A DANGEROUS ENTERPRISE
I ARRIVED at Newcastle and was fortunate enough on the first day to
ship as able seaman on the barque “P.C.E.”--Captain Law--bound for
Noumea, New Caledonia, with a cargo of coal. My wages were to be seven
pounds a month: I felt that I had “struck oil” at once for I had never
heard of seamen getting such fabulous wages. I found out, however,
that colonial owners paid good wages, and required good workers for
their money, no limejuice methods would suit the coast trade. But I was
young, strong and healthy, and I got along famously with both officers
and men. Captain Law was as rough and unpolished a specimen of the
British seaman as it was possible to meet, but a sailor from the crown
of his head to the sole of his feet. The mate was a most illiterate
man, coarse in speech and manner, and proud of his manners, or lack
of them, but a good seaman, and utterly fearless. It was generally
believed on board that he would have gone to sea on a plank if the pay
had been good enough.
We had a fine passage of eight days to Noumea, New Caledonia, which is
a penal settlement under the French flag. At Noumea there are a large
number of prisoners both political and criminal out on parole--many of
them are in business and doing well for themselves, but they cannot, of
course, leave the island, and naturally there are always a number of
daring and eager spirits ready and willing to run any risk to obtain
their freedom, if they can get anyone to assist them. The political
prisoners, many of whom are well off, or have friends who are well
supplied with money for such a purpose, are always on the qui vive for
such a chance.
Whilst unloading our cargo, the captain spent most of his time on shore
at one of the saloons. Captain Law was very fond of a glass of grog
when on shore, but, to his credit be it said, he never touched liquor
at sea. One day while at the saloon Captain Law was approached by a
Frenchman named Balliere as to his willingness to assist some prisoners
to escape, and a good round sum was offered on account of Henri
Rochefort, French Communist, who was then on Ducos Peninsular. Captain
Law had heard of the famous journalist and was rather in sympathy with
him, but the sum of ten thousand francs won his sympathy entirely.
This was the sum Henri Rochefort had offered through Balliere. Captain
Law accepted the offer, stipulating that no other member of the crew
should be told for fear of them informing the officials, by whom a
large reward would be paid for such information. Altogether it was a
dangerous undertaking, for had he failed, or been caught in the act,
the vessel would have been confiscated and all the crew imprisoned,
perhaps shot. It was, therefore, arranged that the exiles should
board the vessel themselves at their own risk, so that in the event
of failure the authorities would not confiscate the vessel. But there
was another side to the question which Captain Law, apparently, had
everlooked--that he was risking the lives and liberty of his officers
and crew without their consent or knowledge, which, in law is a
criminal offence.
There was no difficulty for the three exiles at Noumea--Jourde,
Balliere and Granthille--to get on board the “P.C.E.” They were out on
parole and were in business in Noumea, but for Henri Rochefort, Oliver
Pain and Pascal Grousett, on the Ducos Peninsular, it was a difficult
and dangerous undertaking. But these men were quite accustomed to
dangerous undertakings, their very lives had been spent among risks
and perils, and they were prepared to do or die. Better far better to
die in a struggle for freedom than to live a hopeless, lingering life,
desolate and alone in their sun-scorched island prison. All of them
had wives and families in their beloved France, and to see their faces
again they were prepared to risk all, feeling that they were bound to
be the gainers, whichever way things went. If they were caught, they
would be shot--well, their misery would be over--if they succeeded they
would be free. Free men again--Oh! how their hearts throbbed at the
very thought of it! The joy of liberty is seldom appreciated until it
is lost.
But to return to the exiles on Ducos. It was not possible to approach
the bay in a boat without being seen by the sentry on duty. Now, just
off the peninsula there was a small volcanic rock about one mile from
the beach and in a line between Noumea and the Bay of Ducos. On the
side facing Ducos was a mass of coral reefs, the other side had a
bit of sandy beach, on which the surf breaks heavily at times. The
waters around the island were infested with sharks, this, to those in
authority, greatly lessening the possibility of prisoners escaping.
Now on the day the barque “P.C.E.” finished unloading at Noumea,
Balliere had sent word to Henri Rochefort that a boat would be off
the rock at 8 p.m., and he and his two friends Oliver Pain and Pascal
Grousett were to make their way to the rock. All that day they had been
talking about it, and as they talked the great ugly sharks were lazily
swimming about in front of them, a sight that was enough to make the
stoutest heart quail and quake. Yet, in spite of this, they resolved to
swim out to the rock when the time came.
