of things, at the left. The spacious scene, so richlyfilled by nature, had in its loneliness and repose a singularsweetness. Rarely was any one abroad. Only when the Hessians orLoyalist dragoons patrolled the post-road, or when some Britishsloop-of-war showed its white sails far down the river, was there signof human life and conflict. The deserted look of things was in harmonywith the spirit of a book with which Harry sweetened the long hours ofhis recovery. It was a book that Elizabeth had sent up for hisamusement, called "The Man of Feeling," and there was something in theopening picture of the venerable mansion, with its air of melancholy,its languid stillness, its "single crow, perched on an old tree by theside of the gate," and its young lady passing between the trees with abook in her hand, that harmonized with his own sequestered state. Heliked the tale better than the same author's later novel, "The Man ofthe World," which he had read a few years before. Every day heinquired about his hostess's health, and sent his compliments andthanks. He was glad she did not visit him in person, for such a visitmight involve an allusion to their last previous interview, and he didnot know in what manner he should make or treat such allusion. He feltit would be an awkward matter to get out of the situation of pretendedadorer, and he was for putting that awkward matter off till the lastpossible moment.

  It was necessary for him to think of his return to the army. Duty andinclination required he should make that return as soon as could be.His first impulse had been to send word of his whereabouts andcondition. But as Elizabeth had not offered a messenger, he was loathto ask for one. Moreover, the messenger might be intercepted by theenemy's patrols and induced by fear to betray the message. Then, too,even if the messenger should reach the American lines uncaught, aconsequent attempt to convey a wounded man from the manor hall to thecamp might attract the attention of the vigilant patrols, and risk notonly Harry's own recapture, but also the loss of other men. Decidedly,the best course was to await the healing of his wound, and then tomake his way alone, under cover of night, to the army. He knew that,whatever might occur, it was now Elizabeth's interest to protect him,for should she give him up, the disclosure that she had formerlyshielded him would render her liable to suspicion and ridicule. Hefelt, too, from the manifestations he had seen of her will and of heringenuity, that she was quite able to protect him. So he rested insecurity in the quiet old chamber, dreading only the task of takingback his love-making. Of that task, the difficulty would depend onElizabeth's own conduct, which he could not foresee, and that in turnon her state of heart, which he did not exactly divine. He knew onlythat she had, in that critical moment of the troops' arrival, felt forhim a tenderness that betokened love. Whether that feeling hadflourished or declined, he could not, during the five days when theydid not meet, be aware.

  It had not declined. She had gone on idealizing the confident rebelcaptain all the while. The fact that he was of the enemy addedpiquancy to the sentiments his image aroused. It lent, too, anadditional poetic interest to the idea of their love. Was not Romeo ofthe enemies of Juliet's house? The fact of her being now hisprotector, by its oppositeness to the conventional situation, gave totheir relation the charm of novelty, and also gratified her naturallove of independence and domination. Yet that very love, in a woman,may afford its owner keen delight by receiving quick and confidentopposition and conquest from a man, and such Elizabeth's had receivedfrom Peyton, both in the matter of the horse and in that of hissuccessful wooing. But the greater her softness for him, the greaterwas her delicacy regarding him, and the more in conformity with thestrictest propriety must be her conduct towards him. Her pridedemanded this tribute of her love, in compensation for the latter'simmense exactions on the former in the sudden yielding to his wooing.Moreover, she would not appear in anything short of perfection in hiseyes. She would not make her company cheap to him. If she had been aquick conquest, up to the point of her first token of submission, shewould be all the slower in the subsequent stages, so that thecomplete yielding should be no easier than ought to be that of onevalued as she would have him value her. All this she felt rather thanthought, and she acted on it punctiliously.

