University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.
RECROSSING THE CHANNEL, ISRAEL RETURNS TO THE SQUIRE'S
ABODE—HIS ADVENTURES THERE.

ON the third day, as Israel was walking to and fro in
his room, having removed his courier's boots, for
fear of disturbing the Doctor, a quick sharp rap at the
door announced the American envoy. The man of wisdom
entered, with two small wads of paper in one hand,
and several crackers and a bit of cheese in the other.
There was such an eloquent air of instantaneous dispatch
about him, that Israel involuntarily sprang to his boots,
and, with two vigorous jerks, hauled them on, and then
seizing his hat, like any bird, stood poised for his flight
across the channel.

“Well done, my honest friend,” said the Doctor; “you
have the papers in your heel, I suppose.”

“Ah,” exclaimed Israel, perceiving the mild irony; and
in an instant his boots were off again; when, without
another word, the Doctor took one boot, and Israel the
other, and forthwith both parties proceeded to secrete the
documents.

“I think I could improve the design,” said the sage,
as, notwithstanding his haste, he critically eyed the screwing
apparatus of the boot. “The vacancy should have
been in the standing part of the heel, not in the lid. It
should go with a spring, too, for better dispatch. I'll
draw up a paper on false heels one of these days, and
send it to a private reading at the Institute. But no
time for it now. My honest friend, it is now half-past
ten o'clock. At half-past eleven the diligence starts from
the Place-du-Carrousel for Calais. Make all haste till
you arrive at Brentford. I have a little provender here
for you to eat in the diligence, as you will not have time
for a regular meal. A day-and-night courier should never
be without a cracker in his pocket. You will probably
leave Brentford in a day or two after your arrival there.
Be wary, now, my good friend; heed well, that, if you
are caught with these papers on British ground, you will
involve both yourself and our Brentford friends in fatal
calamities. Kick no man's box, never mind whose, in
the way. Mind your own box. You can't be too cautious,
but don't be too suspicious. God bless you, my
honest friend. Go!”

And, flinging the door open for his exit, the Doctor
saw Israel dart into the entry, vigorously spring down
the stairs, and disappear with all celerity across the court
into the vaulted way.

The man of wisdom stood mildly motionless a moment,
with a look of sagacious, humane meditation on his face,
as if pondering upon the chances of the important enterprise:
one which, perhaps, might in the sequel affect the

weal or woe of nations yet to come. Then suddenly
clapping his hand to his capacious coat-pocket, dragged
out a bit of cork with some hen's feathers, and hurrying
to his room, took out his knife, and proceeded to whittle
away at a shuttlecock of an original scientific construction,
which at some prior time he had promised
to send to the young Duchess D'Abrantes that very
afternoon.

Safely reaching Calais, at night, Israel stepped almost
from the diligence into the packet, and, in a few moments,
was cutting the water. As on the diligence he took an
outside and plebeian seat, so, with the same secret motive
of preserving unsuspected the character assumed, he
took a deck passage in the packet. It coming on to rain
violently, he stole down into the forecastle, dimly lit by
a solitary swinging lamp, where were two men industriously
smoking, and filling the narrow hole with soporifie
vapors. These induced strange drowsiness in Israel, and
he pondered how best he might indulge it, for a time,
without imperilling the precious documents in his custody.

But this pondering in such soporific vapors had the
effect of those mathematical devices whereby restless
people cipher themselves to sleep. His languid head
fell to his breast. In another moment, he drooped
half-lengthwise upon a chest, his legs outstretched before
him.

Presently he was awakened by some intermeddlement
with his feet. Starting to his elbow, he saw one of the
two men in the act of slyly slipping off his right boot,
while the left one, already removed, lay on the floor, all

ready against the rascal's retreat. Had it not been for
the lesson learned on the Pont Neuf, Israel would instantly
have inferred that his secret mission was known,
and the operator some designed diplomatic knave or
other, hired by the British Cabinet, thus to lie in wait
for him, fume him into slumber with tobacco, and then
rifle him of his momentous dispatches. But as it was,
he recalled Doctor Franklin's prudent admonitions against
the indulgence of premature suspicions.

“Sir,” said Israel very civilly, “I will thank you for
that boot which lies on the floor, and, if you please, you
can let the other stay where it is.”

“Excuse me,” said the rascal, an accomplished, self-possessed
practitioner in his thievish art; “I thought
your boots might be pinching you, and only wished to
ease you a little.”

“Much obliged to ye for your kindness, sir,” said
Israel; “but they don't pinch me at all. I suppose,
though, you think they wouldn't pinch you either; your
foot looks rather small. Were you going to try 'em on,
just to see how they fitted?”

