"Now, d'ye see, this here war may go on for ever so long--years it may
be--an' here we are on our way to a French prison, where we'll have the
pleasure, mayhap, of spendin' our youth in twirlin' our thumbs or
bangin' our heads agin the bars of our cage."
"There ain't a prison in France as'll hold me," said Bill Bowls
resolutely.
"No? how d'ye 'xpect to git out--seein' that the walls and doors ain't
made o' butter, nor yet o' turnips?" inquired Ben.
"I'll go up the chimbley," said Bill savagely, for his mind had reverted
to Nelly Blyth, and he could not bear to think of prolonged
imprisonment.
"But wot if they've got no chimbleys?"
"I'll try the winders."
"But if the winders is tight barred, wot then?"
"Why, then, I'll bust 'em, or I'll bust myself, that's all."
"Humph!" ejaculated Ben.
Again there was a prolonged silence, during which the friends moodily
meditated on the dark prospects before them.
"If we could only have bin killed in action," said Bill, "that would
have been some comfort."
"Not so sure o' that, messmate," said Ben. "There's no sayin' wot may
turn up. P'r'aps the war will end soon, an' that's not onlikely, for
we've whipped the Mounseers on sea, an' it won't be difficult for our
lobsters to lick 'em on land. P'r'aps there'll be an exchange of
prisoners, an' we may have a chance of another brush with them one o'
these days. If the wust comes to the wust, we can try to break out o'
jail and run a muck for our lives. Never say die is my motto."
Bill Bowls did not assent to these sentiments in words, but he clenched
his fettered hands, set his teeth together, and gave his comrade a look
which assured him that whatever might be attempted he would act a
vigorous part.
A few days later the transport entered a harbour, and a guard came on
board to take charge of the prisoners, of whom there were about twenty.
As they were being led to the jail of the town, Bill whispered to his
comrade--
"Look out sharp as ye go along, Ben, an' keep as close to me as ye can."
"All right, my lad," muttered Ben, as he followed the soldiers who
specially guarded himself.
Ben did not suppose that Bill intended then and there to make a sudden
struggle for freedom, because he knew that, with fettered wrists, in a
strange port, the very name of which they did not know, and surrounded
by armed enemies, such an attempt would be utterly hopeless; he
therefore concluded, correctly, that his companion wished him to take
the bearings (as he expressed it) of the port, and of the streets
through which they should pass. Accordingly he kept his "weather-eye
open."
The French soldiers who conducted the seamen to prison, although stout
athletic fellows, and, doubtless, capable of fighting like heroes, were
short of stature, so that the British tars looked down on them with a
patronising expression of countenance, and one or two even ventured on a
few facetious remarks. Bill Bowls and Ben Bolter, who both measured
above six feet in their stockings, towered above the crowd like two
giants.
"It's a purty place intirely," said an Irish sailor, with a smiling
countenance, looking round upon the houses, and nodding to a group of
pretty girls who were regarding the prisoners with looks of pity. "What
may be the name of it, av I may make bowld to inquire?"
The question was addressed to the soldier on his right, but the man paid
no attention. So the Irishman repeated it, but without drawing forth a
reply.
"Sure, yer a paltry thing that can't give a civil answer to a civil
question."
"He don't understand Irish, Pat, try him with English," said Ben Bolter.
"Ah, then," said Pat, "ye'd better try that yersilf, only yer so high up
there he won't be able to hear ye."
Before Ben had an opportunity of trying the experiment, however, they
had arrived at the jail. After they had passed in, the heavy door was
shut with a clang, and bolted and barred behind them.
It is probable that not one of the poor fellows who heard the sound,
escaped a sensation of sinking at the heart, but certain it is that not
one condescended to show his feelings in his looks.
They were all put into a large empty room, the window of which looked
into a stone passage, which was itself lighted from the roof; the door
was shut, locked, bolted, and barred, and they were left to their
meditations.
They had not remained long there, however, when the bolts and bars were
heard moving again.
"What say 'e to a rush, lads?" whispered one of the men eagerly.
"Agreed," said Bill Bowls, starting forward; "I'll lead you, boys."
"No man can fight with his hands tied," growled one of the others.
"You'll only be spoilin' a better chance, mayhap."
At that moment the last bolt was withdrawn, and the door swung open,
revealing several files of soldiers with muskets, and bayonets fixed, in
the passage. This sight decided the question of a rush!
Four of the soldiers entered with the turnkey. The latter, going up to
Bill Bowls and Ben Bolter, said to them in broken English:--
"You follows de soldat."
Much surprised, but in silence, they obeyed the command.
As they were going out, one of their comrades said, "Good-bye, mates:
it's plain they've taken ye for admirals on account o' yer size!"
"Niver a taste," said the Irishman before mentioned, "'tis bein' led,
they are, to exekooshion--"
The remainder of this consolatory suggestion was cut off by the shutting
of the door.
After traversing several passages, the turnkey stopped before a small
door studded with iron nails, and, selecting one of his huge keys,
opened it, while the soldiers ranged up on either side.
The turnkey, who was a tall, powerful man, stepped back, and, looking at
Bill, pointed to the cell with his finger, as much as to say, "Go in."
Bill looked at him and at the soldiers for a moment, clenched his fists,
and drew his breath short, but as one of the guard quietly brought his
musket to the charge, he heaved a sigh, bent his head, and, passing
under the low doorway, entered the cell.
"Are we to stop long here, Mister Turnkey?" asked Ben, as he was about
to follow.
