THE GLORIOUS FIRST OF JUNE
It was while besieging Calvi that the news came of the great sea-battle
fought in the Channel by Lord Howe, and very much interested were the
sailors on shore in Corsica at hearing the details of the victory. A vast
fleet had assembled at Spithead under the command of the veteran Lord
Howe. It had two objects in view besides the primary one of engaging the
enemy. First, the convoying of the East and West India and Newfoundland
merchant fleets clear of the Channel; and next, of intercepting a French
convoy returning from America laden with the produce of the West India
Islands. It consisted of thirty-four line-of-battle ships and fifteen
frigates, while the convoy numbered ninety-nine merchantmen.
On 2nd May, 1794, the fleet sailed from Spithead, and on the 5th they
arrived off the Lizard. Here Lord Howe ordered the convoys to part company
with the fleet, and detached Rear-admiral Montagu with six seventy-fours
and two frigates with orders to see the merchantmen to the latitude of
Cape Finisterre, where their protection was to be confided to Captain
Rainier with two battle-ships and four frigates.
Lord Howe now proceeded to Ushant, where he discovered, by means of his
frigates, that the enemy’s fleet were quietly anchored in the harbour of
Brest.
He therefore proceeded in search of the American convoy. After cruising in
various directions for nearly a fortnight he returned to Ushant on the
18th May, only to find that Brest harbour was empty. News was obtained
from an American vessel that the French fleet had sailed from that harbour
a few days before. It afterwards turned out that the two fleets had passed
quite close to each other unseen, owing to a dense fog that prevailed at
the time. They were exactly the same strength in numbers, but the French
carried much heavier guns, and their crews exceeded ours by three thousand
men.
For more than a week the two fleets cruised about in the Bay of Biscay,
each taking many prizes, but without meeting. At last, early on the
morning of the 28th of May, they came in sight of each other. The French
were to windward, and, having a strong south west wind with them, they
came down rapidly towards us, as if anxious to fight. Presently they
shortened sail and formed line of battle. Howe signalled to prepare for
battle, and having come on to the same tack as the French, stood towards
them, having them on his weather quarter. Soon, however, the French tacked
and seemed to retreat. A general chase was ordered, and the English ships
went off in pursuit under full sail. Between two and three o’clock the
_Russell_, which was the fastest of the seventy-fours, began to exchange
shots with the French, and towards evening another seventy-four, the
_Bellerophon_, began a close action with the _Révolutionnaire_, one
hundred and ten guns. The _Bellerophon_ soon lost her main top-mast, and
dropped back; but the fight with the great ship was taken up, first by the
_Leviathan_ and afterwards by the _Audacious_, both seventy-fours, which,
supported by two others, fought her for three hours. By that time the
_Révolutionnaire_ had a mast carried away and great damage done to her
yards, and had lost four hundred men. When darkness fell she was a
complete wreck, and it was confidently expected that in the morning she
would fall into our hands. At break of day, however, the French admiral
sent down a ship which took her in tow, for her other mast had fallen
during the night, and succeeded in taking her in safety to Rochefort. The
_Audacious_ had suffered so severely in the unequal fight that she was
obliged to return to Plymouth to repair damages.
During the night the hostile fleets steered under press of canvas on a
parallel course, and when daylight broke were still as near together as on
the previous day, but the firing was of a desultory character, Lord Howe’s
efforts to bring on a general engagement being thwarted by some of the
ships misunderstanding his signals. The next day was one of intense fog,
but on the 31st the weather cleared, and the fleets towards evening were
less than five miles apart. A general action might have been brought on,
but Lord Howe preferred to wait till daylight, when signals could more
easily be made out. Our admiral was surprised that none of the French
ships showed any damage from the action of the 29th. It was afterwards
found that they had since been joined by four fresh ships, and that the
vessels that had suffered most had been sent into Brest.
During the 31st various manœuvres had been performed, which ended by
giving us the weather-gage; and the next morning, the 1st of June, Lord
Howe signalled that he intended to attack the enemy, and that each ship
was to steer for the one opposed to her in the line. The ships were
arranged so that each vessel should be opposite one of equal size. The
_Defence_ led the attack, and came under a heavy fire. The admiral’s ship,
the _Queen Charlotte_, pressed forward, replying with her quarter-deck
guns only to the fire of some of the French ships which assailed her as
she advanced, keeping the fire of her main-deck guns for the French
admiral, whom he intended to attack. So close and compact, however, were
the French lines that it was no easy matter to pass through. As the _Queen
Charlotte_ came under the stern of the _Montagne_ she poured in a
tremendous fire from her starboard guns at such close quarters that the
rigging of the two vessels were touching. The _Jacobin_, the next ship to
the _Montagne_, shifted her position and took up that which the _Queen
Charlotte_ had intended to occupy. Lord Howe then engaged the two vessels,
and his fire was so quick that ere long both had to fall out of the fight.