  She did not confide in her aunt, though that lady watched her closelyand had her suspicions. Yet there was apparent so little warrant forthese suspicions, save the protection of the rebel in itself, thatMiss Sally often imagined Elizabeth had other reasons, reasons ofpolicy, for the sudden change of intention that had resulted in thatprotection. Elizabeth's conduct was always so mystifying to everybody!And when this thought possessed Miss Sally, she underwent a pleasingagitation, which she in turn kept secret, and which attended the hopethat perhaps the handsome captain might not be averse to herconversation. She had both read and observed that the taste of youthsometimes was for ripeness. She might atone, in a measure, forElizabeth's disdain. She would have liked to visit him daily, withcondolence and comfortings, but she could not do so without previoussanction of the mistress of the house, which sanction Elizabethbriefly but very peremptorily refused. Miss Sally thought it a crueltythat the prisoner should be deprived of what consolation her societymight afford, and dwelt on this opinion until she became convinced hewas actually pining for her presence. This made her poutish andreproachfully silent to Elizabeth, and sighful and whimsical toherself. The slightly strained feeling that arose between aunt andniece was quite acceptable to Elizabeth, as it gave her freedom forher own dreams, and prohibi
ted any occasion for an expression offeelings or opinions of her own as to the captain. But Miss Sally'ssymptoms were observed by old Mr. Valentine, who, inferring theircause, underwent much unrest on account of them, became snappish andsarcastic towards the lady, watchful both of her and of Peyton, andmoody towards the others in the house. It was the old man'sdisquietude regarding the state of Miss Sally's affections thatbrought him to the house every day. For one brief while he consideredthe advisability of transferring his attentions back from Miss Sallyto the widow Babcock, who had possessed them first, but, when hetarried in the parsonage, his fears as to what might be going on inthe manor-house made his stay in the former intolerable, and led himirresistibly to the latter.

  Meanwhile the wounded guest, so unconscious of the states of mindcaused by him in the household, was the evoker of flutters in yetanother female breast. The girl, Molly, had read toilsomely through"Pamela," and saw no reason why an equally attractive housemaid shouldnot aspire to an equally high destiny on this side of the ocean. But,often as she artfully contrived that the black boy should forget somepart of the guest's dinner, and timely as she planned her own visitswith the missing portion, she found the officer heedless of hersmiles, engrossed sometimes in his meal, sometimes in his book,sometimes in both. She conceived a loathing for that book, more thanonce resisted a temptation to make way with it, and, having one daystolen a look into it, thenceforth abominated the poor young lady ofit, with all the undying bitterness of an unpreferred rival.

  Though Elizabeth and her aunt found each other reticent, they yetpassed their time together, breakfasting early, then visiting thewidow Babcock or some tenant, dining at noon, spending the earlyafternoon, the one at her book or embroidery, the other in a siestabefore the fireplace, supping early, then preparing for the night by abrisk walk in the garden, or on the terrace, or to the orchard andback. Elizabeth had Williams provided with instructions as to hisconduct in the event of a visit from King's troops, and, to makePeyton's security still less uncertain, she confined her walks to theimmediate vicinity. The house itself was kept in a pretence of beingclosed, the shutters of the parlor being skilfully adjusted to admitlight, and yet, from the road, appear fast.

  Thus Elizabeth, finding enjoyment in the very look and atmosphere ofthe old house, fulfilled quietly the purpose of her capricious visit,and at the same time cherished a dreamy pleasure such as she had notthought of finding in that visit.

  On the fifth day after Peyton's arrival, Williams announced that thecaptain would venture down-stairs on the morrow. The next morningElizabeth waited in the east parlor to receive him. Whatever inwardexcitement she underwent, she was on the surface serene. She wasdressed in her simplest, having purposely avoided any appearance ofdesiring to appear at her best. Her aunt, who stood with her, on theother side of the fireplace, was perceptibly flustered, being got upfor the occasion, with ribbons in evidence and smiles ready forproduction on the instant. When the west door opened, and the awaitedhero entered, pale but well groomed, using his cane in such fashionthat he could carry himself erectly, Elizabeth greeted him with formalcourtesy. Though her manner had the repose necessary to conceal hersweet agitation, an observant person might have noticed a deference, akind of meekness, that was new in her demeanor towards men. Peyton,whose mien (though not his feeling) was a reflex of her own, wasrelieved at this appearance of indifference, and hoped it wouldcontinue. His mind being on this, the stately curtsey and profusesmirks of Miss Sally were quite lost on him.

