Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.
SHAKESPEARE.
As the reader may have, before now, occasionally heard comments upon the
uncertainty of the moon and of the sea, and also, perhaps, of human
life, I shall not venture any farther remarks upon the subject; for were
they even new, I should never have the credit of them. This is certain,
that instead of finding themselves, as they anticipated to be in the
next twenty-four hours, safely moored in the port of Plymouth, Newton
and his comrades found themselves before that time had elapsed safely
locked up in the prison of Morlaix. But we must not proceed so fast.
Although the Estelle had squared her mainyard as a signal of submission,
the privateer's men, as they ranged their vessel alongside, thought it
advisable to pour in a volley of musketry: this might have proved
serious, had it not been that Newton and his crew were all down below,
hoping to secure a few changes of linen, which in a prison, might prove
very useful. As it was, their volley only killed the remaining French
prisoner, who remained on deck, overjoyed at the recapture, and
anticipating an immediate return to his own country; by which it would
appear that the "_L'homme propose, mais Dieu dispose_" of France, is
quite as sure a proverb as the more homely "Many a slip between the cup
and lip" of our own country.
The boat of the privateer was sent on board; a dozen men, with their
cutlasses flourishing over their heads, leapt on the deck of the
Estelle, and found nobody to exercise their valour upon, except the body
of their departed comrade; upon which they shouted for the "Sacre's God
dams" to "monter." Newton and the rest obeyed the summons, with their
bundles in their hands: the latter they were soon relieved of by their
conquerors, who, to prove that it was not out of "_politesse_" that they
carried their effects, at the same time saluted them with various blows
with their cutlasses upon their backs and shoulders. Newton, who felt
that resistance would only be an excuse for farther aggression, bore
with philosophy what he could not prevent, and hastened into the boat.
The convicts also took their share with patience--they had been
accustomed to "many stripes." Roberts and Williams, in spite of the
remonstrances of Newton, with all the reckless spirit of English
sailors, would not submit so quietly. The first object which attracted
Roberts' attention, as he came up the ladder, was the body of the
remaining French prisoner.
"What! Johnny, so you're gone! Didn't I tell you that your turn would
come next? I say, my hearties, you keep all your bullets for your
friends," continued Roberts, addressing the privateer's men.
A few "sacres" and "f---s" was the reply, as one of them attempted to
twitch his bundle out of his hand.--"Hold fast there, old chap, don't
take what you never paid for."
A scuffle now ensued; which ended in Roberts, who found that he could
not retain possession, shying his bundle at the foremost man, with such
force as to lay him on the deck.--"Well, if you will have it, take it,"
cried Roberts.
"The beggars have chopped my fingers," growled Williams. "I say
Mounseer, don't make quite so free with that iron of yours; or I'll
smash your top-lights."
"I wish I had three on 'em on Point Beach, one up and one down. I'd
sarve you out, you damned frog-eating sea-cooks!" said Roberts, squaring
at the privateers' men with clenched fists.
This obstreperous conduct produced a shower of blows with the backs of
the cutlasses. Williams, in a rage, wrenched a cutlass from one of the
Frenchmen, and laid about him; while Roberts, with his fists, rushed
within their guards, and laid two of them at his feet. At last they
were overpowered and thrown into the boat, bleeding profusely from
various cuts which they had received in the unequal scuffle. The
privateers' people then shoved off; and rowed on board of the schooner.
As soon as Newton and the other Englishmen were up the side they were
pushed aft; their persons were then searched, and every part of their
apparel, which appeared to be of good materials or little worn, was
taken from them. Collins, the convict, was a good prize; he had put on
shirt over shirt, stocking over stocking, and trousers over trousers,
that the Frenchmen began to wonder if ever they should arrive at the
"inner man." At last, he was uncased, an old pair of trousers thrown to
him, and he was left without any other garment, shivering in the cold.
