The minutes dragged along wearily, and the stillness was growing almost burdensome, when we heard numerous stealthy footsteps behind us; and rising up, we found ourselves surrounded by Percy Randall and his masked followers. Even to us, who knew them to be our companions, this sudden appearance of a band of disguised men, creeping towards the cannons in the dim starlight, had a strikingly weird and fantastic effect. Had Percy Randall been enacting some dire melodrama, he could not have prepared his materials or set his scene better.
“Now then, quick with the ropes!” said Percy, as the fellows gathered about. At that moment, Tony Larcom, who had been investigating the wheels, gave a groan.
“Great Scott! they are chained!” he exclaimed.
“Chained?” cried Percy.
“Yes. The right wheel of this cannon is chained to one gate, and the right wheel of the other cannon is fast to the other gate.”
“That is so,” said Ray Wendell. “They are chained and padlocked. That is bad, for the gates are iron, and make mighty solid anchors.”
There was a silence for a moment. Our hearts began to sink.
“Can’t we file the chains?” I asked.
“No,” said Tony. “It would take too long, and we can’t stay here even ten minutes without running great risk of being caught.”
“Let us take the gates too, then,” exclaimed Percy Randall in his impetuous way.