As the boys returned by the same road, which presented no new objects to excite their curiosity, much less time was consumed in measuring the same distance; and they ascended the eminence upon which the castle was situated, and stood before its principal entrance long before night.

It was one of the few old feudal strongholds still remaining in France that had not been suffered to go to decay by its possessors. It had been the property of a grand seignior (derived from his ancestors), who, having built a modern chateau near it, with extensive stables and other out-buildings, kept the old castle in complete repair, till sacked by a mob during the reign of terror.

It had evidently been a place of great strength, but occupying so much space that a large garrison would be required to man its exterior fortifications. It was beautifully situated upon a noble swell of land, falling away in natural terraces to the stream upon whose banks were clustered the dwellings of the peasants. The hand of violence had swept away all but the relics of its former magnificence and beauty. The axe had levelled the vast groves and long avenues of oak, chestnut, beech, and massive pines,—which had for ages delighted the eye and gratified the taste, and beneath whose hoary limbs generations had lived and died,—except one clump of large pines, at some distance in the rear of the fortress.

Everything without the walls that would burn had been consumed by fire, while the tall chimney of the chateau, and other buildings standing amid heaps of rubbish, the wild weeds springing from the joints of the hearth-stones, imparted a peculiarly desolate appearance to the scene.

Gunpowder had been freely used to obtain an entrance into the fortress, and afterwards to destroy it; but such was the enormous thickness of the walls that but comparatively little impression had been produced upon them, although single apartments had been blown up and whole floors had fallen, the pillars which supported them having been mined. Entire floors, supported at one end by the beams, which still remained in the walls, and a few pillars, while the remaining portion lay upon heaps of rubbish, bricks, mortar, fragments of clothes, domestic utensils, curved frames, broken china and glass ware of the rarest patterns and the richest colors, presented an inclined plane, up which the boys clambered to the apartments above, passing through chambers once the abode of luxury, but from whose walls the rich tapestry hung in tatters, exposed to sun and wind, that found free entrance through shattered casements and demolished doors. The boys gazed with wonder upon the relics of a magnificence of which they had before no conception.

The most singular spectacle awaited them in the great hall of the castle, which they now entered. Nothing remained undisfigured here except the lofty arches of the roof, with its beautiful fret-work, the carving on the capitals and some portions of the windows, by reason of their height difficult to reach.

The walls had been adorned with ancestral portraits of the former inhabitants of the castle and the old French nobility, with banners and suits of armor, statues in marble and bronze, paintings and copies of paintings by the greatest masters; but they were now torn from their places, pierced with bullets, and battered with rocks and clubs; for, in consequence of one of those caprices which sometimes influence the conduct of a mob even in the midst of the wildest excitement, they had abstained from using fire within the walls, while they had burned everything combustible outside, although many of the timbers and much of the panel-work bore traces of the peasants' axes, undoubtedly cut for fire-wood.

In the midst of this spacious hall was a vast collection of articles which appeared to have been brought from all parts of the castle and flung here in indiscriminate confusion; marble statues, paintings, ancient armor, antlers of stags, hunting implements, and flags from old battle-fields.

Walter sat down upon a marble statue of a chieftain in armor, from which the left arm and shield had been broken, and the face flattened.

Ned placed himself on a pile of gilded frames of large paintings he had thrown together, and thus seated they surveyed at leisure the fretted roof, and whatever of interest and beauty had escaped the fury of the assailants.

The nearest approach to ornamental carving Walter had ever seen before was the plain panel-work with which Uncle Isaac ceiled up the rooms he finished, the cornice round the tops of the rooms, beneath the mantel-piece, and on the front stairs; but these consisted of only four little flutings with a gouge, a simple bead with a moulding-plane, or a succession of little squares made with a saw and finished up with a jack-knife. He had also seen faces of cats on the cat-heads of vessels, sheaves of wheat and vine-leaves carved on their sterns. Ned had also seen these, and in addition some more ambitious efforts, in the old meeting-house at Salem, on the sounding-board, the base, and surroundings of the pulpit. But here they gazed upon oaken panels, displaying the most beautiful designs in the highest style of ancient or modern art; upon tapestry most beautifully wrought, fitted to adorn regal halls, bleaching in the wind, rent and disfigured; picked from the rubbish fragments of porcelain vases, bowls, and drinking-cups, of elaborate design and rare finish.

"I mean to carry these home," said Ned, culling from the heap a portion of a broken vase, and a large pane from one of the windows, upon which was represented the Saviour in the act of healing the withered hand.

"And I this," said Walter, holding up a panel upon which were carved Laocoon and his sons, writhing in the folds of the snakes.

"Look at that window," said Ned; "only six panes of glass left, and two thirds of the sash gone."

