As the midshipman crawled away from the tent of the French general, he
adopted the precautions which James had suggested, and felt the ground
carefully for twigs or sticks each time he moved. The still-glowing
embers of the campfires warned him where the Indians and Canadians were
sleeping, and, carefully avoiding these, he made his way up beyond the
limits of the camp. There were no sentries posted here, for the French
were perfectly safe from attack from that quarter, and, once fairly
beyond the camp, the midshipman rose to his feet, and made his way to
the edge of the slopes above the Saint Lawrence. He walked for about a
mile, and then paused, on the very edge of the sharp declivity, and
whistled as agreed upon.
A hundred yards further, he repeated the signal. The fourth time he
whistled he heard, just below him, the answer, and a minute later James
Walsham stood beside him.
"You young scamp, what are you doing here?"
"It was not my fault, Captain Walsham, it wasn't indeed; but I should
have been tomahawked if I had stayed there a moment longer."
"What do you mean by 'you would have been tomahawked,'" James asked
angrily, for he was convinced that the midshipman had made up his mind,
all along, to accompany him.
"The pilot of the Sutherland swam ashore, with the news that you had
been taken prisoner on purpose, and were really a spy."
"But how on earth did he know that?" James asked. "I took care the man
was not on deck, when we made the holes in the boat, and he does not
understand a word of English, so he could not have overheard what the
men said."
"I am sorry to say, sir, that it is a case of treachery, and that one
of our officers is concerned in it. The man said that an officer
released him from his cell, and took him to his cabin, and then lowered
him by a rope through the porthole."
"Impossible!" James Walsham said.
"It sounds impossible, sir; but I am afraid it isn't, for the officer
gave him a note to bring to the general, telling him all about it, and
that note I have got in my pocket now."
The midshipman then related the whole circumstances of his discovery.
"It is an extraordinary affair," James said. "However, you are
certainly not to blame for making your escape when you did. You could
not have got back into your tent till too late; and, even could you
have done so, it might have gone hard with you, for of course they
would have known that you were, what they would call an accomplice, in
the affair."
"I will go on if you like, sir," the boy said, "and hide somewhere
else, so that if they track me they will not find you."
"No, no," James said, "I don't think there's any fear of our being
tracked. Indian eyes are sharp; but they can't perform miracles. In the
forest it would be hopeless to escape them, but here the grass is short
and the ground dry, and, without boots, we cannot have left any tracks
that would be followed, especially as bodies of French troops have been
marching backwards and forwards along the edge of these heights for the
last fortnight. I won't say that it is impossible that they can find
us, but it will not be by our tracks.
"Now, come down to this bush where I was lying. We will wait there till
daylight breaks. It is as far down as I dare go by this light, but,
when we can see, we will find a safer place further down."
Cautiously they made their way down to a clump of bushes, twenty feet
below the edge, and there, lying down, dozed until it became light
enough to see the ground. The slope was very steep, but bushes grew
here and there upon it, and by means of these, and projecting rocks,
they worked their way down some thirty feet lower, and then sat down
among some bushes, which screened them from the sight of anyone who
might be passing along the edge of the river, while the steep slope
effectually hid them from anyone moving along above.
"Is there any signature to that letter," James asked presently.
The midshipman took the piece of paper out and looked at it.
"No, there is no signature," he said; "but I know the handwriting. I
have seen it in orders, over and over again."
James was silent a few minutes.
"I won't ask you who it is, though I fear I know too well. Look here,
Middleton, I should like you to tear that letter up, and say no more
about it."
"No, sir," the boy said, putting the paper in his pocket. "I can't do
that. Of course I am under your orders, for this expedition; but this
is not an affair in which I consider that I am bound to obey you. This
concerns the honour of the officers of my ship, and I should not be
doing my duty if I did not, upon my return, place this letter in the
hands of the captain. A man who would betray the general's plans to the
enemy, would betray the ship, and I should be a traitor, myself, if I
did not inform the captain. I am sorry, awfully sorry, that this should
happen to an officer of the Sutherland, but it will be for the captain
to decide whether he will make it public or not.
