Chapter 18

MOLE IN "THE DEEPEST DUNGEON"--HOPES OF RESCUE.

The unfortunate Isaac Mole was now reduced to a position unprecedented even in his varied career.

He was placed in the "deepest dungeon" of the old castle, which was used as the town gaol, in a cold stone cell all to himself, and a couple of fierce-looking bashi-bazouks to watch him.

Bread and water--both of the stalest--constituted poor Mole's only fare, and his lodging was literally "on the cold, cold ground."

The constant fear of a terrible doom haunted him.

It was the third night of his incarceration, and about the middle of the night Mole was kept awake by his own depressing thoughts, together with the gambols of the rats that infested the dungeon.

Suddenly the deadly stillness was broken by a sound outside, which much agitated him.

"Ha, what sound is that?" cried Mole; "yes, oh, joy, it is the sound of a flute."

Could he mistake that note?

Who could make such melancholy strains but the desolate orphan--the melodious Figgins?

Had Figgins, forgetting all past differences and animosities, come to soothe Mole's captivity, in this manner, or--horrible thought!--was it a strain of malice or revengeful triumph that emanated from the long-suffering and tortured instrument.

But the flute did not long continue playing, and Mole conjectured that it was only a signal to which he was expected to respond.

He had no mode whatever of doing so, excepting a melancholy whistle, which, however, served its purpose.

Through the bars of the prison, which were far too high up for him to reach, a small object suddenly came crashing, and very narrowly did it escape falling upon the prisoner's nose.

Reaching out his hand in the dark, Mr. Mole picked it up, and found it to be a stone wrapped in paper.

He knew at once that it must be a written message from his friends outside, and again he whistled as a signal that he had received it.

A few triumphant notes on the flute responded to this, and then all was silent again.

How impatient Mole was for daylight, that he might read the letter.

But it was many hours to that yet, and sleep he found impossible.

At length, a faint streak came through the bars of the gloomy dungeon.

Mole, with some difficulty, dragged himself under this light, straightened out the paper, and read thus--

"ISAAC MOLE, ESQUIRE,--You are not forgotten by your friends, who much lament your misfortune. We very narrowly escaped being caught and served in the same way. We have, through Captain Deering, got hold of the British consul, to whom we have represented the affair to be only a practical joke, not deserving of a severe punishment. So we hope to get you off with a fine, which we will undertake to pay, whatever it may be. Therefore, keep up your pecker, old man, and believe us to be

"Yours, truly as ever,

"JACK AND FRIENDS."

"Cool, after the way they've served me," was the tutor's mental comment upon this message; "but the question is, Can the British consul, or any other man, get me out of the clutches of these ferocious Turks?"

The next night, Mole was able to sleep.

But his sleep was suddenly and fearfully interrupted.

An awful and confused noise, shouting outside, flashing lights through the bars, the clash of arms and the hurried tramp of men, indicated that the prison was the scene of some warlike commotion.

Mole started up in a state of great alarm, and struggled towards the door of his cell.

"Oh, dear, oh, dear!" cried poor Mole, "this is dreadful. Oh, if I was only a boy again. I would stick to Old England, and never leave it. There, they are at it again. Oh, dear, why did I leave Mrs. Mole?"

The noise was as if there were a mutiny or outbreak of some kind.

Nearer and nearer came the sound of footsteps, louder and louder sounded the clashing of arms, and the clanking of chains.

A shout of triumph sounded just outside his cell door, and amidst a volley of interjections in Turkish and Arabic, he fancied he could hear English shouts of--

"Hurrah! boys, we shall do it. Open every one of the doors, and set them all free."

Two heavy bolts were shot back outside, the heavy key was turned in the lock, Mole's cell door was opened, and in a burst of torch-light entered groups of armed Bedouin Arabs.

Mole shrank back in a corner.

These ferocious Moslems had doubtless come to murder him in hot blood.

In reality their object was quite different.

The event that had happened was not an outbreak within the walls of the garrison, but an inbreak of those whose purpose was to rescue the captives.

Jack and Harry had the day before put up at the encampment of some friendly Arabs, who became more friendly still when they found their guests liberal in respect of coinage.

One of the Arabs had a brother in prison awaiting the pasha's further orders of punishment, so they were anxious to help Jack and release the Arab chief.

Jack and Harry, being informed of this, thought it would be an excellent opportunity for the escape of Mole, who was incarcerated in the same gaol.

The party set out in the middle of the night.

They soon reached the prison.

Darkness befriended them.

The first step was to gain admission into the outer yard or enclosure.

This they did by suddenly setting upon the two warders outside, and, before they could give the alarm, binding, gagging, and disarming them.

Then, mounting one of the sentry-boxes, Jack and Harry, being the lightest and most agile members of the party, contrived thus to get over the gate, and drop down inside.

Here, with great labour, they forced back the ponderous bolts, and the Arabs poured into the building.

The alarm was taken, and the old castle of Alla-hissar, as it was called, was all in an uproar.

Gaolers and soldiers, utterly taken aback by this sudden onslaught, made but ineffectual resistance.

Ere they could grasp their weapons and put themselves in order of defence, the Bedouins were on to them, striking them down, forcing away their keys, and ill-treating them in proportion to the resistance to the attack they made.

"Tell me, slave," thundered the Arab chief, to one of the gaolers, "in which cell my brother Hadj Maimoun is confined?"

"In--in No. 6," answered the man, trembling for his life.

"Art thou sure? Deceive me, dog, and thou diest," continued the chief, threateningly placing the muzzle of his pistol to the man's forehead.

"I swear, by the holy tomb of Mecca."

"Enough; and which is the key?"

"It is numbered, great lord: see here, No. 6."

"And the cell lieth----"

"To the right yonder. I will lead your highness thither."

"Do so, and if you attempt to deceive us, not the fiend himself can save you from my revenge. Come on, friends; Hadj Maimoun shall be free."

A wild shout of triumph rose from the Arabs.

In a few moments they had reached the cell indicated, where a young Arab, in heavy chains, looked up at their entrance.

The chief recognised his brother.

"Strike off these chains, villain!" the Arab then commanded the gaoler.

The chains dropped off the young Arab, whereat his friends raised another triumphant shout--

"Allah, Allah, Allah! Glory be to the Prophet. Hadj Maimoun is free."

By this time the prison was fairly in the hands of the victorious invaders.

One man, however, managed to slip out, and made the best of his way to the town to rouse the pasha and other officials.