A furious combat followed between the _Queen Charlotte_ and the _Juste_,
in which the latter was totally dismasted. The former lost her
main-topmast, and as she had previously lost her fore-topmast she became
totally unmanageable.
Thus almost single-handed, save for the distant fire of the _Invincible_,
Lord Howe fought these three powerful ships. At this time a fourth
adversary appeared in the _Républicain_, one hundred and ten guns,
carrying the flag of Rear-admiral Bouvet. Just as they were going to
engage, however, the _Gibraltar_ poured in a broadside, bringing down the
main and mizzen-masts of the Frenchman, who bore up and passed under the
stern of the _Queen Charlotte_, but so great was the confusion on board
her that she neglected to rake the flagship.
The _Montagne_, followed by the _Jacobin_, now crowded on all sail; and
Lord Howe, thinking they intended to escape, gave the order for a general
chase, but they were joined by nine other ships, and wore round and sailed
towards the _Queen_. This craft was almost defenceless, owing to the loss
of her mainmast and mizzen-topmast.
Seeing her danger, Lord Howe signalled to his ships to close round her,
and he himself wore round and stood to her assistance.
He was followed by five other battle-ships, and Admiral Villaret-Joyeuse
gave up the attempt and sailed to help his own crippled ships, and, taking
five of them in tow, made off.
Six French battle-ships were captured, and the _Vengeur_, which had been
engaged in a desperate fight with the _Brunswick_, went down ten minutes
after she surrendered.
The British loss in the battle of the 1st of June, and in the preliminary
skirmishes of the 28th and 29th of May, was eleven hundred and
forty-eight, of whom two hundred and ninety were killed and eight hundred
and fifty-eight wounded.
The French placed their loss in killed and mortally wounded at three
thousand, so that their total loss could not have been much under seven
thousand.
Decisive as the victory was, it was the general opinion in the fleet that
more ought to have been done; that the five disabled ships should have
been taken, and a hot chase instituted after the flying enemy. Indeed, the
only explanation of this inactivity was that the admiral, who was now an
old man, was so enfeebled and exhausted by the strain through which he had
gone as to be incapable of coming to any decision or of giving any order.
One of the most desperate combats in this battle was that which took place
between the _Brunswick_, seventy-four guns, under Captain John Harvey, and
the _Vengeur_, also a seventy-four. The _Brunswick_ had not been engaged
in the battles of the 28th and 29th of May, but she played a brilliant
part on the 1st of June. She was exposed to a heavy fire as the fleet bore
down to attack, and she suffered some losses before she had fired a shot.
She steered for the interval between the _Achille_ and _Vengeur_. The
former vessel at once took up a position closing the gap, and Captain
Harvey then ran foul of the _Vengeur_, her anchors hooking in the port
fore channels of the Frenchman.
The two ships now swung close alongside of each other, and, paying off
before the wind, they ran out of the line, pouring their broadsides into
each other furiously.
The upper-deck guns of the _Vengeur_ got the better of those of the
_Brunswick_, killing several officers and men, and wounding Captain Harvey
so severely as to compel him to go below.
At this moment the _Achille_ bore down on the _Brunswick’s_ quarter, but
was received by a tremendous broadside, which brought down her remaining
mast, a foremast. The wreck prevented the _Achille_ from firing, and she
surrendered; but as the _Brunswick_ was too busy to attend to her, she
hoisted a sprit-sail—a sail put up under the bowsprit—and endeavoured to
make off.
Meantime the _Brunswick_ and _Vengeur_, fast locked, continued their
desperate duel. The upper-deck guns of the former were almost silenced,
but on the lower decks the advantage was the other way. Alternately
depressing and elevating their guns to their utmost extent, the British
sailors either fired through their enemy’s bottom or ripped up her decks.
Captain Harvey, who had returned to the deck, was again knocked down by a
splinter, but continued to direct operations till he was struck in the
right arm and so severely injured as to force him to give up the command,
which now devolved on Lieutenant Cracroft, who, however, continued to
fight the ship as his captain had done.