  The three breakfasted together in the dining-room, a large andcheerful apartment whose front windows, looking on the lawn, were themiddle features of the eastern facade of the house. The mass ofdecorative woodwork, and the fireplace in the north side of the room,added to its impression of comfort as well as to its beauty.Conversation at the breakfast was ceremonious and on the mostindifferent subjects, despite the attempts of Miss Sally, who wouldhave monopolized Peyton's attention, to inject a little cordiallevity. After breakfast Elizabeth, to avoid the appearance ofdistinguishing the day, took her aunt off for the usual walk, whichshe purposely prolonged to unusual length, much to Miss Sally'sannoyance. Peyton passed the morning in reading a new play that hadmade great talk in London the year before, namely, "The School forScandal." It was one of the new books received by Colonel Philipsefrom London, by a recent English vessel,--plays being, in those days,good enough to be much read in book form,--and brought out from townby Elizabeth. The dinner was, as to the attitude of the participantstowards one another, a repetition of the breakfast. In the afternoon,Peyton having expressed an intention of venturing outdoors for alittle air, Elizabeth assigned Sam to attend him, and said that, ashe had to traverse the south hall and stairs in going to his room, hemight thereafter put to his own service the unused south door inleaving and entering the house. Harry strolled for a few minutes onthe terrace, but his lameness made walking little pleasure, and hereturned to the east parlor, where Elizabeth sat reading while heraunt was looking drowsily at the fire. Peyton took a chair at theright side of the fireplace, and mentally contrasted his presentsecurity with his peril in that place on a former occasion.

  The trampling of horses at a distance elicited from Elizabeth thewords, "The Hessian patrol, on the Albany road, as usual, I suppose."But, the clatter increasing, she arose and looked through the narrowslit whereby light was admitted between the almost closed shutters.After a moment she said, in unconcealed alarm:

  "Oh, heaven! 'Tis a party of Lord Cathcart's officers! They said atKing's Bridge they'd come one day to pay their respects. How can Ikeep them out?"

  Peyton arose, but remained by the fireplace, and said, "To keep themout, if they think themselves expected, would excite suspicion. I willgo to my room."

  Elizabeth, meanwhile, had opened the window to draw the shutterclose; but her trembling movement, assisted by a passing breeze, andby the perversity of inanimate things, caused the shutter to fly wideopen.

  She turned towards Peyton, with signs of fright on her face. "Back!"she whispered. "They'll see you through the window. Into thecloset,--the closet!" She motioned imperatively towards the pair ofdoors immediately beside him, west of the fireplace. Hearing thehorses' footfalls near at hand, and perceiving, with her, that hewould not have time to walk safely across the parlor to the hall, heopened one of the doors indicated by her, and stepped into thecloset.

  In the instant before he closed the door after him, he noticed thestairs descending backward from the right side of the closet. Heforesaw that the British officers would come into the parlor. If theyshould make a long stay, he might have to change his position duringtheir presence. He might thus cause sufficient sound to attractattention. He would be in better case further away. Therefore, usinghis stick and feeling the route with his hand, he made his way downthe steps to a landing, turned to the right, descended more steps, andfound himself in a dark cellar. He had no sooner reached the last stepthan a burst of hearty greetings from above informed him the officerswere in the parlor.

  This part of the cellar being damp, he set out in search of a morecomfortable spot wherein to bestow himself the necessary while.Groping his way, and travelling with great labor, he at last came intoa kind of corridor formed between two rolls of piled-up barrels. Heproceeded along this passage until it was blocked by a barrel on theground. On this he sat down, deciding it as good a staying-place as hemight find. Leaning back, he discovered with his head what seemed tobe a thick wooden partition close to the barrel. Changing hisposition, he bumped his head against an iron something that layhorizontally against the partition, and so violent was this collisionthat the iron something was moved from its place, a fact which henoted on the instant but immediately forgot in the sharpness of hispain.

  Having at last made himself comfortable, he sat waiting in thedarkness, thinking to let some time pass before returning to thecloset stairway. An hour or more had gone by, when he heard a dooropen, which he knew must be at the head of some other stairway to thecellar, and a jocund voice cry: "D
amme, we'll be our own tapsters!Give me the candle, Mr. Williams, and if my nose doesn't pull me tothe barrel in one minute, may it never whiff spirits again!" A momentlater, quick footfalls sounded on the stairs, then candle-lightdisturbed the blackness, and Williams was heard saying, "This way,gentlemen, if you insist. The barrel is on the ground, straightahead." Whereupon Peyton saw two merry young Englishmen enter the verypassage at whose end he sat, one bearing the candle, both followed bythe steward, who carried a spigot and a huge jug.

