Bred in the Bone; Or, Like Father, Like Son: A NovelPayn, James
General
Bred in the Bone; Or, Like Father, Like Son: A Novel
Payn, James
English fiction
Like a creeping thing, for he scarce used hand or foot at all, Richard
slowly crawled and slid along the sloping roof, then swiftly over the
vertex, while the patrol was at the most distant portion of his round,
and then once more, motionless and almost breathless, he lay down behind
the western parapet. The exercising-yard, into which it was his object
to drop, was just below him; but it was necessary to find some object to
which to fasten his rope; and here he perceived how futile would have
been his plan of escape without assistance from without; for here,
having slid down it, he must needs leave his rope tied to a neighboring
chimney. There was not length enough to cut off, and be of any service
afterward for the descent of the external wall, nigh sixty feet in
height. If Balfour failed him, it was now, indeed, clear to him that his
whole design must fail. Yonder towering wall, higher even than his own
present elevated position, could never be scaled by foot and hand, with
only the help of a spout--nay, he doubted whether, even if he found the
promised rope in position, he could even make use of that; for, though
agile, he had none of the sailor's cunning.
He made fast the coil which he had with him, however, and watching his
opportunity, slid off the parapet into space. Such a feat seems easy
enough to read of; but to slide without noise down a loose and swinging
rope for so great a distance is no slight task to one unused to such
gymnastics; and, besides, he had to check himself at intervals (which
took the skin off from his hands, although at the time he did not feel
it), lest he should suddenly reach the ground with a dull thud. He
accomplished this in safety, and once more paused, his back pushed hard
to the prison wall, while the warder passed, whose form he could now
even make out, it was so immediately above him; then he crossed the yard
with a swift but anxious step to its north corner, and peered about in
the gloom for the promised rope; the spout was there, smooth and
ineffectual enough as a means of exit, but no rope.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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