As I expected, the hiding-place I had chosen was about the safest I
could have had. For my jailers, taking note of the trampled dust-heap
in the corner, and finding, moreover, my half-written letter (which I
had taken the precaution to drop on the far side of the wall before I
doubled on my steps), had no doubt that I had fled either towards the
open country or to the harbour, where possibly I might succeed in
smuggling myself on board a ship.
So, instead of increasing the sentries round the house, they actually
reduced them in order to reinforce the pursuing party. My policy was to
get away while the coast was comparatively unprotected, and trust to
night and my good angel to get clear of the place. So, when the
excitement had subsided a little, and the remaining soldiers on guard
were summoned to assist at the hanging of the second batch of my
shipmates, I stole from my hiding-place and, covered by the sea-mist
which came with the sundown, slid down the pipe and crossed the wall,
and set off as briskly as I could in an easterly direction through the
outskirts of the town.
The streets were moderately crowded with wayfarers and loungers, and as
I sauntered along with a big French cigar in my mouth, which had cost me
two of my few remaining sous, no one paid me any particular heed. A few
of the soldiers eyed me suspiciously as a doubtful character, but they
were too accustomed to queer sea-dogs prowling about the place to
consider me worth the trouble of a challenge.
At last I came to one of the posting taverns of the town where the coach
for Paris was beginning to take up passengers in the presence of the
usual curious crowd of idlers. At the present time, when everybody went
in terror of his life, and to be suspected of any design against the
liberties of France was the same thing as being condemned for it, it was
no easy task even for the most innocent and well-conducted traveller to
get clear of a town like Brest.
The few merchants and tourists and nervous women who ventured were made
to pass through a row of soldiers, who examined their passports
narrowly, and sometimes ordered them to stand aside for further inquiry;
a command which sent the blood out of the cheeks of him who heard it,
and made him think no more of the mail-coach but of the low tumbrel on
which the victims of the guillotine took their last dreadful drive.
Even while I stood, there was one woman--a would-be traveller--who
failed to satisfy the officer on guard, and who, on being ordered back,
fell on her knees with shrieks and begged for mercy. And not one of
those who stood gaping beside me but said she would be in luck if she
got it.
Still more fuss was made about a horseman who demanded leave to ride
forward to Paris on an errand of hot haste. He was, to all appearance,
a gentleman's lackey, and, from the little I heard of the talk, spoke
English easier than French. He was ordered to dismount while the
officer carefully read his passport by the light of a lantern and
inspected his letters of introduction and even of credit. Finally,
after much suspense, he was allowed to remount, which he did in less
than a moment, and clattered away through the pouring rain out into the
wet night.
The sight of him made me envious indeed. What would I not give for a
sound horse under me and a sound passport in my pocket!
At last the diligence was nearly ready. The luggage was stowed in the
boot, and two great mail baskets were swung and padlocked on the bar
underneath. The four horses were brought out and put to, and driver,
guard, and officer retired to the hostel for a parting glass.
An impulse seized me then to slip out of the crowd and creep forward on
the road under the deep shadow of the wall. Far I could not go, I knew,
for at the barrier I should be detected and stopped. But the coach,
having been so carefully inspected at its starting-point, would, I
judged, be allowed through the barrier without further challenge. It
should not be my fault if I did not go through with it.
The rain was pouring in sheets, and on such a night no one would be
likely to walk abroad for pleasure. Nor between the hostel and the
barrier was it probable that any sentinel would patrol the empty street.
At any rate I met nothing, except a market-cart coming in, the
occupants of which were too busy discussing the handling they had
received at the barrier to look under the shadow of the wall for a
vagrant boy.
At last I found a convenient place, where the road was dark as night,
and where a sharp turn made it likely that the horses would be taken
slowly past. Here I crouched, dripping from head to foot, for a long
ten minutes.
Then my heart beat as I heard the dull rumble of the wheels, and caught
the lurid glare of the two lamps coming. By the brief glance I got I
saw that the guard (as I had hoped) had crouched in for shelter under
the driver's hood, and that the sole occupant of the back _coupe_ was
buried under his tarpaulin.
