A LAST VIEW OF MURRAY AND CHIVEY.
"Hurrah, dad!"
"Hurrah, my boy! Now, then, one and all. Hip, hip, hip----"
"Hurrah!"
The peal that burst from the throats of the reunited English party
fairly astonished the assembled crowd of citizens who were flocking out
of the hall of justice.
And then such a shaking of hands and kissing!
The latter form of insanity at length became infectious, and the two
black imps Tinker and Bogey insisted on pressing a chaste salute on Mr.
Mole's coy lips, to the intense amusement of the bystanders.
"Get out, you black devils!" exclaimed he.
"Why, Massa Mole, we been good friends dis long time in dat 'ere ole
prison; you isn't a-gwine to turn round on de poor niggahs now we's got
out."
"Get away. Never mind, don't get away; I'm not proud--hurrah!"
In his excitement Mr. Mole threw his battered hat a great height into
the air, but slipping while so doing, he sat down upon the pavement
rather violently.
"_Sac-r-r-r-ré!_ seize that old villain!"
The indignant command came from a mounted officer in charge of a
considerable body of soldiers.
While directing the movements of his men, drawn sword in hand, down
came Mole's _chapeau_ on the point of the deadly weapon, which went
through the crown, and the lining getting entangled with the hilt, it
could not be very readily moved.
And, of course, the French spectators at once began laughing to see the
rather absurd situation of the officer.
Mole would certainly have been dragged off again had not the British
consul once more interposed.
"Monsieur le Colonel, I hasten to assure you that it was an accident,"
he said.
"I will not be insulted by accident; arrest him!"
"But consider, sir, you have no crime to urge against him."
"Bah, what care I?"
"He will apologise."
"Of course he will," said Harvey, thinking it time to interpose. "Here,
where are you, Mr. Mole?"
"Down here, sitting on the other end of me," responded the ex-tutor in
very doleful accents.
"An apology!" said the excited officer, who had dismounted, and was
brandishing his weapon as though about to sacrifice Mole.
But poor Mole seemed altogether too confused to say the soothing words
required, so the consul again interfered.
"Really, Monsieur le Colonel, this poor gentleman seems to have
sustained some severe injury. You will see he has lost both legs in a
series of heroic actions, the particulars of which I have not time to
give you, but accept my assurance that the affair of the hat was
entirely an accident."
"Lost legs in action! Ah, then it becomes my duty to apologise for the
hasty language I have used to a brave soldier."
As things were changing a little, Mole thought it time to become
conscious, and with the aid of Tinker and Bogey, he struggled to his
feet.
"Monsieur," continued the officer, "I withdraw my words."
"Enough said, my dear sir," responded Mole; "let the matter drop, I
pray."
The officer gave a military salute, restored the perforated hat to its
owner, and rejoined his men.
"Really imprisonment seems to have no effect on you, Mr. Mole," said
Harvey; "you begin your old pranks the moment you are released."
"What do you mean?"
"Why, you pass yourself off as an old soldier."
"No, it was our good friend the consul."
"Well, you allowed the colonel to deceive himself."
"It's all the result of my really martial aspect, my dear boy."
And Mole hobbled on, trying to sustain his military appearance.
* * * *
Our friends did not at once leave Marseilles.
They were informed that perhaps they might be required to give evidence
against Murray, so they took up their residence in the best hotel of
the place and waited, the elders of the party being perfectly content
now that the youngsters had regained their liberty.
However, as events turned out, they were not called upon to attend the
trial of the shipowner's son, as Monsieur Hocquart Clermont Delamarre
and his assistants managed to pile up quite sufficient proof to
convince the judge of Herbert Murray's guilt.
He, Lenoir, and Chivey, who certainly was not so deeply involved as his
master, were sentenced to serve ten years each in the galleys.
Lenoir's original sentence was fifteen years, but the promised
intercession of the consul was effectual in shortening it to ten.
There was, however, another trial, at which young Jack and Harry
Girdwood were requested to attend, and the prisoner in this case was
the gaoler to whom they had entrusted their letters to the consul.
He being clearly convicted of receiving bribes from prisoners, was
sentenced to two years' imprisonment, and so retires from the scene.
Young Jack, his parents, Harry Girdwood, Harvey, little Emily, and
Paquita were taking a walk in the neighborhood of the harbour one
morning, when they became aware of a very dismal-looking procession
coming down the road from the prison.
First of all came half a dozen soldiers, trailing their rifles, which
were evidently loaded and ready for instant use.
Then, in single file, about a yard behind each other, and every man
with his right leg attached by a ring to a long chain that extended the
entire length of the party, came ten men clad in garments of very
coarse serge, and with closely-cropped heads.
The instant he saw them in the distance, young Jack guessed what it
meant, and pointed the gang out to the others.
"Let us get away if we can," said he.
"Why?" asked Harvey.
"Because it will look as though we came here simply to gloat over their
disgrace," replied Jack.
"Right, my boy."
But there was no way of avoiding them, as there was no turning out of
the street, and all the house doors were closed, so they were compelled
to see all.
First of all came seven of the lowest-looking ruffians in creation,
villains whose countenances were expressive of nothing but brutality
and vice; the eighth was Chivey, whose cheeks bore traces of tears, and
the ninth was Pierre Lenoir, who walked erect and proud as Lucifer,
except when he made a half turn about as though he would like to
strangle Herbert Murray, who walked with tottering steps at the end of
the chain.
"Poor fellows!" said Mrs. Harkaway.
"They deserve it," exclaimed her husband and Harvey, simultaneously.
"They tried to get our boys the very punishment that has overtaken
them."
Our friends, however, had seen enough, and did not care to witness what
followed.
If they had gone inside the harbour gates, they might have seen three
or four very long sharp-bowed vessels moored to the quay or lying at
anchor a little way out.
Neither mast nor sail had these vessels, but from each side projected a
dozen or more of gigantic oars larger than those used by Thames
bargemen.
Had they gone down to the harbour they would presently have seen
chained up, two of them to each oar, but with their feet so far at
liberty that they could move backwards and forwards three paces.
Then they would have heard the word of command given, and would have
seen the poor slaves tugging away at the oars till the huge craft was
sweeping rapidly out to sea, while the galley-master walking up and
down between the two rows of oarsmen, gave blows of his whip on the
right hand or the left when he saw a man flagging, or an oar that did
not swing in unison with the rest.
Such was the fate to which the career of crime had brought the son of
the once respected shipowner Murray.
Slavery from morn till night, beneath a broiling sun, or exposed to
cold, rain, and hail, the coarsest of black bread and lentil pottage,
formed his scanty meal; his associates the lowest type of humanity.
And even over and above such a hard lot there fell upon his heart the
craven fear some day that Lenoir, who was chained to the next oar,
would break loose and kill him.
Many would have preferred death to such slavery, but Herbert Murray
feared to die.
"Hollo, Englishman, faster!" the galley-master would shout. And then
his whip or cane would sharply visit poor Murray's shoulders.
And the chuckling voice of Lenoir would be heard, exclaiming--
"Ah, traitor! this is nothing to what you will suffer when I have my
chance for revenge."