After being for some three hours entangled, the two ships separated, the
_Vengeur_ tearing away the _Brunswick’s_ anchor. As they drifted apart,
some well-aimed shots from the _Brunswick_ smashed her enemy’s rudder-post
and knocked a large hole in the counter. At this moment the _Ramillies_,
sailing up, opened fire at forty yards’ distance at this particular hole.
In a few minutes she reduced the _Vengeur_ to a sinking condition, and
then proceeded to chase the _Achille_. The _Vengeur_ now surrendered. The
_Brunswick_, however, could render no assistance, all her boats being
damaged, but, hoisting what sail she could, headed northward with the
intention of making for port. During the fight the _Brunswick_ lost her
mizzen, and had her other masts badly damaged, her rigging and sails cut
to pieces, and twenty-three guns dismounted. She lost three officers and
forty-one men killed; her captain, second lieutenant, one midshipman, and
one hundred and ten men wounded. Captain Harvey only survived his wounds a
few months.
The greater portion of the crew of the _Vengeur_ were taken off by the
boats of the _Alfred_, _Culloden_, and _Rattler_, but she sank before all
could be rescued, and two hundred of her crew, most of whom were wounded,
were drowned. Among the survivors were Captain Renaudin and his son. Each
was ignorant of the rescue of the other, and when they met by chance at
Portsmouth their joy can be better imagined than described.
* * * * *
The _Tartar_ returned to the blockade of Toulon after the work in Corsica
was done. When she had been there some time she was ordered to cruise on
the coast, where there were several forts under which French
coasting-vessels ran for shelter when they saw an English sail
approaching, and she was, if possible, to destroy them. There was one
especially, on one of the Isles d’Hyères, which the _Tartar_ was
particularly ordered to silence, as more than any other it was the resort
of coasters. The _Tartar_ sailed in near enough to it to exchange shots,
and so got some idea of the work they had to undertake; then, having
learned all she could, she stood out to sea again. All preparations were
made during the day for a landing; arms were distributed, and the men told
off to the boats. After nightfall she again sailed in, and arrived off the
forts about midnight. The boats had already been lowered, and the men took
their places in them while the _Tartar_ was still moving through the
water, and, dividing into three parties, made respectively for the three
principal batteries.
Dimchurch was not in the boat in which Will had a place, as he rowed
stroke of the first gig and Will was in the launch. Tom was also in
another boat, but was in the same division. No lights were to be seen, and
absolute silence reigned. Noiselessly the men landed and formed up on the
beach. To reach the batteries they had to climb the cliff by a zigzag
pathway, up which they were obliged to go in single file. They arrived at
the summit without apparently creating a suspicion of their presence, and
then advanced at a run. Suddenly three blue lights gleamed out,
illuminating the whole of the ground they had to traverse, and at the same
moment a tremendous volley was fired from the battery. Simultaneously fire
opened from the other batteries, showing that the boats’ crews had all
arrived just at the same instant, and that while the French were supposed
to be asleep they were awake and vigilant. Indeed, from the heaviness of
the fire there was little question that the force on the island had been
heavily reinforced from the mainland.
Numbers of the men fell, but nevertheless the sailors rushed forward
fearlessly and reached the foot of the fort. This was too high to be
climbed, so, separating, they ran round to endeavour to effect an entrance
elsewhere. Suddenly they were met by a considerable body of troops. The
first lieutenant, who commanded the division, whistled the order for the
sailors to fall back. This was done at first slowly and in some sort of
order, but the fire kept up on them was so hot that they were compelled to
increase their pace to a run. A stand was made at the top of the pass, as
here the men were only able to retreat in single file. At length the
survivors all reached the beach and took to the boats again under a heavy
fire from the top of the cliffs, which, however, was to some extent kept
down by the guns of the _Tartar_. The other divisions had suffered almost
as severely, and the affair altogether cost the _Tartar_ fifty killed and
over seventy wounded. Will was in the front rank when the French so
suddenly attacked them, and was in the rear when the retreat began.
Suddenly a shot struck him in the leg and he fell. In the confusion this
was not noticed, and he lay there for upwards of an hour, when, the fire
of the _Tartar_ having ceased, the French came out with lanterns to search
for the wounded. Will was lifted and carried to some barracks behind the
fort, where his wound was attended to. They asked whether he spoke French,
and as, though he had studied the language whenever he had had time and
opportunity and had acquired considerable knowledge of it, he was far from
being able to speak it fluently, he replied that he did not, a French
officer came to him.