"This sight," said Walter, "reminds me of stories I have heard Monsieur Vimont, my French teacher at Salem, tell. He said the mob attacked the chateaux and castles of the nobles, murdered their possessors, or dragged them to prison, except such as were able to save themselves by flight."

Walter, who sympathized with the refugees, and listened to his recital of the terrible scenes through which they had passed, was much prejudiced in favor of the nobility and against their assailants.

As they followed along the walls, noticing the shattered windows and the positions from which the paintings and statuary had been torn, they came to a place from which a very large painting of a knight templar in full armor had been thrown, and lay defaced upon the floor. Lying upon this, grinding up the gilded frame, and breaking the canvas, was one of the large stones of the wall. This stone had once been hung upon massive hinges, now broken.

Through the opening it had once closed a flight of stairs was visible, constructed in the thickness of the wall by an arrangement of the stones at the time of building, and which led to the foundation of the castle.

Ned was burning with impatience to enter the opening and see whither the stairs led; but Walter, naturally interested in everything of a mechanical nature, would not proceed till he had ascertained the method by which an entrance was effected. He found the whole painting had been raised by hidden weights, and, by the pressure of a spring adroitly concealed in the frame, was elevated sufficiently to permit of passing under it, when by the pressure of another spring the stone was set free and sprung outwards, affording an entrance, after which, by concealed mechanism, the whole was restored as before. When he had mastered the principle of the machinery, they descended the stairs, from the bottom of which a winding passage led to a corridor from which several doors opened into vaulted chambers dimly lighted by slits in the walls. Some of them appeared to have been used as dungeons, ring-bolts, with chains attached, being secured to the walls.

As they proceeded they came to another door admitting to a winding passage-way, entirely dark; but, their curiosity being excited, they continued to grope their way, carefully placing one foot in advance, and dragging the other after, lest they might stumble into some pit.

At length Ned, who led the way, suddenly stopped and gave back.

"What is the matter, Ned? What are you stopping for?"

"Walter," he exclaimed in a half whisper, "there's something here, under my feet. I've put my hand on it, and I believe it's some dead man; there's something feels like clothes and buttons."

"Drag it out to where it's lighter; or let me, if you don't like to."

"Do you think I'm afraid?"

Ned began to step backward, dragging the object after him, while Walter threw open the doors leading to the vaults. By the glimmering of light thus obtained, they beheld the skeleton of a human body, held together by the articulations of the joints, the clothes, dried gristle, and sinews, being partially mummified.

Neither of the boys had ever seen the human skeleton before, or even so much as a bone, and this was to them a fearful sight—the teeth white and prominent, the eyeless sockets, and the remaining portion of the skull black with decayed flesh that still adhered to it (for the air was cool and dry, ventilation being in some way provided). The right hand had dropped off, the stump of the wrist projecting from the sleeve, while the blackened bones and shrivelled sinews of the left remained in place.

"It was a boy," said Ned; "you can see by the clothes."

"Poor fellow, he was about your size."

"His hair," said Ned, pointing to some brown locks that had lodged in the breast of the coat, "was just the color of yours. Think he was murdered?"

"I expect so, for it don't seem likely that a place as strong as this was given up without a struggle, unless it was occupied only by a family, or was surprised."

"Then, perhaps, there's more in there."

"Let us try to make some kind of a torch. I want to see all there is, and to find where this secret passage leads to that so much pains was taken to make and conceal."

Returning, the boys hunted over the great heap of rubbish in the hall, and searched every nook and corner in order to find a lamp or wax candle (which they knew were much used in that country), but in vain.

"O, if we were only at home," said Walter, "instead of being in this wretched country, how quick I could get a piece of pitch wood, or strip the bark from a birch tree, and make a first-rate torch; but there are no birches here, and no old pines with any pitch wood in 'em."

"But we shouldn't have any castles there to see," said Ned.

At last they found an iron pot, and resolved to build a fire in that, and carry it as a torch.

While they were breaking up pieces of dry wood for that purpose, Ned exclaimed, "Who knows but olive wood will burn well. I should think it would be full of oil."

"Perhaps it will."

They broke some branches from the trees, and put them in the pot with pine slivers from old panels. Walter took a horn full of tinder from his pack, and, holding it between his knees, with an old file and flint-stone struck the sparks into the horn till he ignited the tinder sufficiently to light a brimstone match, and kindled his fire in the pot, when they found that the olive wood burned freely, lasted longer, and afforded a better light, than the pine or oak; therefore they procured more of it.

"Now for something to carry it with," said Ned; "and here it is," pulling a long iron rod from the pile of miscellaneous articles that strewed the floor.