"There is one thing. If it was to be anyone, I would rather that it was
he than anyone else, for there isn't a man on board can abide him. No,
sir, I am sorry, but I cannot give up the letter, and, even if you had
torn it up when you had it in your hand just now, I should have
reported the whole thing to the captain, and say I could swear to the
handwriting."
James was silent. The boy was right, and was only doing his duty in
determining to denounce the act of gross treachery which had been
perpetrated. He was deeply grieved, however, to think of the
consequences of the discovery, and especially of the blow that it would
be, to the squire, to hear that his nephew was a traitor, and indeed a
murderer at heart, for, had not his flight taken place before the
discovery was made, he would certainly have been executed as a spy.
The day passed quietly. That the Indians were searching for him, far
and wide, James Walsham had no doubt, and indeed, from their hiding
place he saw several parties of redskins moving along on the river
bank, carefully examining the ground.
"It's lucky we didn't move along there," he said to his companion, "for
the ground is so soft that they would assuredly have found our tracks.
I expect that they think it possible that we may have been taken off,
in a boat, during the night."
"I hope they will keep on thinking so," the midshipman said. "Then they
will give up looking for us."
"They won't do that," James replied; "for they will be sure that they
must have seen our tracks, had we passed along that muddy bank.
Fortunately, they have no clue to where we really are. We might have
gone east, west, or north, and the country is so covered with bush that
anything like a regular search is absolutely impossible."
"I hope we ain't going to be very long, before we get on board again,"
the midshipman said, as he munched the small piece of bread James
served out to him for his dinner. "The grub won't last more than two
days, even at this starvation rate, and that one bottle of water is a
mockery. I could finish it all, straight off. Why, we shall be as badly
off as if we were adrift at sea, in a boat."
"Not quite so bad," James replied. "We can chew the leaves of some of
these bushes; besides, people don't die of hunger or thirst in four
days, and I hope, before that, to be safely on board."
Not until it was perfectly dark did they leave their hiding place, and,
by the aid of the bushes, worked their way up to the top of the ascent
again. James had impressed on his companion that, on no account, was he
to speak above a whisper, that he was to stop whenever he did, and,
should he turn off and descend the slope, he was at once to follow his
example. The midshipman kept close to his companion, and marvelled how
assuredly the latter walked along, for he himself could see nothing.
Several times, James stopped and listened. Presently, he turned off to
the right, saying "hush!" in the lowest possible tone, and, proceeding
a few paces down the slope, noiselessly lay down behind the bush. The
midshipman imitated his example, though he wondered why he was so
acting, for he could hear nothing. Two or three minutes later he heard
a low footfall, and then the sound of men speaking in a low voice, in
some strange tongue. He could not see them, but held his breath as they
were passing. Not till they had been gone some minutes did James rise,
and pursue his course.
"Two Indians," he said, "and on the search for us. One was just saying
to the other he expected, when they got back to camp, to find that some
of the other parties had overtaken us."
Another mile further, and they saw the light of several fires ahead.
"That is a French battery," James said. "We must make a detour, and get
to the other side of it; then I will crawl back, and see if there is
any path down to the river."
The detour was made, and then, leaving the midshipman in hiding a few
paces from the edge, James crawled back. He soon saw, by the fires,
that the battery was manned by sailors from the French fleet, and he
had little fear of these discovering him. Keeping well below them, he
came presently upon a narrow path. Above him, he could hear a French
sentry walking. He followed the path down, with the greatest caution,
stepping with the most extreme care, to avoid displacing a stone. He
found the path was excessively steep and rugged, little more, indeed,
than a sheep track. It took him half an hour to reach the bottom, and
he found that, in some places, sappers had been lately at work
obliterating the path, and that it could scarcely be considered
practicable for men hampered with their arms and ammunition.
Another half hour's work took him to the top again, and a few minutes
later he rejoined his companion.
"That won't do," he said. "We must try again. There is a path, but the
troops could scarcely climb it if unopposed, and certainly could not do
so without making such a noise as would attract the notice of the
sentinels above."
"That is the battery they call Sillery," the midshipman said. "They
have fired at us over and over again from there, as we went up or down
the river. There is another about a mile further on. It is called
Samos."
Upon reaching the Samos battery, James again crept up and reconnoitred.
