As they crossed the kitchen, they heard a sound proceeding from an adjoining room, which convinced them that neither Peter Trusbut nor Dame Potentia were on the watch.
“They don’t snore quite so loud as my friends the giants,” whispered Xit; “but they have tolerably good lungs.”
Having, at Xit’s suggestion, armed himself with a torch and materials to light it, and girded on a sword which he found reared against the wall, the esquire followed his dwarfish companion down a winding stone staircase, and speedily issued from the postern.
The night was profoundly dark, and they were therefore unobserved by the sentinels on the summit of the By-ward Tower, and on the western ramparts. Without delaying a moment, Cholmondeley hurried towards the Devilin Tower. Xit accompanied him, and after some little search they found the secret door, and by a singular chance Cholmondeley, on the first application, discovered the right key. He then bade farewell to the friendly dwarf, who declined attending him further, and entering the passage, and locking the door within-side, struck a light and set fire to the torch.
Scarcely knowing whither to shape his course, and fully aware of the extent of the dungeons he should have to explore, Cholmondeley resolved to leave no cell unvisited, until he discovered the object of his search. For some time, he proceeded along a narrow arched passage, which brought him to a stone staircase, and descending it, his further progress was stopped by an iron door. Unlocking it, he entered another passage, on the right of which was a range of low cells, all of which he examined, but they were untenanted, except one, in which he found a man whom he recognised as one of the Duke of Northumberland’s followers. He did not, however, dare to liberate him, but with a few words of commiseration passed on.
Turning off on the left, he proceeded for some distance, until being convinced by the hollow sound of the floor that there were vaults beneath, he held his torch downwards, and presently discovered an iron ring in one of the stones. Raising it, he beheld a flight of steps, and descending them, found himself in a lower passage about two feet wide, and apparently of considerable length. Hastily tracking it, he gradually descended until he came to a level, where both the floor and ceiling were damp and humid. His torch now began to burn feebly, and threw a ghastly light upon the slimy walls and dripping roof.
While he was thus pursuing his way, a long and fearful shriek broke upon his ear, and thinking it might proceed from the captive Alexia, he hastened forward as quickly as the slippery path would allow him. It was evident, from the increasing humidity of the atmosphere, that he was approaching the river. As he advanced the cries grew louder, and he became aware, from the noise around, that legions of rats were fleeing before him. These loathsome animals were in such numbers, that Cholmondeley, half-fearing an attack from them, drew his sword.
After proceeding about fifty yards, the passage he was traversing terminated in a low wide vault, in the centre of which was a deep pit. From the bottom of this abyss the cries resounded, and hurrying to its edge, he held down the torch, and discovered, at the depth of some twenty feet, a miserable half-naked object up to his knees in water, and defending himself from hundreds of rats that were swarming around him. While he was considering how he could accomplish the poor wretch’s deliverance, who continued his shrieks more loudly than ever, asserting that the rats were devouring him, Cholmondeley perceived a ladder in a corner of the vault, and lowering it into the pit, the sides of which were perpendicular and flagged, instantly descended.
If he had been horrified at the vociferations of the prisoner, he was now perfectly appalled by the ghastly spectacle he presented. The unfortunate person had not exaggerated his danger when he said that the rats were about to devour him. His arms, body, and face were torn and bleeding, and as Cholmondeley approached he beheld numbers of his assailants spring from him and swim off. More dead than alive, the sufferer expressed his thanks, and taking him in his arms, Cholmondeley carried him up the ladder.
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