"And here is something to hold a supply of wood," said Walter, picking up a steel helmet and filling it with the chips.

With the kettle of blazing brands between them, they proceeded to explore the passage.

The first object that arrested their attention (and almost touching a door, through the grates of which a fresh current of air, fragrant with the scent of the earth and fields, was blowing) was the skeleton of an aged man. The skull had been cleft by some sharp weapon; long locks of gray hair strewed the floor, and across the breast of the skeleton lay that of a dog, the fore paws outstretched, and the nose thrust among the clothes that covered the breast.

"O, Walter," cried Ned, the tears springing to his eyes, "what a sight!"

"The saddest sight I ever saw. That dog starved to death because he would not leave his master."

"I shall always love a dog after this."

"They are noble creatures. Did you ever see what was on Tige Rhines's collar?"

"About his taking the little girl from the mill pond?"

"Yes; and that is not all he did; he saved the lives of John, Charlie Bell, and Fred Williams, by waking them up when they were asleep in a cave into which the tide was flowing."

"This must be that boy's father," said Ned. "Or his grandfather," replied Walter. "He was murdered, at any rate," pointing to the cloven skull.

"See here, Wal," holding a brand close to the floor; "see the blood all dried on the stones."

"Poor old man, cut down with his hand almost on the door! That door leads out, for I can smell the fresh air, and feel it warm on my cheek. Let's see if we can open it, Wal."

The upper part of the door was grated. They shook it, and exerted themselves to the utmost to wrench it open, but without success.

"Hold up a brand, Ned; perhaps I can find a fastening."

Walter searched carefully, but in vain, for any lock, bolt, or other fastening.

"If I only had a sledge, or hammer, and cold chisel, I'd cut these grates off, short notice."

"I saw a crowbar outside, among some garden tools," said Ned.

"Get it; that's the thing."

Walter plied the bar upon the grates till the sparks flew from the iron, and the sweat dropped from his forehead; but it resisted his efforts.

"Let me spell you, Wal."

"Try the wood below, Ned."

"It is oak, and studded with iron; but I'll try it."

After a few blows, the door flew open of its own accord. Ned, by a random stroke, had moved the spring.

"That's good luck, Ned. Go ahead."

They soon encountered another similar door.

"Now, Ned, I'm just going back to look at that spring."

By the knowledge thus obtained, Walter was enabled to detect a similar spring in this door, though in a different place.

They now began to perceive the light, and came to a horizontal grate, which was unfastened, and reached by only two steps. Walter flung it back, and they crawled out on their hands and knees beneath an overhanging cliff (through which the passage was cut), and into a tangle of wild vines that clung to the cliffs, weeds, brambles, and shrubs, effectually concealing the passage from casual observation.

"Whoever built this," said Ned, "knew how to make secret passages. One might pass this place all his lifetime, and never suspect it."

"It didn't do them much good," said Walter. "I'd rather live in a country where they are not needed. Ned, don't you think we ought to put this father and son in the ground?"

"I was thinking of that."

"What can we find to dig a grave with?"

"When I went after the crowbar, I found it among a lot of garden tools; there were shovels, rakes, and hoes, but the handles were all burnt away."

"No matter; we'll bury them in the old garden, where the ground is mellow; we can make a hole with the bar, and throw out the loose earth with the shovel-blades, if they have no handles."

A shallow grave was soon dug in the soft mould.

"We buried a man from the Madras," said Ned; "he was sewed up in canvas."

"We lost the second mate when I was in the Casco," said Walter; "he was buried ashore, and we put the American flag on the coffin for a pall. Suppose we should wrap their bones in these flags taken from the walls; they are their country's flags."

"I suppose they would like it if they could know it, and would rather lie here, where the nightingales will sing in the summer, than in that dark alley."

They carefully gathered the bones, wrapped them in the tattered banners, and committed them to the earth.

"What shall we do with the dog, Walter?"

"Do with him? Bury him with them."

"In the same grave?"

"To be sure; at their feet. He was the best and only friend they had, and died on his master's breast; he is worthy to sleep in marble."

"Well, I feel just so; but I didn't know."

The sun was just sinking behind the horizon, and his last lingering rays fell, as it were, in benediction upon the boys, as, feeling the necessity of instant preparation for the night, they hastened from the spot. Admonished by the approaching twilight, they went rapidly from room to room, in order to select one suited to their purpose.

"Let us go out of this hall," said Ned, "into God's air, and get clear of rubbish, musty walls, and dead men's bones."

"Yes, into that clump of pines. I had rather lug the wood, and be out of doors."

It was not long before they heaped together a great pile of oaken beams, boards, picture-frames, broken furniture, and panels, and, seated by the ruddy blaze, were enjoying a hearty meal, till, full even to repletion, they seated themselves with their backs against a tree to enjoy the grateful warmth of the fire.