“What is your name, monsieur?” he asked.
“William Gilmore.”
“What is your rank?”
“Midshipman.”
“Age?”
“Nearly nineteen.”
“Nationality, English” was added.
“What ship was that from which you landed?”
There was no reason why the question should not be answered, and he
replied: “The _Tartar_, thirty-four guns.”
“Ah, you have made a bad evening’s business, monsieur!” the officer said.
“When the ship was seen to sail in and sail away again, after firing a few
shots, we felt sure that she would come back to-night, and five hundred
men were brought across from the mainland to give you a hot reception.
And, parbleu, we did so.”
“You did indeed,” Will said, “a desperately hot reception. I cannot tell
what our loss was, but it must have been very heavy. You took us
completely by surprise, which was what we had intended to do to you. Well,
it is the fortune of war, and I must not grumble.”
“You will be sent to Toulon as soon as you can be moved, monsieur.”
Three other wounded officers had fallen into the hands of the enemy, and
these were placed in the same room as Will. One was the third lieutenant,
another the master’s mate, and the third was a midshipman. They were well
treated and cared for and were very cheery together, with the exception of
the lieutenant, whose wound was a mortal one, and who died two days after
the fight.
A month after their reception into the hospital all were able to walk, and
they were taken across in a boat to the mainland and sent to Toulon. They
were all asked if they would give their parole, and though his two
companions agreed to do so, Will refused. He was accordingly sent to a
place of confinement, while the other two were allowed to take quarters in
the town.
Will was privately glad of this, for, though both were pleasant fellows,
he thought that if he were to make his escape it must be alone, and had
the others been quartered with him he could not well have left them. His
prison was a fort on a hill which ran out into the sea, and Will could see
the sails of the blockading vessels as they cruised backwards and
forwards. He also commanded a view over the town, with its harbour crowded
with shipping, its churches, and fortifications. He longed continually for
the company of his two faithful followers, Dimchurch and Tom. They had
been with him in all his adventures, and he felt that if they were
together again they would be able to contrive some plan of escape. At
present no scheme occurred to him. The window of the room in which he was
confined was twenty feet from the ground, and was protected by iron bars.
In front was a wall some twelve feet high, enclosing a courtyard in which
the garrison paraded and drilled. At night sentinels were planted at short
intervals, from which Will concluded that there must be many other
prisoners besides himself in the fort. He was attended by an old soldier,
with whom he often had long chats.
“They certainly know how to make prisons,” he grumbled to himself. “If it
was not that I shall never lose hope of something turning up, I would
accept my parole.”
After he had been there for three months he was one day led out and, with
three other midshipmen, taken down to a prison in the town. He had no
doubt that prisoners of more importance had arrived, and that he and the
others had been moved to make way for them. A month later they were again
taken out, and, having been joined by a hundred other prisoners under a
strong guard, were marched out of the town. There were five officers among
them, and the rest were seamen. All were glad of the change, though it was
not likely to be for the better. Will was sorry, inasmuch as at Toulon he
could always hope that if he escaped from prison he would be able to get
hold of a boat and row out to the blockading squadron. Inland he felt that
escape would be vastly more difficult. Even if he got out of prison he
knew but little French, and therefore could hardly hope to make his way
across country. They trudged along day after day, each according to his
fancy, some sullen and morose, others making the best of matters and
trying to establish some speaking acquaintance with their guards, who
evidently regarded the march as a sort of holiday after the dull routine
of life in a garrison town. Will, who had during his imprisonment at
Toulon studied to improve his French to the best of his ability by the aid
of some books he had obtained and by chatting with his jailer, worked his
hardest to add to his knowledge of the language, and as the French
soldiers were quite glad to beguile the time away by talking with their
captives, he succeeded at the end of the journey, which lasted nearly a
month, in being able to chat with a certain amount of fluency. Verdun was
one of the four places in which British prisoners were confined. At that
time France had fifteen thousand prisoners, England forty thousand. By an
agreement between the governments these were held captive in certain
prisons, so that they could, when occasion offered, be exchanged; but
owing to the vastly greater number of English prisoners the operation went
on very slowly. The health of the prison was bad, the large number
confined in the narrow space, and the lack of sanitary arrangements,
causing a vast amount of fever to prevail.
