"Citizen bargee," said I, with a salute, "do you want a man to-day?"
The skipper looked up at me and took his cigar from his lips.
"Can you sail a barge?" said he.
"Ay, and tow it too if you like," said I. "And as for wages, suit
yourself, and give me what you like at the journey's end."
"I serve the Republic," said the man.
"_Vive la Republique_," said I. "She does not desert her sons."
"Your name?" demanded he. "Belin," said I, inventing a name for the
occasion. "You are engaged, Belin," said the skipper; "we start this
minute."
With a grateful heart I stepped on board and busied myself with casting
loose the rope.
"Observe, Belin," said my new master, noticing approvingly that at least
I knew how to handle a rope, "your name under me is Plon, that of a
vagabond scoundrel who has just deserted me, and who is named on the
way-bill. There are his jersey and his cap; put them on, and keep your
counsel."
"Pardon, my captain," said I, when I had obeyed him, "what is our
business for the Republic?"
"We carry coats and boots for the Army of the North."
"Long live the Army of the North," said I devoutly.
We soon reached the bridge which marked the boundary of the city. Here
our bill of lading was carefully scrutinised, and our cargo inspected to
make sure we carried no fugitive hidden in the midst of it.
As for me, I took my skipper's advice, and sat smoking my cigar and
saying nothing while the ceremony lasted.
But when at length we were ordered to pass, you may guess how thankfully
I cast off the rope and found myself gliding down the quick current of
the Seine out of that horrible city in which for nearly a year I had
been cooped, expecting every day to be my last I showed my gratitude by
undertaking any hard work my skipper chose to put upon me; and when he
found me so willing, and on the whole so handy, he was content enough,
and we became tolerably good messmates. Only I had learned enough to
keep my mouth pretty close respecting matters which did not concern me.
I professed to know very little of what had passed in Paris during the
past few months, and in what I did to agree entirely with the opinions
of Citizen Benoit, my captain. I cumbered him with few questions or
opinions of my own, and was never backward to take an extra watch or
trudge an extra mile on the bank beside the occasional horses which here
and there we engaged to help us on.
It was a tedious and dull journey, threading our way through endless
twists and between numerous islands, halting only between the late
summer dusk and the early summer dawn, quitting our barge only in search
of provender or a horse, parleying only with officials and returning
barges.
One or two of the skippers on the latter inquired of Benoit what had
become of his former assistant, and alarmed me somewhat by questioning
me as to my previous calling. But my skipper's explanation was
generally enough, and I was admitted into the noble fraternity of Seine
bargees without much objection. The few who did object sailed the other
way, so that their objection mattered little.
Our longest stay was at Rouen, where once more my master reminded me
that I was Citizen Plon, and that my policy was to hold my tongue and
lie low.
The police here were very suspicious, and insisted on searching our
cargo thoroughly for fugitives, of whom reports from Paris said there
were a good many lying hid in boats and barges.
However, they found none with us. How I toiled and sweated to assist
their search! and what a reputation poor Plon acquired for zeal in the
service of the Republic One and Indivisible!
After leaving Rouen we used our sail a good deal in the broad reaches of
the river. Monsieur Benoit (who had quite forgotten my pay) was good
enough to compliment me on my skill in handling canvas, and as we neared
our destination his civility became almost embarrassing. He sought to
engage me as his permanent lieutenant, and promised to make all sorts of
excellent reports on my behalf to the officials. I humoured him as best
I could; but the scent of the sea-breezes as we gradually reached the
wide estuary and saw before us the masts and towers of the city of
Havre, set me longing for old Ireland, and determined me, Benoit or no
Benoit, to set my foot once more on Fanad.
I requested of Benoit a few days' leave of absence, after our stores
were duly delivered at the depot, which he agreed to on the
understanding that my wages should not be paid me till I returned to the
barge. In this way he imagined he made sure of me, and I was content to
leave him in that simple faith.
But now, as I wandered through the squalid streets of the city of Havre,
and looked out at the great Atlantic waves beating in on the shore, I
began to realise that France itself was only a trap on a larger scale
than Paris. True, I might possibly find a berth as an able-bodied
sailor on a French ship; but that was not what I wanted. As for English
ships, it was a time of war, and none durst show their prows in the
harbour, save under a false flag. Yet the longing for home was so
strong in me, that I think, had I found one, I would even have seized a
small rowing-boat and attempted to cross the Channel in it single-
handed.
