HOW WE CAME UPON A WHITED SEPULCHRE AND FELL INTO THE FIRE
We wandered a great way down that lonely coast before a fishing village
hove in sight. At regular intervals we came upon watchmen on the look-out
for invaders or smugglers, and to all such we gave wide berth, by a circuit
in the country or by dodging them on their beats. It was only towns we
feared, and of those there were fortunately not many. In the villages we
had no difficulty in buying food, and to all who questioned we were on our
way to the Nore to join a King's ship and fight the Frenchmen. To cover Le
Marchant's lack of speech, we muffled his face in flannel and gave him a
toothache which rendered him bearish and disinclined for talk. And so we
came slowly down the coast, with eyes and ears alert for chance of
crossing, and wondered at the lack of enterprise on the part of the
dwellers there which rendered the chances so few.
Many recollections crowd my mind of that long tramp along the edge of the
sea. But greater matters press, and I may not linger on these. We had many
a close shave from officious village busybodies, whose patriotism flew no
higher than thought of the reward which hung to an escaped prisoner of war
or to any likely subject for the pressgang.
One such is burnt in on my mind, because thought of him has done more to
make me suspicious of my fellows, especially of such as make parade of
their piety, than any man I ever met.
He was a kindly-looking old man with white hair and a cheerful brown face,
and his clothes were white with flour dust which had a homely, honest
flavour about it. He was in a small shop, where I went for food one
evening, engaged in talk with the woman who kept it, and he began to
question me as soon as I opened my mouth.
I told him our usual story, and he seemed much interested in it.
"And you're going to the fleet! Well, well! A dreadful thing is war, but if
it has to be it's better on sea than on the land here, and the fleet must
have sailors, I suppose. But every night I pray for wars to cease and the
good times of universal peace to come."
"Yes," I said, "peace is very much the best for everyone. It is those who
have seen war who know it best."
"Surely! Yet one hears enough to know how terrible it is. You have seen
service then?"
"In the West Indies, both battle and shipwreck," I said, having no wish to
come nearer home.
"A wonderful land, I'm told, and very different from this country."
"Very different."
"Where do you rest to-night?" he asked, in the kindest way possible.
"We are pushing on to lose no time. The fleet wants men."
"Brave men are always wanted, and should be well treated. A few hours will
not hurt the fleet. You shall sup and sleep with me, and to-morrow I will
put you on your way in my gig. It is but a step to the mill."
He seemed so gentle and straightforward, and the prospects of a bed and an
ample meal were so attractive, that we went with him without a thought of
ill.
The mill stood on rising ground just off the village street. I have never
passed under the gaunt arms of a mill since without a feeling of
discomfort.
The miller's house, however, was not in the mill itself, but just
alongside, under its great bony wings. There was a light in the window, and
a sweet wholesome smell all about.
He introduced us to his wife, a very quiet woman, and much less cheerful
and hospitable than himself, and bade her hasten the supper and prepare a
bed, and we sat and talked while they were getting ready. He showed great
concern, too, on Le Marchant's account, and insisted on his wife applying a
boiling lotion of herbs, which very soon made his face look as bad as
anyone could have wished; and, in consequence of some hasty words the
sufferer dropped during this infliction, I found it necessary to explain
that we were from the Channel Islands, but good Englishmen, although our
native speech was more akin to French. The old miller was very much
interested, and asked many questions about the Islands and the land and
crops there.
We had an excellent hot supper, with home-brewed ale to drink, and then the
old man read a chapter out of the Bible, and prayed at length--for us, and
for peace and prosperity, and much more besides.
Then we had a smoke, and he showed us to the most comfortable bed I had
seen since I left home.
Le Marchant was not in the best of humours. He chose to regard the old
man's hospitality with suspicion, and even went the length of casting
doubts upon his piety. But I put it down to the heat of the herb lotion,
which had made his face like a full-blown red rose, and had doubtless got
into his blood.
I was very sound asleep when a violent shaking of the arm woke me, and Le
Marchant's whisper in my ear--"Carré, there's something wrong. Don't speak!
Listen!"--brought me all to myself in a moment, and I heard what he
heard,--the hushed movement of people in the outer room off which our
bedroom opened, the soft creak of a loose board in the flooring.
"Outside the window a minute ago," he murmured in my ear.
Then a sound reached us that there was no mistaking, the tiny click of the
strap-ring of a musket against the barrel, and a peaceful miller has no
need of muskets.
