CHAPTER XXV THE SANCTUARY
The heavily-laden boat ascended the stream with its load of rescued captives, redeemed from their living death in the dungeons of Brian's stronghold.
The night continued intensely dark, a drizzling rain fell; but all this was in favour of the escape. Upon a moonlight night this large boat must have been seen by the sentinels, and followed.
There was of course no "lock" at Bensington in those days, consequently the stream was much swifter than now; and it was soon found that the load they bore in their barge was beyond the strength of the rowers. But this was easily remedied: a towing rope was produced, and half a dozen of Thorold's band drew the bark up stream, while another half-dozen remained on board, steered or rowed, or attended to the rope at the head of the boat, as needed.
Osric was with them: he intended to go to Dorchester and see his father, and obtain his approbation of the course he was pursuing and direction for the future.
All that night the boat glided up stream; their progress was, of necessity, slow. The groans of the poor sufferers, most of whom had endured recent torture, broke the silence of the night, otherwise undisturbed, save by the rippling of the water against the prow of the boat.
That night ever remained fixed in the memory of Osric,—the slow ascent of the stream; the dark banks gliding by; the occasional cry of the men on the shore, or the man at the prow, as the rope encountered difficulties in its course; the joy of the rescued, tempered with apprehension lest they should be pursued and recaptured, for they were, most of them, quite unable to walk, for every one was more or less crippled; the splash of the rain; the moan of the wind; the occasional dash of a fish,—all these details seemed to fix themselves, trifles as they were, on the retina of the mind.
Osric meditated much upon his change of life, but he did not now wish to recall the step he had taken. His better feelings were aroused by the misery of those dungeons, and by the approbation of his better self, in the contemplation of the deliverance he had wrought.
While he thus pondered a soft hand touched his; it was that of the boy, the son of Thorold, who had been chained to the wall by means of the thumbscrew locked upon his poor thumbs.[27]