In the last dungeon a black opening lay before them, just seen by the light of the lamp Sigbert carried, but so low that there was no entrance save on hands and knees.
“That den!” exclaimed Walter. “’Tis a rat-hole. Never can we go that way.”
“I have tried it, sir,” quoth Sigbert. “Where I can go, you can go. Your sister quails not.”
“It is fearful,” said Mabel, unable to repress a shiver; “but, Walter, think what is before us if we stay here! The Saints will guard us.”
“The worst and lowest part only lasts for a few rods,” explained Sigbert. “Now, sir, give your orders. Torches and lanterns, save Hubert’s and nurse’s, to be extinguished. We cannot waste them too soon, but beware of loosing hold on them.”
Walter repeated the orders thus dictated to him, and Sigbert arranged the file. It was absolutely needful that Sigbert should go first to lead the way. Mabel was to follow him for the sake of his help, then her brother, next nurse, happily the only other female. Between two stout and trustworthy men the wounded Roger came. Then one after another the rest of the men-at-arms and servants, five-and-twenty in number. The last of the file was Hubert, with a lamp; the others had to move in darkness. There had been no horse of any value in the castle, for the knight’s charger had been mortally hurt in his last expedition, and there had been no opportunity of procuring another. A deerhound, however, pushed and scrambled to the front, and Sigbert observed that he might be of great use in running before them. Before entering, however, Sigbert gave the caution that no word nor cry must be uttered aloud, hap what might, until permission was given, for they would pass under the Saracen camp, and there was no knowing whether the sounds would reach the ears above ground.
A strange plunge it was into the utter darkness, crawling on hands and knees, with the chill cavernous gloom and rock seeming to press in upon those who slowly crept along, the dim light of Sigbert’s lamp barely showing as he slowly moved on before. One of the two in the rear was dropped and extinguished in the dismal passage, a loss proclaimed by a suppressed groan passing along the line, and a louder exclamation from Walter, causing Sigbert to utter a sharp ‘Hush!’ enforced by a thud and tramp above, as if the rock were coming down on them, but which probably was the trampling of horses in the camp above.
The smoke of the lamp in front drifted back, and the air was more and more oppressive. Mabel, with set teeth and compressed lips, struggled on, clinging tight to the end of the cord which Sigbert had tied to his body for her to hold by, while in like manner Walter’s hand was upon her dress. It became more and more difficult to breathe, or crawl on, till at last, just as there was a sense that it was unbearable, and that it would be easier to lie still and die than be dragged an inch farther, the air became freer, the roof seemed to be farther away, the cavern wider, and the motion freer.
Sigbert helped his young lady to stand upright, and one by one all the train regained their feet. The lamp was passed along to be rekindled, speech was permitted, crevices above sometimes admitted air, sometimes dripped with water. The worst was over—probably the first part had been excavated, the farther portion was one of the many natural ‘dens and caves of the earth,’ in which Palestine abounds. There was still a considerable distance to be traversed, the lamps burnt out, and had to be succeeded by torches carefully husbanded, for the way was rough and rocky, and a stumble might end in a fall into an abyss. In time, however, openings of side galleries were seen, niches in the wall, and tokens that the outer portion of the cavern had been once a burial-place of the ancient Israelites—‘the dog Jews,’ as the Crusaders called them, with a shudder of loathing and contempt.
And joy infinite—clear daylight and a waving tree were perceptible beyond. It was daylight, was it? but the sun was low. Five hours at least had been spent in that dismal transit, before the exhausted, soiled, and chilled company stepped forth into a green thicket with the Jordan rushing far below. Five weeks’ siege in a narrow fortress, then the two miles of subterranean struggle—these might well make the grass beneath the wild sycamore, the cork-tree, the long reeds, the willows, above all, the sound of the flowing water, absolute ecstasy. There was an instant rush for the river, impeded by many a thorn-bush and creeper; but almost anything green was welcome at the moment, and the only disappointment was at the height and steepness of the banks of rock. However, at last one happy man found a place where it was possible to climb down to the shingly bed of the river, close to a great mass of the branching headed papyrus reed. Into the muddy but eminently sweet water most of them waded; helmets became cups, hands scooped up the water, there were gasps of joy and refreshment and blessing on the cool wave so long needed.