“No,” said the fellow, with sanctimonious seriousness;
“but with your permission I should like to try them on,
when we get to Dover. I couldn't try them well walking
on this tipsy craft's deck, you know.”

“No,” answered Israel, “and the beach at Dover ain't
very smooth either. I guess, upon second thought, you
had better not try 'em on at all. Besides, I am a simple
sort of a soul—eccentric they call me—and don't like
my boots to go out of my sight. Ha! ha!”

“What are you laughing at?” said the fellow testily.

“Odd idea! I was just looking at those sad old patched
boots there your feet, and thinking to myself what
leaky fire-buckets they would be to pass up a ladder on
a burning building. It would hardly be fair now to swop
my new boots for those old fire-buckets, would it?”

“By plunko!” cried the fellow, willing now by a bold
stroke to change the subject, which was growing slightly
annoying; “by plunko, I believe we are getting nigh
Dover. Let's see.”

And so saying, he sprang up the ladder to the deck.
Upon Israel following, he found the little craft half becalmed,
rolling on short swells almost in the exact middle
of the channel. It was just before the break of the
morning; the air clear and fine; the heavens spangled
with moistly twinkling stars. The French and English
coasts lay distinctly visible in the strange starlight, the
white cliffs of Dover resembling a long gabled block of
marble houses. Both shores showed a long straight row
of lamps. Israel seemed standing in the middle of the
crossing of some wide stately street in London. Presently
a breeze sprang up, and ere long our adventurer
disembarked at his destined port, and directly posted on
for Brentford.

The following afternoon, having gained unobserved admittance
into the house, according to preconcerted signals,
he was sitting in Squire Woodcock's closet, pulling off
his boots and delivering his dispatches.

Having looked over the compressed tissuey sheets, and
read a line particularly addressed to himself, the Squire,

turning round upon Israel, congratulated him upon his
successful mission, placed some refreshment before him,
and apprised him that, owing to certain suspicious symptoms
in the neighborhood, he (Israel) must now remain
concealed in the house for a day or two, till an answer
should be ready for Paris.

It was a venerable mansion, as was somewhere previously
stated, of a wide and rambling disorderly spaciousness,
built, for the most part, of weather-stained old
bricks, in the goodly style called Elizabethan. As without,
it was all dark russet bricks, so within, it was
nothing but tawny oak panels.

“Now, my good fellow,” said the Squire, “my wife
has a number of guests, who wander from room to room,
having the freedom of the house. So I shall have to put
you very snugly away, to guard against any chance of
discovery.”

So saying, first locking the door, he touched a spring
nigh the open fire-place, whereupon one of the black
sooty stone jambs of the chimney started ajar, just like
the marble gate of a tomb. Inserting one leg of the
heavy tongs in the crack, the Squire pried this cavernous
gate wide open.

“Why, Squire Woodcock, what is the matter with
your chimney?” said Israel.

“Quick, go in.”

“Am I to sweep the chimney?” demanded Israel; “I
didn't engage for that.”

“Pooh, pooh, this is your hiding-place. Come, move
in.”

“But where does it go to, Squire Woodcock? I don't
like the looks of it.”

“Follow me. I'll show you.”

Pushing his florid corpulence into the mysterious aperture,
the elderly Squire led the way up steep stairs of
stone, hardly two feet in width, till they reached a little
closet, or rather cell, built into the massive main wall
of the mansion, and ventilated and dimly lit by two little
sloping slits, ingeniously concealed without, by their forming
the sculptured mouths of two griffins cut in a great
stone tablet decorating that external part of the dwelling.
A mattress lay rolled up in one corner, with a jug of
water, a flask of wine, and a wooden trencher containing
cold roast beef and bread.

“And I am to be buried alive here?” said Israel,
ruefully looking round.

“But your resurrection will soon be at hand,” smiled
the Squire; “two days at the furthest.”

“Though to be sure I was a sort of prisoner in Paris,
just as I seem about to be made here,” said Israel, “yet
Doctor Franklin put me in a better jug than this, Squire
Woodcock. It was set out with boquets and a mirror,
and other fine things. Besides, I could step out into
the entry whenever I wanted.”

“Ah, but, my hero, that was in France, and this is in
England. There you were in a friendly country: here
you are in the enemy's. If you should be discovered in
my house, and your connection with me became known,
do you know that it would go very hard with me; very
hard indeed?”

“Then, for your sake, I am willing to stay wherever
you think best to put me,” replied Israel.

“Well, then, you say you want boquets and a mirror.
If those articles will at all help to solace your seclusion,
I will bring them to you.”

“They really would be company; the sight of my own
face particularly.”

“Stay here, then. I will be back in ten minutes.”

