But the third attempt, nor yet the fourth nor fifth cleared their pathway, though when both the boys were bruised from head to feet the rusty hinges suddenly gave away and they went headlong into the narrow hallway.
Jack struck upon top, and he was the first to gain his knees, as near an erect position as he could easily gain, and he began to crawl toward the open air, saying:
“Follow me, Plum.”
On the outer threshold they paused to take a hasty survey of the surroundings, soon satisfying themselves that a terrific battle was being waged at the upper end of the town.
“The quicker we get away the better,” said Jack, begining to move laboriously toward the grand plaza, with Plum close behind him.
In that slow, tedious way the two crossed the yard in front of the town house, and then steering for the cover of a line of shrubbery bordering on the west side of the plaza, they crawled as fast as they could in that direction.
The sound of the cannon was not heard so constant now, but the storm of the musketry had not seemed to cease to any extent.
What meant infinitely more to them, the firing was rapidly drawing nearer. The fire, too, of the burning town was growing brighter and brighter, even the plaza showing plainly under its vivid glare.
Upon reaching the shrubbery they stopped for a brief respite.
“Look, Jack!” exclaimed Plum, in a shrill whisper, “our prison is on fire! We didn’t get out any too soon.”