We had but a moment for thought. I feared greatly that we were trapped, and
felt the blame to myself. There would be men outside the window, but more
in the room, for they looked to catch us sleeping. I had no doubt, in my
own mind, that it was a pressgang, in which case their object was to take
us, not to kill us. And, thinking it over since, I have thought it possible
that the treacherous old miller may have signalled them by a light in the
top of the mill, which would be seen a very long way.
I peeped out of the window. Three men with muskets and cutlasses stood
there watching it. We were trapped of a surety. Carette and Sercq seemed
to swing away out of sight, and visions of the routine and brutality of the
King's service loomed up very close in front.
We had no weapons except my sailor's knife, which would be little use
against muskets and cutlasses. But there was a stout oak chair by the
bedside, and at a pinch its legs might serve.
We could do nothing but wait to see what their move would be, and that
waiting, with the gloomiest of prospects in front, was as long and dismal a
time as any I have known.
It was just beginning to get light when a tap came on the door, and the
voice of the villainous old miller--
"Your breakfast is ready. We should start in half an hour."
"Hel-lo?" I asked, in as sleepy a fashion as I could make it.
He repeated his message, and Le Marchant, with his ear against the door,
nodded confirmation of our fears. The breakfast we were invited to
consisted of muskets and cutlasses and hard blows.
It was Le Marchant's very reasonable anger at this treacherous usage that
saved us in a way we had not looked for. But possibly there was in him some
dim idea of chances of escape in what might follow. Chance there was none
if we walked into the next room or tried the window.
Our comfortable bed consisted of sweet soft hay inside the usual covering.
He suddenly ripped this open, tore out the hay in handfuls and flung it
under the bedstead, then pulled out his flint and steel and set it ablaze.
The room was full of smoke in a moment, and we heard startled cries from
the outer room. Taking the stout oak chair by opposite legs we pulled till
they parted, and we were armed.
The door burst open and the miller went down headlong under Le Marchant's
savage blow.
"Next!" he cried, swinging his club athwart the doorway. But, though there
were many voices, no head was offered for his blow.
The flames burned fiercely behind us. With a crack of my chair leg I broke
both windows, and the smoke poured out and relieved us somewhat, and the
fire blazed up more fiercely still. The flooring was all on fire and the
dry old walls behind the bed, and we stood waiting for the next man to
appear.
"Better give in, boys," cried someone in the outer room. "You'll only make
things worse for yourselves." But we answered never a word, and stood the
more cautiously on our guard.
Then they began throwing buckets of water in at the door, and we heard it
splashing also on the outer walls, but none came near the fire, since the
bed was not opposite the door.
We were scorched and half smothered, but the draught through the door and
out at the window still gave us chance to breathe.
The bedstead fell in a blazing heap, the flames crept round the walls. We
could not stand it much longer. We would have to lay down our chair legs
and surrender.
Then a very strange thing happened.
Le Marchant saw it first and grabbed my arm.
The portion of the blazing bedstead nearest the wall sank down through the
floor and disappeared, and at a glance we saw our way, though how far it
might lead us we could not tell.
"Allons!" said Le Marchant, and without a moment's hesitation leaped down
into the smoke that came rolling up out of the hole, and I followed.
We landed on barrels and kegs covered with blazing embers. Le Marchant gave
a laugh at sight of their familiar faces, and, by way of further payment to
the miller, dashed his heel through the head of a keg and sped on, while
the flames roared out afresh behind us.
For a short way we had the light of the blaze, but soon we were past it and
groping in darkness down a narrow tunnel way. It seemed endless, but fresh
blowing air came puffing up to us at last, and of a sudden we crept out
into the night through a clump of gorse on the side of a cliff. Below us
was the sea, and on the shingle lay a six-oared galley such as the
preventive men use.
"Devil's luck!" laughed Le Marchant, and we slipped and rolled down the
cliff to the shore, with never a doubt as to our next move. We set our
shoulders to the black galley, ran it gaily down the shingle, and took to
the oars. As we got out from under the land we saw the house blazing
fiercely on the cliff. There was a keg in the boat and a mast with a
leg-of-mutton sail. We stepped the mast and set the sail and drew swiftly
out to sea.
I do not think either of us ever found a voyage so much to our liking as
this. Our craft was but a Customs' galley, twenty feet long and four feet
in beam, it is true, and we were heading straight out into the North Sea.
We had not a scrap of food, but we had fared well the night before, and the
keg in the bows suggested hopes. But we were homeward bound, and we had
just come through dire peril by the sheer mercy of Providence.
"The old one is well punished for his roguery," said Le Marchant with a
relish. "And after his prayers too! Diable, but he stinks!"
"He gave us a good supper, however."