The way down, however, was even more difficult than at Sillery. There
was, indeed, no regular path, and so steep was the descent that he
doubted whether it would be possible for armed men to climb it. Even
he, exceptionally strong and active as he was, and unencumbered with
arms, had the greatest difficulty in making his way down and up again
and, indeed, could only do so by grasping the trunks of trees and
strong bushes.
"It can't be done there," he said to the midshipman when he joined him
again. "And now we must look for a hiding place. We must have been five
or six hours since we started, and the nights are very short. At any
rate, we cannot attempt another exploration before morning."
"I wish we could explore the inside of a farm house and light upon
something to eat and drink," the midshipman said.
"It's no use wishing," James replied. "We can't risk anything of that
sort and, probably, all the farm houses are full of troops. We have got
a little bread left. That will hold us over tomorrow comfortably."
"It may hold us," Middleton said; "but it certainly won't hold me
comfortably. My idea of comfort, at the present time, would be a round
of beef and a gallon of ale."
"Ah! You are an epicure," James laughed. "If you had had three or four
years of campaigning in the forest, as I have had, you would learn to
content yourself on something a good deal less than that."
"I might," the boy said; "but I have my doubts about it. There's one
comfort. We shall be able to sleep all day tomorrow, and so I sha'n't
think about it. As the Indians did not find our tracks yesterday, they
are not likely to do so today."
They were some time before they found a hiding place, for the descent
was so steep that they had to try several times, before they could get
down far enough to reach a spot screened by bushes, and hidden from the
sight of anyone passing above. At last they did so, and soon lay down
to sleep, after partaking of a mouthful of water each, and a tiny piece
of bread. They passed the day for the most part in sleep, but the
midshipman woke frequently, being now really parched with thirst. Each
time, he chewed a few leaves from the bush in which they were lying,
but derived but small comfort from it.
"It's awful to think of tomorrow," he said, as evening approached.
"Even supposing you find a way down tonight, it must be midnight
tomorrow before we are taken off."
"If I find a way down," James said, "I will, if possible, take you down
with me, and then we can take a long drink at the river; but, at any
rate, I will take the bottle down with me, and bring it up full for
you. The next place to try is the spot where we saw some tents, as we
went up the river. There is no battery there, and the tents can only
have been pitched there because there was some way down to the water.
It cannot be more than half a mile away, for it was not more than a
mile from Fort Samos."
"Can't I go with you?" the midshipman said. "I will be as quiet as a
cat; and, if you find it is a good path, and come up to fetch me down,
you see there will be a treble risk of being seen."
"Very well," James agreed. "Only mind, if you set a stone rolling, or
break a twig, it will cost us both our lives, to say nothing of the
failure of our expedition."
"I will be as quiet as a mouse. You see if I ain't," the midshipman
said confidently; "and I will try not to think, even once, of the water
below there, so as not to hurry."
Together they crept cautiously along the edge of the ridge, until they
came to a clump of some fifteen tents. As they approached they could
see, by the light of the fires, that the encampment was one of Canadian
troops.
James had not intended to move forward until all were asleep, but the
men were all chatting round the fires, and it did not seem to him that
a sentry had, as yet, been placed on the edge of the descent. He
therefore crept forward at once, followed closely by the midshipman,
keeping, as far as possible, down beyond the slope of the descent.
Presently, he came to a path. He saw at once that this was very
different from the others--it was regularly cut, sloping gradually down
the face of the sharp descent, and was wide enough for a cart to pass.
He at once took his way down it, moving with the greatest caution, lest
a sentry should be posted some distance below. It was very dark, for,
in many places, the trees met overhead.
About halfway down he suddenly came to a stop, for, in front of him,
rose a bank breast high. Here, if anywhere, a sentry should have been
placed, and, holding his companion's arm, James listened intently for
some time.
"Mind what you are doing," he said in a whisper. "This is a breastwork
and, probably, the path is cut away on the other side. Fortunately, we
are so far down the hill now, that there is not much risk of their
hearing any slight noise we might make. You stand here, till I find out
what's on the other side."
James climbed over the breastwork, and cautiously let himself go on the
other side. He fell some five or six feet.
"Come on," he said in a low voice. "Lower yourself down by your arms. I
can reach your legs then."
The gap cut in the path was some ten feet across, and six feet deep.
