The lively adventures of Gavin Hamilton

by Molly Elliot Seawell

They were soon across the drawbridge and outside the ramparts. The night was pitch dark, but in spite of it the coachman drove rapidly along the well-known road, and they were not stopped once after getting outside. As soon as they were on the side of the citadel opposite the town, they knew they were on the side of the Bohemian mountains. This was their point of escape. Gavin disengaged himself of his pillows and threw the heavy cloak over his arm, and St. Arnaud did likewise; they could not afford to cast away such excellent disguises. Then, noiselessly opening the carriage door, they both dropped to the ground with so much dexterity that they managed to shut the door, so its banging might not attract the orderly’s attention. They thus found themselves outside the fortress within fifteen minutes of the time they had escaped. They stopped and listened for a moment, but evidently no alarm had yet been given.

“We shall hear the guns, though, as soon as the carriage reaches the postern gate, if not before; and after that—” said St. Arnaud.

Gavin only pointed before them. “Yonder are the mountains. We cannot see them—so much the better—no one can see us. The frontier is twenty English miles away, and we should gain it before daylight.”

With the blood leaping in their veins at the thought of liberty, even for an hour, they plunged forward through the fog. The snow made walking difficult, but they felt as light of foot as the chamois among the hills. They sped along in spite of every obstacle, and when, within half an hour, the report of the three alarm guns rumbled through the heavy air, they had already gained a considerable distance. The darkness and the fog made it impossible for them to know precisely in what direction they were going; they only knew that they had got among fields and hedgerows, which they ardently hoped were in the direction of the mountains. Gavin, however, in the long marches of the past campaign had got something of the soldier’s instinct for the right road, and when toward midnight the fog lifted and a pallid moon came forth, they found they were on the right track for the mountains, although they had not come as straight as they had hoped.

At intervals they had heard faint and distant sounds indicating pursuit; but the damp air stifled sound. At midnight, though, when it suddenly cleared, they heard afar off the tramping of hoofs. They found themselves on a by-road, where there were hedges, but no trees, and farmhouses were scattered about. All was as still as death except for that light but ominous echo of advancing horses and men. The sound was coming nearer, and the hoof-beats could be distinctly heard.

In front of them was a farmstead, with good outbuildings, including a cattle shed and stables. The snow was much trodden thereabouts, so that their tracks would not betray them. They found both the shed and the stable doors locked, but the stable window was left open for ventilation. They crawled in the window, and found a ladder leading to the loft, which was stored with hay. In two minutes they were concealed under it. In ten minutes more a squad of cavalry had ridden up, and every farmhouse was astir with the news they brought. Two prisoners had escaped, and the commandant would pay a hundred florins for either of them. The stable door was flung open, and the farmer who owned the place and his two sons saddled the horses, arranging their plans in full hearing of the fugitives just above their heads. The business of the squad of cavalry was to arouse the country, rather than personally hunt for the fugitives. They soon passed on, therefore, and in a little while most of the men in the hamlet had joined in the search, while the rest returned to bed.

The hay in the loft was warm and dry, and Gavin and St. Arnaud were terribly fatigued, and they longed to take rest until morning; but the hours of darkness were precious to them. They waited until everything had quieted down, and then, starting forth from their hiding-place, resumed the march toward the mountains.

They trudged along, somewhat guided by their map, and although they caught sight more than once of pursuing parties, they managed to conceal themselves, but they knew they could not expect to be so fortunate in broad daylight.

The dawn came clear and beautiful, and bearing no trace of the fog of the night before. The Bohemian mountains, only ten English miles away, loomed darkly beautiful on the horizon. The snow lay deep upon the whole earth when the first golden shafts of light struck the mountain tops from the east; as the sun rose in glory, they glowed milk white against a sky all blue and gold and rose-coloured. Gavin and St. Arnaud saw the exquisite sunrise with heavy hearts; a clear day made the chances of their eluding pursuit for ten miles still more hazardous. They were half dead with fatigue, after their weeks of close confinement; they were foot-sore and hungry, but their spirits were unfaltering, and no word of complaint escaped them.

They had avoided the highway, although they knew that every lane, by-road, and hedgerow would be searched for them; and as the day fully broke, they found themselves in a pleasant rolling country, somewhat off the usual line of travel, with many houses of a good class, but barren of woods. Immediately before them was a pleasant villa, with a tall yew hedge all around it. As they trudged past they noticed a kind of natural alcove in the hedge, in which they were tolerably concealed from view; and they threw themselves down for a moment to rest their weary limbs and study their rude map.