Late in the afternoon, when water drawing had ended for the day, I
went to one of the soldiers and asked if I might be allowed to wash
our big drum.
"Why, 'twill spoil it," he cried. "You'll get no sound out of a wet
skin."
"I shall only wash one side," I replied, "and it will give a
thicker sound than the dry one, and so add to the variety of the
piece we are going to play."
"Well, wash it then," he said, and went off grinning to tell his
comrades of this latest whimsy.
I fetched the drum from the corner of the room where it lay, and
carried it to the well within the keep. The members of the band
were in the secret, and I had asked them to hold the attention of
the other prisoners while I set about my task. The well was
situated in a somewhat gloomy corner, and, there being none of the
garrison at hand, I was able to accomplish my purpose unobserved
and without interference. Having drawn up a bucketful of water, I
unhooked the bucket, unwound the rope until there were but a few
feet still left upon the windlass, then cut it, made a gash in the
side of the drum, and coiled the lower and longer portion of the
rope in the interior of the instrument. Then I tied the bucket to
what remained of the rope, and lowered it into the well, where it
hung only a few feet from the surface, but quite out of sight in
the darkness. This done, I carried the drum across the yard,
turning its broken side away from the soldiers, who stood smoking
against the wall, and who laughed when they saw the water dripping
from the instrument upon the flagstones.
Pages:
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190