“Aha, Coquin!” cried the skipper; “mais vous avez joué votre role à merveille——”
“What said the fellow? and what was thine answer to him?” demanded the captain of the guard again.
“Par bleu, Monsieur le Capitaine String, I ave make heem bon garçon at last,” replied the skipper; “I do ave make heem cry peccavée.”
“Was that all?” said the captain, gruffly. “Then come away, Mooshie, let us clear out of this. Thou and thy fellows have been long enough here.”
“Before thou goest, I would speak with thee, Captain Strang,” said the Duke. “If fame and mine own experience belie thee not, thou art great in thy judgment of wines. Wilt thou lend me thy company to-night at supper, that we may taste the stuff which this fellow hath brought me, of the rare quality of which he makes so great a boast?”
“Your Royal Highness’s Grace does me too much honour,” replied Strang, with a most obsequious bow. “My taste is but a poor and uncultivated taste; but I shall be proud to perfect it under your Royal Highness’s superior judgment and instruction.”
“Then let us have supper at four, good captain,” said the Duke; “and as my chamberlain here would fain invite those three poor knaves who guard the door, to watch for once within side of it, and to partake of his table, I would have thee see that, at my expense, enough of the best viands be provided for all.”
“Your Highness is too considerate,” replied Strang. “Yet, since your royal will runs so, it shall be obeyed to the letter. The supper shall be such as shall content you.” And then retiring, and shutting and locking the door upon his prisoners, he descended the outer steps, muttering to himself,—“The supper may well be a good one indeed, and thou mayest well eat and drink thy fill; for, if I be not far mistaken, it may be the last supper thou mayest eat, and the last wine thou mayest swallow.”
The skipper and his party now left the Castle, without farther question; and as they passed by the mouth of the close where Sir Walter Stewart lived, on their way down the High Street, the knight and his son were replaced by the two French sailors, in the same adroit manner in which the change had been formerly effected; and they gained their lodgings, and got rid of their disguise, without having subjected themselves to the least suspicion, whilst the skipper continued his way out of the city, with the same number of followers as he had always had with him.
No sooner was the Duke of Albany free from the chance of interruption, than he and his chamberlain proceeded to wrench up the end of that cask which Sir Walter Stewart had so ingeniously and so particularly indicated, as the important one to the royal captive. They found it altogether devoid of wine; but, to their no small joy, they found within it a long coil of rope, and a large roll of wax. Their first care was to replace the rope, and to shut up the cask again, and then to roll it into the corner, where they set it on end immediately in rear of that which contained the wine. They then hastily opened the roll of wax, and discovered that it contained a letter from Sir Walter, explaining the whole plan for their escape. Having studied this again and again, so as fully to possess themselves of its contents, they committed it to the ample fire-place, where it was immediately consumed, and then they sat down together to resolve and arrange all the minor parts and details of their plot. Whilst they were so employed, Captain Strang was unable to resist the devil that tempted him to taste his little runlet. It was excellent wine. He boldly, and with great determination, put in the spigot again, and gallantly retreated from it. But again and again was he drawn to it by an attraction as strong as that which the loadstone exerts over the needle. Again and again he drew the spigot, and sipped moderately. He would have drank deeply, had not economy whispered him that he had better preserve it for a future opportunity, seeing that he had the prospect of that night drinking so largely at another’s expense. But still he sipped and sipped from time to time, so that, although far from drunk when he appeared in the Duke of Albany’s apartment—nay, I may say, far from being even what is usually called half seas over—he had so whetted his thirst as to be ready to drink oceans; and the foundation he had laid was quite enough for a superstructure of perfect intoxication.