Newton, who still retained his waistcoat and shirt, took off the former
and gave it to the convict, who whispered as he thanked him, "I don't
care a fig, they have left me my old hat." As soon as the recapture was
manned, the privateer bore up for the French coast, and before morning
anchored in the rocky harbour of Morlaix. At daylight the prisoners,
who had received no refreshment, were handed into a boat, and on their
landing, conducted by a party of _gens d'armes_ to the prison. During
their progress to their place of confinement Collins excited the
amusement of the bystanders, and the surprise of his fellow-prisoners,
by walking with his hands and arms raised in a certain position. After
they had been locked up, he went to the barred window, and continued the
same gestures to the people who were crowded about the prison, most of
whom continued their mockery. Newton, who came forward to the window to
request a little water for Roberts and Williams, who wished to quench
their thirst and wash their wounds, which had not been dressed, inquired
of Collins his reason for so doing. "It is for your benefit as well as
mine," replied Collins: "at least I hope so. There are freemasons in
all countries."
A few minutes afterwards, one of the people outside came forward, and
pointed out to the sentry that the prisoners were making signs for
water. The _gendarme_, who had paid no attention to Newton, listened to
the appeal of his countryman, who, upon the grounds of common humanity,
persuaded him to allow them such a necessary boon. The water was
brought, and as the man walked away a sign unperceived by all but
Collins, gave him to understand that his appeal had been understood.
"All's right," said Collins to Newton, as he quitted the grating. "We
have friends without, and we have friends within." In about an hour
some bread was brought in, and among those who brought it Collins
perceived the person who had answered his signal; but no farther
recognition took place. At noon the door of the prison was again
unbarred, and a surgeon came to dress the wounded men. He was
accompanied by two or three others, deputed by the governor of the town
to obtain intelligence, and the new acquaintance of Collins appeared as
interpreter. While the surgeon dressed the wounds of Roberts and
Williams; which, although numerous, were none of any importance, many
questions were asked, and taken down when interpreted. Each prisoner
was separately interrogated; Collins was one of the first examined. The
questions put and answers given were carefully intermixed with more
important matter. The person who acted as interpreter spoke English too
well for a Frenchman; apparently he was a Dane or Russian, who was
domiciliated there. He commenced with:--
"No one understands English but me--but they are suspicious; be
careful.--What is your name?"
"John Collins."
"Comment?" said the French amanuensis, "John Co-lin. C'est bien;
continuez."
"What is your rank--_and in your Lodge_?"
"Common seaman--master," answered Collins adroitly.
"Comment?" said the party with his pen.
"Matelot," replied the interpreter.
"Demandez-lui le nom du batiment."
"What is the name of your ship?--_how can we assist you_?"
"Terpsichore--_a boat, with provisions_."
"Comment?"
"Fregate croiseur Terpsichore."
"Does she sail well?--_at what time_?"
"_To-night, with a guide_."
"Que dit-il?"
"Elle marche bien avec le vent large."
"Demandez-lui la force."
"What number of guns?--_how can you get out_?"
"Thirty-six guns.--_I have the means_."
"Trente-six canons."
"Trente-six canons," repeated the Frenchman, writing, "c'est bien--
alors, l'equipage."
"How many men?--_I will be here at dark_."
"Two hundred and seventy men; but many away in prizes."
"Deux cents soixante-dix hommes d'equipage; mais il y a beaucoup dans
les batimens pris."
Newton and the others were also interrogated, the names taken down, and
the parties then quitted the prison.
"Now, if we make a push for it, I think we may get off," said Collins to
Newton and the rest, after the door had closed. "I never saw the prison
in England which could hold me when I felt inclined to walk out of it;
and as for their bars, I reckon them at about an hour's work. I never
travel without my little friends;"--and Collins, taking off his old hat,
removed the lining, and produced a variety of small saws made from
watch-springs, files, and other instruments. "Then," continued he,
"with these and this piece of tallow stuck outside my hat, I will be
through those bars in no time. French iron ar'nt worth a damn, and the
sentry shan't hear me if he lolls against them; although it may be just
as well if Thompson tips a stave, as then we may work the faster."
"I say, Bill," observed Hillson, "who is your friend?"
"I don't know--he may be the governor; but this I do know, for the
honour of freemasonry, we may trust him and all like him; so just mind
your own business, Tom."--"He said he would be here at dark," observed
Newton. "Yes,--I must prepare--go to the grating some of you, that they
may not look in upon me."