"So that we might breakfast en route for a King's ship! Non, merci! No more
mealy mouths for me." And to me also it was a lesson I have never
forgotten.
Our first idea had been to run due east till we struck the coast of
Holland, which we knew must be something less than one hundred and fifty
miles away. But Le Marchant, who knew the smuggling ports better than I,
presently suggested that we should run boldly south by east for Dunkerque
or Boulogne, and he affirmed that it was little if any farther away than
the Dutch coast, and even if it was, we should land among friends and save
time and trouble in the end. So, as the weather and wind seemed like to
hold, we turned to the south, and kept as straight a course as we could,
and met with no interference. The setting sun trued our reckoning and we
ran on by the stars.
The keg in the bows contained good Dutch rum, and we drank sparingly at
times for lack of other food. Once during the night we heard guns, and our
course carried us close enough to see the flashes, but we were content
therewith, and went on about our business, glad to be of small account and
unseen.
When the sun rose, there stole out of the shadows on our right white cliffs
and a smiling green land, which Le Marchant said was the coast of Kent, so
we ran east by south and presently raised a great stretch of sandy dunes,
along which we coasted till the ramparts and spires of Dunkerque rose
slowly before us.
Le Marchant knew his way here, and took us gaily over the bar into the
harbour, where many vessels of all shapes and sizes were lying, and he told
me what I had heard spoken of on the _Joséphine_, that Bonaparte was said
to be gathering a great fleet for the invasion of England.
We landed in a quiet corner without attracting observation, and Le Marchant
led the way to a quarter of the town which he said was given up entirely to
the smuggling community, and where we should meet with a warm welcome. But
we found, on arriving there, that the free-traders had been moved in a body
down the coast to Gravelines, half-way to Calais, all but a stray family or
two of the better behaved class. These, however, treated us well on hearing
our story, and we rested there that day, and left again as soon as it was
dark with all the provisions we could carry. We crept quietly out of the
harbour and coasted along past the lights of Gravelines, and Calais, and
weathered with some difficulty the great gray head of Gris Nez, and were
off the sands of Boulogne soon after sunrise.
We kept well out, having no desire for forced service, but only to get home
and attend to our own affairs. But even at that distance, and to our
inexperienced eyes, the sight we saw was an extraordinary one. The heights
behind the town were white with tents as though a snowstorm had come down
in the night, and for miles each way the level sand-flats flashed and
twinkled with the arms of vast bodies of men, marching to and fro at their
drill, we supposed.
We dropped our sail to avoid notice and rowed slowly past, but time and
again found ourselves floating idly, as we gazed at that great spectacle
and wondered what the upshot would be.
Then we were evidently sighted by some sharp look-out on one of the round
towers, for presently a white sail came heading for us, and we hastily ran
up our own and turned and sped out to sea, believing that they would not
dare to follow us far. They chased us till the coast sank out of our sight,
and could have caught us if they had kept on, but they doubtless feared a
trap and so were satisfied to have got rid of us. When they gave it up we
turned and ran south for Dieppe, and sighted the coast a little to the
north of that small fishing port just before sunset.
Here Le Marchant was among friends, having visited the place many times in
the way of business, and we were welcomed and made much of. We were anxious
to get on, but the wind blew up so strongly from the south-west that we
could have made no headway without ratching all the time to windward, and
the sea was over high for our small boat. So we lay there three days, much
against our will, though doubtless to the benefit of our bodies. And I have
wondered at times, in thinking back over all these things, whether matters
might not have worked out otherwise if the wind had been in a different
quarter. Work out to their fully appointed end I knew they had to do, of
course. But that three days' delay at Dieppe brought us straight into the
direst peril conceivable, and an hour either way--ay, or ten minutes for
that matter--might have avoided it. But, as my grandfather used to say, and
as I know he fervently believed, a man's times and courses are ordered by a
wisdom higher than his own, and the proper thing for him to do is to take
things as they come, and make the best of them.
After three days the wind shifted to the north-west, and we said good-bye
to our hosts and loosed for Cherbourg, well-provisioned and in the best of
spirits, for Cherbourg was but round the corner from home.
We made a comfortable, though not very quick, passage, the wind falling
slack and fitful at times, so that it was the evening of the next day
before we slipped in under the eastern end of the great digue they were
building for the protection of the shipping in the harbour. It was at that
time but a few feet above water level, and its immense length gave it a
very curious appearance, like a huge water-snake lying flat on the surface
of the sea.
We pulled in under an island which held a fort, and keeping along that side
of the roadstead, ran quietly ashore, drew our boat up, and went up into
the town.