In less than that time, the good old Squire returned,
puffing and panting, with a great bunch of flowers, and a
small shaving-glass.

“There,” said he, putting them down; “now keep
perfectly quiet; avoid making any undue noise, and on
no account descend the stairs, till I come for you again.”

“But when will that be?” asked Israel.

“I will try to come twice each day while you are here.
But there is no knowing what may happen. If I should
not visit you till I come to liberate you—on the evening
of the second day, or the morning of the third—you must
not be at all surprised, my good fellow. There is plenty
of food and water to last you. But mind, on no account
descend the stone-stairs till I come for you.”

With that, bidding his guest adieu, he left him.

Israel stood glancing pensively around for a time.
By and by, moving the rolled mattress under the two
air-slits, he mounted, to try if aught were visible beyond.
But nothing was to be seen but a very thin slice of blue
sky peeping through the lofty foliage of a great tree
planted near the side-portal of the mansion; an ancient
tree, coeval with the ancient dwelling it guarded.

Sitting down on the mattress, Israel fell into a reverie.

“Poverty and liberty, or plenty and a prison, seem to
be the two horns of the constant dilemma of my life,”
thought he. “Let's look at the prisoner.”

And taking up the shaving-glass, he surveyed his
lineaments.

“What a pity I didn't think to ask for razors and soap.
I want shaving very badly. I shaved last in France.
How it would pass the time here. Had I a comb now
and a razor, I might shave and curl my hair, and keep
making a continual toilet all through the two days, and
look spruce as a robin when I get out. I'll ask the
Squire for the things this very night when he drops in.
Hark! ain't that a sort of rumbling in the wall? I hope
there ain't any oven next door; if so, I shall be scorched
out. Here I am, just like a rat in the wainscot. I wish
there was a low window to look out of. I wonder what
Doctor Franklin is doing now, and Paul Jones? Hark!
there's a bird singing in the leaves. Bell for dinner,
that.”

And for pastime, he applied himself to the beef and
bread, and took a draught of the wine and water.

At last night fell. He was left in utter darkness. No
Squire.

After an anxious, sleepless night, he saw two long
flecks of pale gray light slanting into the cell from the
slits, like two long spears. He rose, rolled up his mattress,
got upon the roll, and put his mouth to one of
the griffins' mouths. He gave a low, just audible whistle,
directing it towards the foliage of the tree. Presently

there was a slight rustling among the leaves, then one
solitary chirrup, and in three minutes a whole chorus of
melody burst upon his ear.

“I've waked the first bird,” said he to himself, with a
smile, “and he's waked all the rest. Now then for
breakfast. That over, I dare say the Squire will drop in.”

But the breakfast was over, and the two flecks of pale
light had changed to golden beams, and the golden beams
grew less and less slanting, till they straightened themselves
up out of sight altogether. It was noon, and no
Squire.

“He's gone a-hunting before breakfast, and got belated,”
thought Israel.

The afternoon shadows lengthened. It was sunset; no
Squire.

“He must be very busy trying some sheep-stealer in
the hall,” mused Israel. “I hope he won't forget all about
me till to-morrow.”

He waited and listened; and listened and waited.

Another restless night; no sleep; morning came.
The second day passed like the first, and the night. On
the third morning the flowers lay shrunken by his side.
Drops of wet oozing through the air-slits, fell dully on
the stone floor. He heard the dreary beatings of the
tree's leaves against the mouths of the griffins, bedashing
them with the spray of the rain-storm without. At intervals
a burst of thunder rolled over his head, and
lightning flashing down through the slits, lit up the cell
with a greenish glare, followed by sharp splashings and
rattlings of the redoubled rain-storm.

“This is the morning of the third day,” murmured Israel
to himself; “he said he would at the furthest come to me
on the morning of the third day. This is it. Patience,
he will be here yet. Morning lasts till noon.”

But, owing to the murkiness of the day, it was very
hard to tell when noon came. Israel refused to credit
that noon had come and gone, till dusk set plainly in.
Dreading he knew not what, he found himself buried in
the darkness of still another night. However patient and
hopeful hitherto, fortitude now presently left him. Suddenly,
as if some contagious fever had seized him, he
was afflicted with strange enchantments of misery, undreamed
of till now.

He had eaten all the beef, but there was bread and
water sufficient to last, by economy, for two or three
days to come. It was not the pang of hunger then, but
a nightmare originating in his mysterious incarceration,
which appalled him. All through the long hours of this
particular night, the sense of being masoned up in the
wall, grew, and grew, and grew upon him, till again and
again he lifted himself convulsively from the floor, as if
vast blocks of stone had been laid on him; as if he had
been digging a deep well, and the stonework with all the
excavated earth had caved in upon him, where he burrowed
ninety feet beneath the clover. In the blind tomb
of the midnight he stretched his two arms sideways, and
felt as if coffined at not being able to extend them straight
out, on opposite sides, for the narrowness of the cell. He
seated himself against one side of the wall, crosswise with
the cell, and pushed with his feet at the opposite wall.