As night drew near the exiles grew anxious lest anything should happen
that would defeat their plans, and towards 7 o’clock their hearts
sank, for the sky grew dark and threatening, and a fierce tropical
storm broke over their heads, the thunder, lightning and rain being
truly terrific, while it lasted. But strange though it may seem,
although the exiles at the time did not realize it, the storm was a
Godsend to them. First it drove the lookout sentries in, and secondly
no fish will remain near the surface during thunder and lightning, they
always sink to the still calm water below. Thus were the exiles spared
a battle with these monsters of the deep. Just before 8 o’clock they
stripped and walked down to the beach. But here a fresh difficulty
presented itself. The night was so dark they could not see the rock,
but there was no time to hesitate, somewhere out there lay the means
that was to help them to regain their freedom, so into the water they
went. Rochefort, ever a leader, first, and they struck out in the
direction they knew the rock to be. After swimming for some time,
expecting every moment to find themselves in the jaws of a shark, and
seeing no signs of the rock, their hearts began to sink for fear they
had missed it, then suddenly they found themselves among the kelp on
the reef, so with thankful hearts they landed and crawled around to the
other side.
They had only just got there, when the sound of muffled rowing fell
upon their ears. Holding their breath they waited, for perhaps they had
already been missed, and the sound they heard might be the guard boat.
They did not know if it were friend or foe. Presently a voice called
out cautiously.
“Are you there?”
They were afraid to answer for fear they had been followed, and the
voice seemed strange to them.
Again out of the darkness came a voice:
“Are you there? It is I, Granthille!”
Thus assured that it was the voice of a friend the three fugitives
replied, and were told to swim out to the boat as there was too much
swell on the reef to risk taking the boat inside. This they did, and
were soon assisted into the boat, and supplied with dry clothes. Few
words were spoken, their hearts were too full for words, and there was
still dangerous work before them, this was but the first step towards
freedom. But a silent clasp of the hand was given, and understood by
all.
The boat was at once headed for Noumea. The darkness was intense, but a
faint glimmer of the harbour lights could be seen. Do what they would,
they could not prevent a long phosphorescent light streaming behind
the boat, and as the night was so black, this brilliant light was very
conspicuous and might possibly betray them to any observant watcher.
Their whole souls were full of doubt and fear and racked with anxiety
as to the issue of the attempt, for more than one of them had resolved
never to return alive to their late prison.
As the boat drew near to the vessels they had a truly marvellous
escape from detection, but thanks to a heavy downpour of rain, which
drove all watchers into shelter. Before leaving Noumea with the boat,
Balliere had strolled down to the harbour and taken note of the
position of the vessels, and the “P.C.E.” in particular to enable
them to find her in the dark, but during the short storm the wind
had changed, and had altered the position of the vessels at anchor,
bringing a small French despatch-boat into the position previously
occupied by the “P.C.E.” The Frenchmen, not being seamen, did not
notice the change, and pulled over alongside the French boat. One of
the exiles actually had his foot on the ladder to climb on board, when
they heard voices above them speaking in French. At once they realized
the extreme danger that threatened them: with faces sternly set, but
with their hearts in their mouths as it were, for they scarcely dared
to breathe, they let the boat drop quietly astern, not knowing whether
they had been seen or heard. Lightly they dipped their muffled oars
and rowed over to the next vessel, which proved to be the one they
were seeking. The side ladder was hanging over the side, quickly and
quietly the exiles climbed on board. The steward was on deck aft and
stared with astonishment at the six big fellows as they came over the
rail. Before any explanation could be asked or given, Captain Law made
his appearance, the steward was ordered to his room, and the captain
pointed to the after hold, where the fugitives all defended and stowed
themselves away among a lot of old ropes, tarpaulins and cargo gear.
The hatch was closed, but afterwards re-opened to disarm suspicion,
should an official by chance come off. The only persons who knew the
escaped prisoners were on board were Captain Law, the steward and
myself, as I was keeping anchor watch. The plug of the boat was taken
out, and a quantity of stone ballast that had been hoisted on deck
during the afternoon, was put into her and she was sunk alongside the
ship. It was not safe to let the boat go adrift, suspicion would have
been aroused, and a muster of prisoners ordered, and then all hope of
getting away would vanish.