This unexpected prospect of deliverance created an anxious joy in the
breasts of the prisoners; the day appeared interminable. At last, the
shades of night set in, and a clouded sky with mizzling rain raised
their hopes. The square in front of the prison was deserted, and the
sentinel crouched close against the door, which partially protected him
from the weather. In a few minutes a person was heard in conversation
with the sentinel. "He must be coming now," observed Collins in a low
tone: "that must be one of his assistants who is taking off the
attention of the _gens d'arme_."
"Make no noise," said a voice in a whisper, at the outside of the bars.
"I am here," replied Collins softly.
"How can you get out of the prison?"
"Get the sentry out of the way when we leave off singing; the bars will
then be removed."
"Every thing is prepared outside. When you get out keep close under the
wall to the right. I shall be at the corner, if I am not here."
The freemason then retired from the grating.
"Now, Thompson, not too loud, there's no occasion for it; two of us can
work."
Thompson commenced his song; Newton took a small saw from Collins, who
directed him how to use it. The iron bars of the prison yielded like
wood to the fine-tempered instruments which Collins employed. In an
hour and a half three of the bars were removed without noise, and the
aperture was wide enough for their escape. The singing of Thompson,
whose voice was tolerably good and ear very correct, had not only the
effect of preventing their working being heard, but amused the sentinel,
who remained with his back to the wall listening to the melody.
Their work was so far accomplished. Thompson ceased, and all was
silence and anxiety; in a few minutes the sentinel was again heard in
conversation, and the voices receded, as if he had removed to a greater
distance.
"Now, brother," said the low voice under the aperture. In a minute the
whole of the prisoners were clear of the walls, and followed their guide
in silence, until they reached the landing-place.
"There is the boat, and provisions sufficient," said the freemason, in a
low tone; "you will have to pass the sentries on the rocks: but we can
do no more for you. Farewell, brother; and may you and your companions
be fortunate!" So saying, their friendly assistant disappeared.
The night was so dark, that although close to the boat it was with
difficulty that its outline could be discerned. Newton, recommending
the strictest silence and care in entering, stepped into it, and was
followed by the rest. Roberts, whose eyesight was a little affected
from the wounds in his head, stumbled over one of the oars.
"_Qui vive_?" cried out one of the sentries on the rock.
No answer was made; they all remained motionless in their seats. The
sentry walked to the edge of the rock and looked down; but not
distinguishing any thing, and hearing no further noise, returned to his
post.
For some little while Newton would not allow them to move: the oars were
then carefully lifted over the gunnel, and their clothes laid in the
rollocks, to muffle the sound; the boat was pushed from the
landing-place into the middle of the narrow inlet. The tide was ebbing,
and with their oars raised out of the water, ready to give way if
perceived, they allowed the boat to drift out of one of the narrow
channels which formed the entrance of the harbour.
The rain now beat down fast, and anxious to be well clear of the coast
before daylight, Newton thought they might venture to pull. The oars
were taken by him and Collins; but before they had laid them three times
in the water one of the sentries, hearing the noise, discharged his
musket in the direction.
"Give way, now, as hard as we can," cried Newton; "it's our only
chance."
Another and another musket was fired. They heard the guard turned out;
lights passing on the batteries close to them, and row-boats manning.
They double-banked their oars, and with the assistance of the ebb tide
and obscurity they were soon out of gunshot. They then laid in their
oars, shipped their mast, and sailed away from the coast.
It was nine o'clock in the evening when they started, and at daylight
the French coast was not to be seen. Overjoyed at their escape, they
commenced an attack upon the provisions and a small keg of wine; and
perhaps a more joyful breakfast never was made. The sun rose in vapour,
the sky threatened, but they were free and happy. The wind freshened,
and the boat flew before the gale; the running seas topping over her
stern, and forcing them continually to bale her out; but all was joy,
and freedom turned their "danger to delight." They passed several
vessels at a distance, who did not observe them; and before sunset the
English coast was in sight. At ten o'clock the double lights on the
Lizard were on their starboard bow. They hauled up upon the larboard
tack with the ebb tide, and having passed the Lizard, kept away for
Mount's Bay, to avoid the chance of falling in with any of the king's
vessels, and being again impressed. At daylight they ran in under St.
Michael's Mount and once more stepped upon English ground.
Here, as by previous agreement, they divided the provisions, and took
farewell of each other.
"Good bye, gentlemen," said Collins; "allow me to observe that, for
once, you may think yourselves fortunate in having been placed in my
very respectable company!"