The man vouchsafed no reply, but again pointed to the cell.
"I've always heered ye wos a purlite nation," said Ben, as he followed
his messmate; "but there's room for improvement."
The door was shut, and the two friends stood for a few minutes in the
centre of their cell, gazing in silence around the blank walls.
The appearance of their prison was undoubtedly depressing, for there was
nothing whatever in it to arrest the eye, except a wooden bench in one
corner, and the small grated window which was situated near the top of
one of the walls.
"What d'ye think o' this?" asked Ben, after some time, sitting down on
the bench.
"I think I won't be able to stand it," said Bill, flinging himself
recklessly down beside his friend, and thrusting his hands deep into his
trouser pockets.
"Don't take on so bad, messmate," said Ben, in a reproving tone.
"Gittin' sulky with fate ain't no manner o' use. As our messmate
Flinders used to say, `Be aisy, an' if ye can't be aisy, be as aisy as
ye can.' There's wot I calls sound wisdom in that."
"Very true, Ben; nevertheless the sound wisdom in _that_ won't avail to
get us out o' _this_."
"No doubt, but it'll help us to bear this with equablenimity while we're
here, an' set our minds free to think about the best way o' makin' our
escape."
At this Bill made an effort to throw off the desperate humour which had
taken possession of him, and he so far succeeded that he was enabled to
converse earnestly with his friend.
"Wot are we to do?" asked Bill gloomily.
"To see, first of all, what lies outside o' that there port-hole,"
answered Ben. "Git on my shoulders, Bill, an' see if ye can reach it."
Ben stood against the wall, and his friend climbed on his shoulders, but
so high was the window, that he could not reach to within a foot of it.
They overcame this difficulty, however, by dragging the bench to the
wall, and standing upon it.
"I see nothin'," said Bill, "but the sky an' the sea, an' the
prison-yard, which appears to me to be fifty or sixty feet below us."
"That's not comfortin'," observed Ben, as he replaced the bench in its
corner.
"What's your advice now?" asked Bill.
"That we remain on our good behaviour a bit," replied Ben, "an' see wot
they means to do with us, an' whether a chance o' some sort won't turn
up."
"Well, that's a good plan--anyhow, it's an easy one to begin with--so
we'll try it for a day or two."
In accordance with this resolve, the two sailors called into play all
the patience, prudence, and philosophy of which they were possessed, and
during the three days that followed their incarceration, presented such
a meek, gentle, resigned aspect; that the stoniest heart of the most
iron-moulded turnkey ought to have been melted; but the particular
turnkey of that prison was made of something more or less than mortal
mould, for he declined to answer questions,--declined even to open his
lips, or look as if he heard the voices of his prisoners, and took no
notice of them farther than to fetch their food at regular intervals and
take away the empty plates. He, however, removed their manacles; but
whether of his own good-will or by order they did not know.
"Now, Ben," said Bill on the evening of the third day, as they sat
beside each other twirling their thumbs, "this here sort o' thing will
never do. I mean for to make a dash when the turnkey comes in the
mornin'; will you help me?"
"I'm yer man," said Ben; "but how d'ye mean to set about it?"
"Well, somewhat in this fashion:--W'enever he opens the door I'll clap
my hand on his mouth to stop his pipe, and you'll slip behind him, throw
yer arms about him, and hold on till I tie a handkerchief over his
mouth. Arter that we'll tie his hands and feet with whatever we can git
hold of--his own necktie, mayhap--take the keys from him, and git out
the best way we can."
"H'm; but wot if we don't know the right turnin's to take, an' run
straight into the jaws of other turnkeys, p'r'aps, or find other doors
an' gates that his bunch o' keys won't open?"
"Why, then, we'll just fail, that's all; an' if they should scrag us for
it, no matter."
"It's a bad look-out, but I'll try," said Ben.
Next morning this plan was put in execution. When the turnkey entered
the cell, Bill seized him and clapped his hand on his mouth. The man
struggled powerfully, but Ben held him in a grasp so tight that he was
as helpless as an infant.
"Keep yer mind easy, Mounseer, we won't hurt 'e," said Ben, while his
comrade was busy gagging him.
"Now, then, lift him into the corner," whispered Bill.
Ben and he carried the turnkey, whom they had tied hand and foot with
handkerchiefs and neckties, into the interior of the cell, left him
there, locked the door on him, and immediately ran along the passage,
turned a corner, and came in sight of an iron grating, on the other side
of which sat a man in a dress similar to that of the turnkey they had
left behind them. They at once drew back and tried to conceal
themselves, but the man had caught sight of them, and gave the alarm.
Seeing that their case was desperate, Bill rushed at the grating with
all his force and threw himself heavily against it. The whole building
appeared to quiver with the shock; but the caged tiger has a better
chance of smashing his iron bars than poor Bill Bowls had. Twice he
flung his whole weight against the barrier, and the second time Ben
helped him; but their efforts were in vain. A moment later and a party
of soldiers marched up to the grating on the outside. At the same time
a noise was heard at the other end of the passage. Turning round, the
sailors observed that another gate had been opened, and a party of armed
men admitted, who advanced with levelled muskets.
Seeing this, Bill burst into a bitter laugh, and flung down the keys
with a force that caused the long passage to echo again, as he
exclaimed--
"It's all up with us, Ben. We may as well give in at once."
"That's so," said Ben sadly, as he suffered himself to be handcuffed,
after which he and his companion in misfortune were conducted back to
their cell.