At daylight the pilot came off to take the vessel out, but
unfortunately the wind had died away and he refused to get the ship
under weigh. The delay in sailing was very serious. Both Captain Law
and the fugitives were in a terrible state of anxiety and suspense,
expecting every moment a search party would come off to overhaul the
vessel. Up to the present the alarm gun on the hill had not been
fired, so far we knew that the escape of the prisoners had not been
discovered, but at the same time we also knew that the moment the
escape was discovered the signal gun would be fired and that no vessel
would be able to leave port without being searched.
At noon a breeze sprang up, but it was in the wrong quarter to enable
us to get through the usual passage in the reef, however, Captain Law
insisted on the pilot taking the vessel out of the harbour, so the
anchor was lifted and we stood out towards the entrance. Once outside,
the pilot was dismissed and we made all sail, and with a fair wind
steered for the Balearic Channel, coasting along the Ducos Peninsular,
where the poor exiles had spent so many weary months of imprisonment.
As the evening drew on the wind increased, and before dark we had
cleared the coast and waters of New Caledonia.
The captain then called the Frenchmen on deck and told them that thus
far they were free. Henri Rochefort was the first to come on deck,
and a more pitiable looking object it would have been hard to find.
He stood quite six feet in height and was as thin as a lath, with a
long head and a very prominent forehead. The only clothes he wore
were an old pair of pants, a shirt, and a seaman’s sou’wester on his
conspicuous head, and he was covered from head to foot with coal dust
from the vessel’s hold, where they had been lying concealed. I doubt
if his best friends would have recognised, in the miserable-looking
object before them, the most famous French journalist of the day, whose
writings and doings had stirred France to the core. They were all more
or less suffering from sea-sickness, and were taken into the cabin to
have a clean up and make themselves presentable. There was only one
who could speak a few words of English, but the warm clasp of the hand
and the happy look in their eyes spoke volumes of gratitude for their
deliverance.
All through the following day the strong north-east wind kept up, and
running before the breeze with every stitch of canvas set, we soon
put a good distance between us and the Island. The crew did nothing
but work the ship and keep a lookout for overtaking vessels. The only
one we were afraid of was the despatch-boat that we left at anchor at
Noumea when we sailed.
The second and third day remained hazy with a strong wind. The exiles
rarely left the deck, but would pace to and fro for hours, so anxious
and fearful were they of recapture. All day long they would scan the
horizon, their lips muttering the thoughts that would not be kept back,
thoughts of home and loved ones. Surely fate would not be so hard as to
let them be captured again, and be taken back to that living death. No,
they would never be captured alive, no never again. Then the thought of
all their aims and ambitions with the Commune, the strife and bloodshed
in their beloved Paris made their hearts cry “enough”; if the great
God above them would grant them a safe return to their homes and loved
ones, they would live in peace with all men.
On the fourth day the wind veered into the south east, and cleared
up fine. Observations gave our position three hundred miles from
Newcastle. On the fifth day the wind shifted into the south, reducing
our speed to five knots an hour. After consulting with the mate, the
captain decided not to continue on a direct course, but to stand in
towards the land and take advantage of the current setting towards
the southward. The fugitives grew very restless when they found out
the alteration of the course, and Captain Law had great difficulty in
making them see that it was for their safety that we should get inside
the three mile limit in case of eventualities, but nothing occurred to
alarm us, and we had a fine run right up to Newcastle, a seven days run
from Noumea.
The authorities and citizens of Newcastle gave the fugitives a very
hearty welcome, and showered congratulations upon them at their daring
escape from exile and prison. They put up at the Great Northern Hotel
and soon supplied themselves with clothing, etc., suitable to their
position. Then they telegraphed home the news of their freedom and
need of funds. They stayed a few days at Newcastle and then went on to
Sydney there to await the remittance that was wired back to them at
once.
On its arrival Henri Rochefort at once paid Captain Law the amount that
had been agreed upon for their deliverance, what the actual amount was
I do not know, but each of the crew received £4 10s. as their share,
and with this, I, for one, was very satisfied.