But still mindful of his promise in this extremity, he uttered
no cry. He mutely raved in the darkness. The
delirious sense of the absence of light was soon added to
his other delirium as to the contraction of space. The
lids of his eyes burst with impotent distension. Then he
thought the air itself was getting unbearable. He stood
up at the griffin slits, pressing his lips far into them till
he moulded his lips there, to suck the utmost of the open
air possible.

And continually, to heighten his frenzy, there recurred
to him again and again what the Squire had told him as
to the origin of the cell. It seemed that this part of
the old house, or rather this wall of it, was extremely
ancient, dating far beyond the era of Elizabeth, having
once formed portion of a religious retreat belonging to
the Templars. The domestic discipline of this order was
rigid and merciless in the extreme. In a side wall of their
second-story chapel, horizontal and on a level with the
floor, they had an internal vacancy left, exactly of the
shape and average size of a coffin. In this place, from
time to time, inmates convicted of contumacy were confined;
but, strange to say, not till they were penitent. A
small hole, of the girth of one's wrist, sunk like a telescope
three feet through the masonry into the cell, served
at once for ventilation, and to push through food to the
prisoner. This hole opening into the chapel also enabled
the poor solitaire, as intended, to overhear the religious
services at the altar; and, without being present, take part
in the same. It was deemed a good sign of the state
of the sufferer's soul, if from the gloomy recesses of the

wall was heard the agonized groan of his dismal response.
This was regarded in the light of a penitent wail from
the dead, because the customs of the order ordained that
when any inmate should be first incarcerated in the wall,
he should be committed to it in the presence of all the
brethren, the chief reading the burial service as the live
body was sepulchred. Sometimes several weeks elapsed
ere the disentombment, the penitent being then usually
found numb and congealed in all his extremities, like one
newly stricken with paralysis.

This coffin-cell of the Templars had been suffered to
remain in the demolition of the general edifice, to make
way for the erection of the new, in the reign of Queen
Elizabeth. It was enlarged somewhat, and altered, and
additionally ventilated, to adapt it for a place of concealment
in times of civil dissension.

With this history ringing in his solitary brain, it may
readily be conceived what Israel's feelings must have been.
Here, in this very darkness, centuries ago, hearts, human
as his, had mildewed in despair; limbs, robust as his own,
had stiffened in immovable torpor.

At length, after what seemed all the prophetic days and
years of Daniel, morning broke. The benevolent light
entered the cell, soothing his frenzy, as if it had been
some smiling human face—nay, the Squire himself, come
at last to redeem him from thrall. Soon his dumb ravings
entirely left him, and gradually, with a sane, calm
mind, he revolved all the circumstances of his condition.

He could not be mistaken; something fatal must have
befallen his friend. Israel remembered the Squire's hinting

that in case of the discovery of his clandestine proceedings
it would fare extremely hard with him. Israel was forced
to conclude that this same unhappy discovery had been
made; that owing to some untoward misadventure his
good friend had been carried off a State-prisoner to London;
that prior to his going the Squire had not apprised
any member of his household that he was about to leave
behind him a prisoner in the wall; this seemed evident
from the circumstance that, thus far, no soul had visited
that prisoner. It could not be otherwise. Doubtless the
Squire, having no opportunity to converse in private with
his relatives or friends at the moment of his sudden arrest,
had been forced to keep his secret, for the present,
for fear of involving Israel in still worse calamities. But
would he leave him to perish piecemeal in the wall? All
surmise was baffled in the unconjecturable possibilities of
the case. But some sort of action must speedily be determined
upon. Israel would not additionally endanger
the Squire, but he could not in such uncertainty consent
to perish where he was. He resolved at all hazards to
escape, by stealth and noiselessly, if possible; by violence
and outcry, if indispensable.

Gliding out of the cell, he descended the stone stairs,
and stood before the interior of the jamb. He felt an
immovable iron knob, but no more. He groped about
gently for some bolt or spring. When before he had
passed through the passage with his guide, he had omitted
to notice by what precise mechanism the jamb was to be
opened from within, or whether, indeed, it could at all
be opened except from without.

He was about giving up the search in despair, after
sweeping with his two hands every spot of the wall-surface
around him, when chancing to turn his whole
body a little to one side, he heard a creak, and saw a
thin lance of light. His foot had unconsciously pressed
some spring laid in the floor. The jamb was ajar. Pushing
it open, he stood at liberty in the Squire's closet.