When, with some difficulty, they clambered up on the other side, they
found the path obstructed by a number of felled trees, forming a thick
abattis. They managed to climb the steep hillside, and kept along it
until past the obstruction. Then they got on to the path again, and
found it unbroken to the bottom.
"So far, so good," James said. "Now, do you stop here, while I crawl
forward to the water. The first thing to discover is whether they have
a sentinel stationed anywhere near the bottom of this path."
The time seemed terribly long to Middleton before James returned,
though it was really but a few minutes.
"All right!" he said, as he approached him. "There is no one here,
though I can hear some sentries farther up the river. Now you can come
forward, and have a drink. Fortunately, the river is high."
After having satisfied their thirst, Middleton asked:
"Where are you going now? I don't care how far we have got to march,
for, after that drink, I feel ready for anything."
"It won't do to hide anywhere near," James said; "for, if the boat
which comes to take us off were to be seen, it would put them on their
guard, and there would be plenty of sentries about here in future. No,
we will keep along at the foot of the precipice till we are about
halfway, as far as we can tell, between Samos and Sillery, and then we
will climb up, as high as we can get, and show our signal in the
morning. But you must be careful as we walk, for, as I told you, there
are some sentries posted by the water's edge, higher up."
"I will be careful, don't you fear," the midshipman said. "There is not
much fear of a fellow, walking about in the dark without boots, not
being careful. I knocked my toe against a rock, just now, and it was as
much as I could do not to halloa. I will be careful in future, I can
tell you."
An hour's walking brought them to a spot where the hill was rather less
steep than usual. They climbed up, until they gained a spot some fifty
feet above the level of the river, and there sat down in a clump of
bushes.
"As soon as it's daylight, we will choose a spot where we can show a
signal, without the risk of it's being seen from below," James said.
"We mustn't go to sleep, for we must move directly the dawn commences,
else those sentries below might make us out."
At daybreak they shifted their position, and gained a spot completely
hidden from below, but from which an entire view of the river could be
obtained.
"Tide will be low in a couple of hours," the midshipman said. "There
are the fleet below. They will come up with the first flood, so, in
three or four hours, they will be abreast of us. I hope they will make
out our signal."
"I have no fear of that," James replied. "They are sure to keep a sharp
lookout for it."
Presently the tide grew slacker, and, half an hour later, the ships
were seen to hoist their sails, and soon began to drop slowly up the
river. When they approached, James fastened his handkerchief against
the trunk of a tree, well open to view from the river, and then stood
with his eyes fixed on the approaching ships. Just as the Sutherland
came abreast of the spot where they were standing, the ensign was
dipped. James at once removed his handkerchief.
"Now," he said, "Middleton, you can turn in and take a sleep. At twelve
o'clock tonight there will be a boat below for us."
Two or three hours after darkness had fallen, James and his companion
made their way down the slope, and crawled out to the water's edge.
There was no sentry within hearing, and they sat down, by the edge of
the river, until suddenly a light gleamed for an instant, low down on
the water, two or three hundred yards from the shore.
They at once stepped into the river, and, wading out for some little
distance, struck out towards where they had seen the light. A few
minutes' swimming, and they saw something dark ahead. Another few
strokes took them alongside, and they were hauled into the boat.
The slight noise attracted the attention of a sentry, some little
distance along the shore, and his qui vive came sharply across the
water, followed a few seconds later by the flash of his gun.
The crew now bent to their oars, and, a quarter of an hour later, the
boat was alongside the Sutherland, which, with her consorts, was slowly
drifting up the stream. General Wolfe and the admiral were on deck, and
anxiously waiting the arrival of the boat. The former, in his anxiety,
hailed the boat as it approached.
"Is Captain James Walsham on board?"
"Yes, sir," James replied.
"Bravo, bravo!" the general cried, delighted.
"Bravo!" he repeated, seizing James Walsham's hand as he stepped on
deck. "I did not expect to see you again, Captain Walsham, at least
until we took Quebec. Now, come to my cabin at once and tell me all
about it. But perhaps you are hungry."
"I am rather hungry, general," James said quietly. "We have had nothing
to eat but a crust of bread for three days."
"We? Who are we?" the general asked quickly.