The rising moon began to silver the lofty towers of the ancient castle, and quivered on the stream, visible at different points between the cottages of the peasants, while the rush of water, pouring through the rents of the broken dam, rose on the air. Not a breath of wind stirred the foliage. The only sounds, contesting with the murmur of waters the empire of the night, were the crackling of the fire and the occasional bleat of a sheep on the mountain. It is singular to what an extent peculiar states of feeling impart a tinge, sombre or otherwise, to impressions produced by surrounding objects and events.

As Walter sat thus, with the crackling of the fire in his ear, and the ruddy blaze playing on his cheek, he said,—

"I think this is a nice country, after all; rather dry, to be sure; a good deal of waste land, covered with gravel and stones brought down from the mountains. We have seen some beautiful valleys of most excellent land. The people are kind and hospitable, and, if they were not so shiftless, might, with their climate and soil, raise two crops a year. What are you thinking about, Ned?"

"About what my mother would say, if she knew I was making a fire of mahogany chairs, looking-glass frames, harpsichords, and carved work. I wonder if any boy ever did that before."

"Perhaps some soldiers have."

After this they sat some time, hand clasped in hand, and each occupied with his own thoughts.

"I should like to know what you are thinking about, Wal."

"You see that little cove the river has eaten out of the bank?"

"You mean where the moonlight is shining on that large rock, and beside which a tree is growing?"

"That is the spot. Well, the Saturday afternoon before I was going to sea for the first time, in the Madras, I went to the catechising, because I knew that I should find all the boys and girls there, and I wanted to bid them good by. After that I kept on to Charlie Bell's. It was a moonlight evening, just like this; and after supper we went to the head of Pleasant Cove, sat down, and leaned our backs against an oak, just as you and I are leaning against this pine. We could hear the brook that runs through his field, behind us, just as we can hear this stream below, and the ripple of the tide as it crept along the beach. I felt tender that night, for I loved Charlie Bull dearly. You know, Ned, how a boy feels, if he does want to go, when the time comes."

"That I do. When he's thinking about going, longing to be off, and his folks trying to put him off the notion, then he's all stirred up, and only thinks about getting away; but, when they've given their consent, he has signed the articles, packed his chest, got his protection at the Custom house, is sure of going, and all is settled, then, if he has a good home, and any soul in him, it will give him the heartache to say good by. There never was a boy more crazy to go to sea than I was—counting the days till the vessel was ready. She lay in the stream, ready to sail in the morning. After supper the second mate took me and three men whom he could trust, and went ashore. We were ordered to be down to the boat at nine o'clock. It was seven when I reached home. Didn't those two hours go quick as I sat on the sofa in the parlor, between father and mother, and my sisters before me. When the bell rang for nine, and I got up to start for the beach, I didn't feel altogether so keen for going as I did the week before."

"That was what I meant. I felt just so that night, while Charlie and I sat together at the head of Pleasant Cove, beneath the oak, and he talked to me."

"What did he say?"

"A great many things. He wanted me to love God and pray to him; he said there would be nights at sea when the moon would be shining on the ocean, just as it was then upon the waters of that cove; that he should look at it and think of me; hoped I would look at it and think of him and his words; and that as the same planets were above us, so the same God was around our daily paths; that perhaps when I thought that some dear friend I loved much was thinking of and praying for me, I should feel I ought to pray for myself."

"Have you never thought of it before to-night?"

"Thought of it? Yes, truly. On many a bright moonlight night, when you and I have been pacing the deck together, have I been occupied with those memories. You may think it strange, but they were in my mind when the shot from that English ship of the line was flying round us; but the moon shining on the water in that little bight, the sound of the stream, as we sit against this pine, and perhaps what we have just been doing, bring it home as never before."

"I love you, Wal," said Ned, laying his head in his friend's lap.

"Tell me some news; I knew that before," said Walter, patting his cheek.

"I have thought a good many times, lately, that you didn't seem as you used to. I never heard you say anything about doing good till this voyage; before, it was always getting rich and rushing things. I suppose it was because he talked with you, made you have this feeling."

"I don't know; I always had something of it; always admired it in Charlie Bell and Uncle Isaac, and longed to do something—I didn't know what—that was not altogether for myself."

"Have you ever done what Charlie asked you to that night?"

"What? Pray to God?"

"Yes."

"No; I only say my prayers when I turn in; don't you?"

"No, I never was brought up to. Will you say the Lord's prayer with me, Ned?"

"Shall we kneel?"

They knelt together between the roots of the pine, after which they replenished the fire, rolled themselves in their blankets, and were soon asleep.