When he got to Verdun, Will continued to devote himself to the study of
French. He knew that, should he escape, he could have no hope of finding
his way across country unless he could speak the language fluently, and
accordingly he passed the whole day in conversation with the guards and
others employed about the prison. These were inclined to regard his
anxiety to become proficient in the language as a national compliment.
Some of the prisoners also knew French well, so that at the end of four
months he could talk with perfect fluency. He was a good deal laughed at
by the English officers for the zeal he was displaying in studying French,
for, as they said, he might as well try to get to the moon as out of
Verdun. He accepted their chaff good-humouredly, and simply said: “Time
will show, but for my part I would as soon be shot as continue to live as
prisoner here.”
Many of the prisoners passed their time in manufacturing little trifles.
The sailors, for the most part, made models of ships; some of them were
adepts at sewing patchwork quilts, and got their warders to purchase
scraps of various materials for the purpose. The soldiers were also, many
of them, skilled in making knick-knacks. These were sold in the town,
chiefly to country people who came in to market, and so their makers were
able to purchase tobacco and other little luxuries. A few of the prisoners
were allowed every day to go into the town, which, being strongly walled,
offered no greater facility for escape than did the prison itself. They
carried with them and sold their own manufactures and those of other
prisoners, and with the proceeds purchased the things they required.
Several times Will was one of those allowed out, and he set himself to
work to make the acquaintance of some of the townspeople. As he was one of
the few who could speak French, he had no difficulty in getting up a
chatty acquaintance with several people, among them a young girl living in
a house close to the wall. She had looked pitifully at him the first time
he had come out with a small load of merchandise.
“Ah, my poor young fellow,” she said in French, “how hard it is for you to
be thus kept a prisoner far from all your friends!”
“Thank you, mademoiselle,” he said, “but it is the fortune of war, and
English as well as French must submit to it.”
“You speak French!” she said. “Yes, yes, monsieur, I feel it as much as
any. There is one who is very dear to me a prisoner in England. He is a
soldier.”
“Well, mademoiselle, it is a pity that they don’t exchange us. We give a
lot of trouble to your people, and the French prisoners give a lot of
trouble to ours, so it would be much better to restore us to our friends.”
“Ah! that is what I say. How happy I should be if my dear Lucien were
restored to me.”
So the acquaintance became closer and closer, and at last Will ventured to
say: “If I were back in England, mademoiselle, I might perhaps get your
Lucien out. You could give me his name and the prison in which he is
confined, and it would be hard if I could not manage to aid him to
escape.”
“Ah, monsieur, that would be splendid!” the girl said, clasping her hands.
“If you could but get away!”
“Well, mademoiselle, I think I could manage to escape if I had but a
little help. For example, from the top window of this house I think I
could manage to jump upon the wall, and if you could but furnish me with a
rope I could easily make my escape. Of course I should want a suit of
peasant’s clothes, for, you see, I should be detected at once if I tried
to get away in this uniform. I speak French fairly now, and think I could
pass as a native.”
“You speak it very well, monsieur, but oh, I dare not help you to escape!”
“I am not asking you to, mademoiselle; I am only saying how it could be
managed, and that if I could get back to England I might aid your lover.”
The girl was silent.
“It could never be,” she murmured.
“I am not asking it, mademoiselle; and now I must be going on.”
The next time he came she said: “I have been thinking over what you said,
monsieur, and I feel that it would be cowardly indeed if I were to shrink
from incurring some little danger for the sake of Lucien. I know that he
would give his life for me. We were to have been married in a fortnight,
when they came and carried him off to the war. Now tell me exactly what
you want me to do.”
“I want a disguise, the dress of a travelling pedlar. I could give you two
English sovereigns, which would be ample to get that. I want also a rope
forty feet long. Then you must let me go up through your house to the top
story. I have been looking at it from behind, and see that from the upper
window I could climb up to the roof, and I am sure that from there I could
easily jump across the narrow lane to the wall.”
“I will do it, monsieur, partly for Lucien and partly because you are kind
and gentle and,” she added with a little blush and laugh, “good-looking.”
“I thank you with all my heart, mademoiselle, and I swear to you that when
I get to England I will spare no pains to find Lucien and aid him to
escape.”
“When will you be out again, monsieur?”
“This day week.”
“I will have everything ready by that time,” she said. “You will come as
late as you can?”
“Yes, I will come the last thing before we all have to return to the
prison. It will be dark half an hour later.”
“But there are sentries on the walls,” she said.