For two days I prowled hither and thither, vainly looking for a chance
of escape, and was beginning to wonder whether after all I should have
to return to Benoit, when I chanced one evening on a fellow who, for all
his French airs and talk, I guessed the moment he spoke to be an
Irishman. He was, I must confess, not quite sober, which perhaps made
him less careful about appearances than he should have been.
It was on the cliffs of La Heve we foregathered. He was walking so
unsteadily on the very margin that I deemed it only brotherly to lend
him an arm.
"Thank you, my lad," said he, beginning the speech in French, but
relapsing into his native tongue as he went on; "these abominable French
cliffs move about more than the cliffs at Bantry. Nothing moves there--
not even custom-house runners. Bless your dear heart, we can land our
bales there under their very noses! Steady, my friend, you were nearly
slipping there. You French dogs never could walk on your hind legs.
There she lies, as snug and taut as a revenue cutter, and just as many
teeth. What did I come ashore for now? Not to see you, was it? 'Pon
my word, monsieur, I owe you a hundred pardons. I quite forgot. You
look a worthy fellow. I press you into the service, and the man that
objects shall have an ounce of lead through him. Come, my lad, row me
aboard. The anchor's apeak, and we're off for the ould country, and a
murrain on this land of yours!"
So saying he stumbled along, down a zigzag path that led to the foot of
the cliff, where lay moored a small boat and two men in her.
"Belay there, hearties! I've got the villain. Clap him in irons, I
say! He tried to send me over the cliff, but-- how are you, my friend?
Give us your hand. You're one of the right sort.--Pull away, boys. The
wind's in the east, and the tide's swung round the _cap_. This time to-
morrow we shall be scraping the nose of ould Ireland--glory to her!"
The men, who evidently were used to their captain's eccentricities, made
no demur, and laid on with their oars. Presently I volunteered to lend
a hand, which was readily accepted. The captain meanwhile lay in a
comfortable slumber in the stern-sheets, uttering occasional greetings
to the world at large, and to me in particular.
"Where does she lie?" said I presently to the man in front of me in
plain English.
He turned round sharply.
"What! you're not a Frenchman then?" said he.
"Heaven forbid! I'm as good an Irishman as you."
"How came you to know Captain Keogh?"
"Sure he found me out and engaged me."
"It's no lie," gurgled Captain Keogh from the bottom of the boat. "I
should have been over but for him. Enter him as sailing-master or cook,
for he's the right sort."
"We're for the _Kestrel_. She lies a mile or two up the coast, with a
cargo for Bantry."
"Lace; I know that. I've been in the business before," said I.
This completed my recognition as a proper shipmate, and no more
questions were asked.
When we reached the _Kestrel_ it was pitch dark, but we could tell by
the grating of the chain as we came up that no time was to be lost in
getting under way.
Not a light was shown, only a whistle from our men, answered by another
from the ship and a voice over the bulwarks,--
"Boat ahoy!"
"_Kestrel_ ahoy!" sang out our men, and in a moment a rope was thrown to
us and we were alongside.
Captain Keogh, happily asleep, was hauled up the gangway, and we
followed.
"A new hand, lieutenant," said my comrade, pointing at me with his thumb
over his shoulder.
"All right. Send him forward to help with the anchor."
At the sound of this voice in the dark I staggered like one struck. It
called to mind days spent under the drifting clouds at the edge of
Fanad, boyish quarrels and battles, winter nights over the peat fire of
our little cabin. Who but Tim had that ring in his voice? Whose voice,
if it was not his, could set my heart beating and swelling in my breast
so that I could scarcely hold it?
Just now, however, I was hurried forward to the business of weighing
anchor, and the lieutenant had gone aft to take charge of the helm.
In a minute or two the _Kestrel_ floated free on the water. The sails
spread out to the wind, the welcome splash of the bows proclaimed that
we had way on us already, and the twinkling lights of Havre in the
distance reminded us that France, land of terrors, was dropping astern
at every pitch we took.
But the excitement of all this was as nothing to the echo in my ears of
that voice in the dark.