Now was my time. I had carefully selected my point of attack. The two
baskets I spoke of underneath the coach swung on double iron bars, and
between the two, could I only scramble there, there was just room for me
to perch, completely hidden, at any rate while night lasted, from the
keenest of eyes.
I saw the driver throw himself back and pull in the reins for the
corner, and in the momentary check of the speed I darted out from my
hiding-place, and clambered in under the tail of the coach and reached
the bars between the baskets. But for Providence I should have fallen
between the wheels. As it was, the start forward of the horses carried
me dragging on my toes twenty yards before I could haul myself up and
lie face upwards across the bars, with my head on one basket, my feet on
the other, and my nose almost rubbing the bottom of the coach.
I have, I own, travelled many a mile more comfortably, but few more
happily. I had but one terror, and that was short-lived. At the
barrier the coach pulled up, and the guard got down to hand in his
papers, and to help himself to a spare wrapper out of the boot. Then,
with a cheerful "Hi! hi!" he clambered back to his place, the barrier
swung open, and we were out of Brest in the open country outside.
Little I cared that the mud plastered my back with a coat as thick as
that I had on. Little I cared that the drippings of the coach fell in
my mouth and eyes, and the stench of stale straw almost choked me. I
was free! The noose on the gallows would remain empty for me. I was so
gay I believe I even laughed under the coach.
Presently, however, I began to realise that this security was not to be
for ever. When daylight came, or even sooner, should we reach the end
of our first stage before, I should be able no longer to hide myself.
It would be wiser to escape half-an-hour too soon than be discovered
half-an-hour too late.
So when, some four hours out, I judged by the toiling of the horses we
were approaching the summit of a hill, I slipped from my perch, and
after running some little way under the boot, cast loose just as the
driver cracked his whip and the horses started at a spanking trot down
the incline.
It frightened me to find myself standing in the open road and hear the
diminishing sounds of the friendly diligence. In front of me I could
see the grey break of dawn struggling among the heavy clouds. Behind me
swept the rain, buffeting me forward. Somewhere or other I must find
shelter from the night.
No sooner had I resolved upon this than the sound of a horse approaching
at full gallop sent my teeth chattering in real earnest. I had barely
time to dart to the roadside and hide below the hedge when a horseman
swept by. By his look he was not a soldier or an ordinary traveller,
such as the courier I had seen set out from Brest. I cared little who
he was, provided he rode on and let me alone. But till I lost all sound
of him I spent an uneasy time in the ditch.
As soon as the August dawn gave me a view, I found myself on the top of
a great exposed heath, across which the road reached for a mile or so,
and then plunged downwards into a thick wood. Towards this wood I
hastened with all the speed I could. Here at least I could lie hid a
while till my next chance turned up.
That chance was nearer than I thought. About half-way through the wood
the road forked into three, one way on either hand striking deep among
the trees; that in the middle holding straight on, and by the marks of
wheels being evidently the highroad. I struck to the right some way,
and then quitted the road altogether for a glade in the wood which
seemed to lead to denser shelter.
I had scarcely left the track when I was startled by the sound of a
voice and a groan close by. Had I wanted to retreat I could hardly have
done so unseen, but a glance in the direction from which the sound
proceeded held me where I was.
A horse stood quietly nibbling the grass, and on his back, fallen
forward, with arms clasping the beast's neck, and head drooping
helplessly downward, was his rider, bleeding from a pistol wound in the
neck, and too weak even to disengage his feet from the stirrups. In a
single glance I recognised the horseman who had ridden ahead of the
coach.
A pistol, evidently dropped from his hand, lay on the grass, and his hat
lay between the horse's feet.
If life was not already extinct, it was fast ebbing away. I lifted him
as gently as I could and laid him on the grass. He opened his eyes, and
his lips moved; but for a moment he seemed choked. I tried with some
moss to stanch his still bleeding wound, but the groan he gave as I
touched him caused me to desist.
Then he tried to speak something in French.
"What is it?" said I, in English.
A look of quick relief came into his face.
"Ride forward with the letters--for God's sake--promise."
Even in the feeble, broken words I could recognise a countryman.
"Yes," said I.
"Horses--at each post--my purse," he gasped.
"I promise I will do as you ask--as I am an Irishman and a Christian."
That seemed to satisfy him.
"Your hand," said he, at last.