  Harry instantly divined the cause of this intrusion. The servants werebusy preparing refreshments for the officers, and, in a spirit ofgaiety, these two had volunteered to help Williams fetch the liquorwhich he, not knowing Harry's whereabouts, was about to draw from thebarrel on which Harry sat.

  It was not Elizabeth who could save him from discovery now.

  The officers came groping towards him up the narrow passage.

  Before the candle-light reached him, he rose and got behind thebarrel, there being barely room for his legs between it and thepartition. He had, in dressing for the day, put on his scabbard andhis broken sword. He now took his stick in his left hand, and drew hissword with his right. He set his teeth hard together, thought ofnothing at all, or rather of everything at once, and waited.

  "Hear the rats," said one of the Englishmen. It was Peyton's stealthymovement he had heard.

  "Ay, sir, there's often a terrible scampering of 'em," said Williams.

  "Maybe I can pink a rat or two," said the officer without the candle,and drew his sword. Harry braced himself rapidly against the woodworkat his back. The candle-light touched the barrel.

  At that instant Harry felt the woodwork give way behind him, and fellon his back on the ground.

  "What's that?" cried the officer with the candle, standing still.

  "Tis the scampering of the rats, of course," said the other.

  Harry had apprehended, by this time, that the supposed woodenpartition was in reality a door in the cellar wall. He now pushed itshut with his foot, remaining outside of it, then rose, and, feelingabout him, discovered that his present place was in a narrow archedpassage that ran, from the door in the cellar wall, he knew not howfar. Recalling the bumping of his head, he inferred now that the ironsomething was a bolt, and that his blow had forced it from its toolarge socket in the stone wall.

  He proceeded onward in the dark passage for some distance, thenstopped to listen. No sound coming from the door he had closed, hedecided that the officers were satisfied the noise had been of therats' making. He sheathed his broken sword, having retained thatand his stick in his fall, and went forward, hoping to find ahabitable place of waiting. Soon the passage widened into a kind ofsubterranean room, one side of which admitted light. Going tothis side, Harry stopped short at the verge of a well, on whosecircumference the subterranean chamber abutted. The light came fromthe well's top, which was about ten feet above the low roof of theunderground room, the passage from the cellar being on a descent. Inthis artificial cave were wooden chests, casks, and coveredearthen vessels, these contents proclaiming the place a secretstorage-room designed for use in siege or in military occupation.Harry waited here a while that seemed half a day, then returnedthrough the passage to the door, intending to return to thecellar. He listened at the door, found all quiet beyond, and madeto push open the door. It would not move. From the feel of theresistance, he perceived that the bolt had been pushed home again--asindeed it had, by the steward, who had noticed it while tapping thebarrel, and had imputed its being drawn to some former carelessnessof his own.

  Peyton, finding himself thus barred into the subterranean regions, wasin a quandary. Any alarm he might attempt, by shouting or pounding,might not be heard, or, if heard, might reach some tarrying British.In due time, Elizabeth would doubtless have him looked for in thecloset and then in the cellar, but, on his not being found there,would suppose he had left the cellar by one of the other stairways.Thus he could little hope to be sought for in his prison. Williamsmight at any time have occasion to visit the secret storeroom, but, onthe other hand, he might not have such occasion for weeks. Harrygroped back to the cave, and sought some way of escape by the well,but found none.

  He then examined the cave more closely, and came finally on anotherpassage than that by which he had entered. He followed this for whatseemed an interminable length. At last, it closed up in front of him.He tested the barrier of raw earth with his hands, felt a great roundstone projecting therefrom, pushed this stone in vain, then clasped itwith both arms and pulled. It gave, and presently fell to the groundat his feet, leaving an aperture two feet across, which let in light.He crawled the short length of this, and breathed the open air in asmall thicket on the sloping bank of the Hudson.[8] He crept to thethicket's edge, and saw, in the sunset light, the river before him; onthe river, a British war-vessel; on the vessel, some naval officers,one of whom was looking, with languid preoccupation, straight at thethicket from which Harry gazed.