The True Story Book

by Unknown

Two years' imprisonment had weighed too heavily on Cæsar for him to waste a single moment in trying to regain his freedom. He, therefore, lost no time in beginning to work on one of the bars of his window, which opened on an inside court, and soon contrived to cut through so far, that a violent shake would enable him to remove it altogether. But the window was nearly seventy feet above the ground, while the only way of leaving the court was by a door reserved for the governor alone, the key of which was always carried about his person. By day it was suspended from his belt, by night it was under his bolster. To gain possession of this key was the most difficult part of the matter.

Now in spite of the fact that he was a prisoner, Cæsar had invariably been treated with all the respect due to his name and rank. Every day at the dinner hour, he was conducted from the room in which he was confined to the governor's apartments and was received by him as an honoured guest. Don Manuel himself was an old soldier who had served with distinction under Ferdinand, and, while carrying out punctually his orders for Cæsar's safe custody, he admired his military talents, and listened with pleasure to the story of his fights. He had often desired that Cæsar should breakfast as well as dine with him, but, luckily for himself, the prisoner, perhaps aided by some presentiment, had always refused this favour. It was owing to his solitude that he was able to conceal the instruments for his escape sent by Michelotto.

Now it happened that the very same day that he had received them, Cæsar contrived to stumble, and twist his foot as he was returning to his room. When the hour of dinner came he tried to go down, but declared that walking hurt him so much, that he should be obliged to give it up, so the governor paid him a visit instead, and found him stretched on his bed.

The next day Cæsar was no better; his dinner was ordered to be served upstairs, and the governor paid him a visit as before. He found his prisoner so dull and bored with his own company, that he offered to come and share his supper. Cæsar accepted the offer with gratitude and joy.

This time it was the prisoner who did the honours of the table, and Cæsar was particularly charming and courteous in manner. The governor seized the opportunity of putting some questions as to his capture, and inquired, with the pride of a Castilian noble, who set honour above all, what was the exact truth as to the way in which Gonsalvo de Cordova and Ferdinand had broken their faith with him. Cæsar showed every disposition to give him satisfaction on this point, but indicated by a sign that he could not speak freely before the valets. This precaution was so natural, that the governor could not seem offended at it, and dismissed his attendants, so that he and his companion remained alone. When the door was shut, Cæsar filled his glass and that of the governor, and proposed the king's health. The governor emptied his glass at once, and Cæsar began his story, but he had hardly told a third of it, when in spite of its exciting adventures, the eyes of his guest closed as if by magic, and his head fell on the table in a deep sleep.

At the end of half-an-hour, the servants, not hearing any noise, entered the room, and found the two boon companions, one on the table and the other under it. There was nothing very unusual about such an event to excite their suspicions, so they contented themselves with carrying Don Manuel to his chamber and laying Cæsar on his bed; they then locked the door with great care, leaving the prisoner alone.

For a minute or two longer Cæsar lay still, apparently plunged in a profound slumber, but when the sound of footsteps had completely died away, he softly raised his head, opened his eyes, and moved towards the door, rather slowly it is true, but without seeming to feel any ill-effects from his accident on the previous day. He stood still for a few seconds with his ear at the keyhole, then, raising himself, with a strange expression of triumph on his face, he passed his hand over his forehead, and, for the first time since the guards had left the room, breathed freely.

But there was no time to be lost, and without a moment's delay he fastened the door from the inside as securely as it was fastened without. He next extinguished his lamp, threw open his window, and finished cutting through the bar. This done, he took off the bandages tied round his leg, tore down the curtains, both of his window and his bed, and made them into strips, adding to them sheets, table cloths, napkins, and whatever else he could lay hands on. At last he had a rope between fifty and sixty feet long, which he secured firmly at one end to the bar next to the one that he had sawn away, and mounting on the window-ledge, he began the most dangerous part of his expedition in trusting himself to this frail support. Happily, Cæsar was as strong as he was agile, and slid down the whole length of the cord without accident; but when he had reached the very end, in vain he tried to touch the earth with his feet. The rope was too short.

Cæsar's position was terrible. The darkness of the night preventing his knowing how far he might be above the ground, and his exertions had so fatigued him that he could not have gone back even had he wished. There was no help for it, and, after muttering a short prayer, he let go the rope, and fell, a distance of twelve or fifteen feet.