"Mr. Middleton and myself, sir. He escaped after I had left, and joined
me."
"The galley fires are out," the admiral said, "but you shall have some
cold meat in my cabin, instantly."
James was at once led to the cabin, where, in two or three minutes,
food and a bottle of wine were placed before him. The general would not
allow him to speak a word, till his hunger was satisfied. Then, when he
saw him lay down his knife and fork, he said:
"Now, Captain Walsham, in the first place, have you succeeded--have you
found a practicable path down to the river?"
"I have found a path, sir. It is cut in one place, and blocked with
felled trees, but the obstacles can be passed. There are some
Canadians, in tents, near the top of the path, but they seem to keep a
very careless watch, and no sentry is placed at the bottom, or on the
edge of the river anywhere near."
"Admirable, admirable!" Wolfe exclaimed. "At last there is a chance of
our outreaching Montcalm. And you were not seen examining the path?
Nothing occurred to excite their suspicion, and lead them to keep a
better lookout in future?"
"No, sir," James replied. "They have had no suspicion of my presence
anywhere near. The spot where I was taken off was two miles higher. I
moved away in order that, if we were seen swimming off to the boat, no
suspicion should occur that we had been reconnoitring the pathway."
"That is right," the general said. "Now, tell me the whole story of
what you have been doing, in your own way."
James related his adventures, up to the time when he was joined by the
midshipman.
"But what made Mr. Middleton escape?" the admiral asked. "I thought
that his instructions were precise, that he was to permit himself to be
taken prisoner, and was to remain quietly in Quebec, until we could
either exchange him or take the place."
"That was how he understood his instructions, sir," James said; "but I
would rather that you should question him, yourself, as to his reasons
for escaping. I may say they appear to me to be perfectly valid, as an
occurrence took place upon which it was impossible for Captain Peters
to calculate, when he gave them."
James then finished the report of his proceedings, and General Wolfe
expressed his great satisfaction at the result.
"I will put you in orders, tomorrow, for your brevet-majority," he
said; "and never was the rank more honourably earned."
The admiral rang a hand bell.
"Send Mr. Middleton to me. Where is he?"
"He is having supper in Captain Peters' cabin."
"Ask Captain Peters if he will be good enough to come in with him."
A minute later Captain Peters entered, followed by the midshipman.
"I suppose, Peters, you have been asking young Middleton the reason why
he did not carry out his instructions?"
"I have, admiral," Captain Peters said gravely, "and I was only waiting
until you were disengaged to report the circumstance to you. He had
better tell you, sir, his own way."
Captain Peters then took a seat at the table, while the midshipman
related his story, in nearly the same words in which he had told it to
James. When he told of the account the Canadian pilot had given of his
escape, the admiral exclaimed:
"But it seems altogether incredible. That some one has unbolted the
man's cabin from the outside seems manifest, and it is clear that
either gross treachery, or gross carelessness, enabled him to get free.
I own that, although the sergeant of marines declares positively that
he fastened the bolts, I think that he could not have done so, for
treachery seems almost out of the question. That an officer should have
done this seems impossible; and yet, what the man says about the cabin,
and being let out by a rope, would seem to show that it must have been
an officer."
"I am sorry to say, sir," Middleton said, "that the man gave proofs of
the truth of what he was saying. The officer, he said, gave him a
paper, which I heard and saw the general reading aloud. It was a
warning that Captain Walsham had purposely allowed himself to be
captured, and that he was, in fact, a spy. The French officer, in his
haste, laid down the paper on the table when he rushed out, and I had
just time to creep under the canvas, seize it, and make off with it.
Here it is, sir. I have showed it to Captain Peters."
The admiral took the paper and read it, and handed it, without a word,
to General Wolfe.
"That is proof conclusive," he said. "Peters, do you know the
handwriting?"
"Yes," Captain Peters said gravely. "I recognized it at once, as did
Mr. Middleton. It is the handwriting of Lieutenant Horton."
"But what on earth could be the motive of this unhappy young man?" the
admiral asked.
"I imagine, sir, from what I saw on the evening before Captain Walsham
set out, and, indeed, from what Captain Walsham said when I questioned
him, that it was a case of private enmity against Captain Walsham."