“Yes, but not a large number. The prison is strongly guarded at night, but
not the outer walls; I have often watched. There is one other thing which
I shall want, and that is a sack in which to put this long box. I carry
it, as you see, full of goods, but to-day I have intentionally abstained
from selling any of them. I will leave the things with you if you have any
place in which to hide them.”
“I will put them under my bed,” the girl said. “My grand’mère never goes
into my room. Besides, she is generally away at the time you will arrive,
and if she is not she will not hear you go upstairs, as she is very deaf.
My father is one of the warders of the prison, and only comes home once a
week.”
Will then returned to the prison. When the appointed day arrived he put
only a few small articles into his box. For these he paid cash. Then he
said good-bye to four or five of the officers with whom he was most
friendly.
“You are mad to try to escape,” one of them said, “there is no getting
over the walls.”
“I am going to try at any rate. I am utterly sick of this life.”
“But you may be exchanged before long.”
“It is most improbable,” he said. “Only a few are exchanged at a time, and
as I have not a shadow of influence my name would not be included in the
list.”
“But how are you going to attempt it?”
“Now that I must keep to myself. A plan may succeed once, but may fail if
it is tried again. I really think I have a chance of getting through, but
of course I may be caught. However, I am going to take the risk.”
“Well, I wish you luck, but I can hardly even hope that you will succeed.”
After going about the town as usual, without making any serious effort to
sell his goods, Will made his way, towards the end of the day, to the
house in the lane. Marie was standing at the door. As he approached she
looked anxiously up and down the street, to be certain that there was no
one there, and then beckoned to him to enter quickly. He obeyed at once,
and she closed the door behind him. “Are you sure no one saw you enter,
monsieur?” she said.
“Yes,” he said, “I am quite certain.”
“Now,” said Marie, “you must go at once up to the attic in case my
grand’mère should come in. I have everything ready for you there. It will
be dark in half an hour. I hear the prison bell ringing for the return of
the prisoners who are out, but the roll-call is not made until all have
returned to their cells and are locked up for the night, which will not be
for an hour and a half, so you have plenty of time.”
“I thank you with all my heart, mademoiselle.”
He went up with her to the attic and looked out at the wall. The lane was
only some twelve feet across, and he was convinced that he could leap it
without difficulty. He emptied his box and repacked it, selecting chiefly
articles which would take up the smallest amount of room. He made quite
sure how he could best climb from the window to the roof above it, then he
waited with what patience he could until it was absolutely dark. When he
was ready to start he fastened the rope firmly round the box and said
good-bye to Marie.
His last words were: “I will do my very best for Lucien, and when the war
is over I will send you a gold watch to wear at your wedding.”
Then he got upon the window-sill, with the end of the rope tied round his
waist, and with some little difficulty climbed to the roof of the house,
and when he had got his breath began to pull at the rope and hoisted up
the box. He had, before starting, put on the disguise Marie had bought for
him, and handed her the remains of his uniform, telling her to burn it at
once, and to hide away the buttons for the present, and throw them away
the first time she left the town. “There will be a strict search,” he
said, “for any signs of me, and those buttons would certainly betray you
if they were found.”
When he got the box up he listened attentively for a little, and as, to
his great joy, he could not hear the footsteps of a sentinel, he threw it
on to the wall and jumped after it. He landed on his feet, and, picking up
the box, ran along the wall till he came to a gun. He tied the end of the
rope round this and slipped down. Then without a moment’s delay he slung
the box over his shoulder and walked away. He had two or three outworks to
pass, but luckily there were no guards, so he made his way through them
without difficulty. All night he tramped on, and by morning was forty
miles away from Verdun. He did not want to begin to ply his assumed trade
till he was still farther away, so he lay down to sleep in a large wood.
He had saved from his rations during the week a certain amount of bread,
and he had bought a couple of loaves while wandering with his wares
through the town. He slept for the best part of the day, and started again
at night. Beyond making sure that he was going west he paid but little
attention to the roads he followed, but, keeping steadily in that
direction, he put another forty miles between him and Verdun by the
following morning. Then after a few hours’ sleep he boldly went into a
village and entered an inn.
“You are a pedlar,” the landlord said, “are you not?”
“Yes,” he said, “I am selling wares manufactured by the prisoners at
Verdun.”
The news spread and the villagers flocked in to look at these curiosities.
“I bought them at a low price, and will sell at the same. They could not
be made by ordinary labour at ten times the price I charge for them.”
The bait took, and soon a good many small articles were sold. Two hours
later he again started on his way.