The three young men continued to converse pleasantly until the hand of the clock pointed to ten minutes before nine. Then Gavin rose and, going to the window which was at Pfels’ back, peered out. The solid mass of the fortress, the town, the river, the snow-covered earth, all were wrapped in a white veil of fog, through which they loomed mysteriously. This cold and silvery mist brought with it silence as well as obscurity. All sounds were deadened, and the dim figures of the sentries, as they passed to and fro, were like ghosts, so noiseless were their steps. The thought came into Gavin’s mind, “The guns will not carry far to-night.” At that moment there was the slight commotion outside of relieving the guard, and Pfels said to St. Arnaud:
“My work for the day will soon be over. Bohm is officer in charge to-night, and I always feel particularly safe when he—”
The next instant Gavin pinioned him from behind, and St. Arnaud slipped a gag made of the playing-cards and a napkin into the poor adjutant’s mouth. He had not a moment to cry out, and could not utter an articulate sound; and the slight scuffle he was able to make, while his hands and feet were securely tied with bell cords by St. Arnaud, could not be heard outside the room. He was then blindfolded with a napkin, St. Arnaud saying:
“Sorry, dear Pfels, but, you know, it is a soldier’s duty to escape if he can, and you would do as much by me. You are one of the best fellows in the world”—here he fixed the gag more firmly in the mouth of poor Pfels, who groaned faintly—“and as you and the general often told us getting out of the fortress was nothing—we were certain to be caught within two hours—so, now, we will have a chance to test our respective theories.”
Pfels could only writhe about and wag his head violently; but they thought it as well to tie him to his chair, a precaution which they also took with the general, as he slumbered peacefully.
All was done in an almost inconceivably short time. They dared not turn the lock of the door for fear of awaking suspicion in the anteroom, but as no one would enter without knocking, they could safely count on a few minutes of time. St. Arnaud noiselessly opened the door of the press and got out the general’s best cloak and chapeau, while Gavin firmly tied a couple of sofa-pillows around his body; and when he had on the huge cloak, with the collar turned up to his eyes, and the chapeau pulled down over his ears, it was not a bad imitation of the general’s grotesque figure. St. Arnaud put on Pfels’ cloak and hat, and they looked at the clock and saw that they had yet five minutes to wait.
St. Arnaud went to the door of the anteroom, and kept his hand on the key, ready to turn it at a moment’s notice, while Gavin carried out the last detail of their carefully studied plan by stuffing bits of his handkerchief in the ears of Pfels and the commandant. They had then four minutes to wait for the carriage, and it was the longest interval of time that either one was ever to spend in his life.
The roll of the carriage was then heard, and in another moment they had softly opened the door that led to the stairs, and were going lightly down.
They came down so much quicker than the commandant usually did, that the orderly, who was standing on the pavement a little way off, did not have time to open the carriage door; St. Arnaud, however, saved him the trouble, and, as he ran forward, Pfels, as he thought, was just stepping into the carriage. The orderly put up the steps, jumped on the box, and the coachman drove through the sallyport, the orderly giving the countersign.