"Is this so, Captain Walsham?" General Wolfe asked.
"I have no enmity against him, sir," James said, "though I own that his
manner impressed me with the idea that he regarded me as an enemy. The
fact is, we lived near each other as boys, and we had a fight. I got
the best of it. He gave an account of the affair, which was not exactly
correct, to his uncle, Mr. Linthorne, a wealthy landowner and a
magistrate. The latter had me up at the justice room; but I brought
forward witnesses, who gave their account of the affair. Mr. Linthorne
considered that his nephew--whom he had at that time regarded as his
heir--had not given a correct account, and was so angry that he sent
him to sea.
"I would say, sir," he said earnestly, "that, were it possible, I
should have wished this unhappy affair to be passed over."
"Impossible!" the admiral and general said together.
"I fear it is impossible now, sir," James said gravely; "but it might
have been stopped before."
"Captain Walsham wanted me to tear up the note," the midshipman put in;
"but, though I was awfully sorry such a thing should happen to an
officer of the Sutherland, I was obliged to refuse to do so, as I
thought it was my duty to hand the note to you."
"Certainly it was, Mr. Middleton," the admiral said. "There can be no
question about that."
"I wonder that you even suggested such a thing, Captain Walsham," the
general remarked. "This was not a private affair. The whole success of
the enterprise was jeopardized."
"It was, sir," James said quietly; "but you must remember that, at the
time I asked Mr. Middleton to tear up the note, it had ceased to be
jeopardized, for I had got fairly away. I am under great obligations to
Mr. Linthorne, and would do much to save him pain. I regarded this act,
not as one of treason against the country, but as one of personal
enmity to myself, and I am sure that Lieutenant Horton, himself, did
not think of the harm that his letter might do to the cause, but was
blinded by his passion against me."
"Your conduct does credit to your heart, Captain Walsham, if not to
your head," General Wolfe said.
The admiral rang the bell.
"Tell Lieutenant Horton that I wish to speak to him, and order a
corporal, with a file of marines, to be at the door."
The messenger found Lieutenant Horton pacing the quarterdeck with
hurried steps. On the receipt of the message, instead of going directly
to the admiral's cabin, he ran down below, caught something from a
shelf by his berth, placed it in the breast of his coat, and then went
to the admiral's cabin. The corporal, with the two marines, had already
taken his station there. The young officer drew a deep breath, and
entered.
A deadly fear had seized him, from the moment he saw the signal of
James Walsham, although it seemed impossible to him that his treachery
could have been discovered. The sudden summons at this hour of the
night confirmed his fears, and it was with a face almost as pale as
death that he entered the cabin.
"Lieutenant Horton," the admiral said, "you are accused of having
assisted in the escape of the pilot, who was our prisoner on board this
ship. You are further accused of releasing him with the special purpose
that the plans which General Wolfe had laid, to obtain information,
might be thwarted."
"Who accuses me?" Richard Horton asked. "Captain Walsham is my enemy.
He has for years intrigued against me, and sought to do me harm. He was
the companion of smugglers, and was captured by the Thetis, and had the
choice of being sent to prison, and tried for his share in the killing
of some of the coast guards, or of going before the mast. I was a
lieutenant in the Thetis at the time, and I suppose, because I did not
then interfere on his behalf, he has now trumped up this accusation
against me, an accusation I defy him to prove."
"You are mistaken, Lieutenant Horton," the admiral said. "Captain
Walsham is not your accuser. Nay, more, he has himself committed a
grave dereliction of duty in trying to screen you, and by endeavouring
to destroy the principal evidence against you. Mr. Middleton overheard
a conversation between the Canadian pilot and the French general, and
the former described how he had been liberated by an English officer,
who assisted him to escape by a rope from the porthole in his cabin."
"I do not see that that is any evidence against me," Richard Horton
said. "In the first place, the man may have been lying. In the second
place, unless he mentioned my name, why am I suspected more than any
other officer? And, even if he did mention my name, my word is surely
as good as that of a Canadian prisoner. It is probable that the man was
released by one of the crew--some man, perhaps, who owed me a
grudge--who told him to say that it was I who freed him, in hopes that
some day this outrageous story might get about."
"Your suggestions are plausible, Mr. Horton," the admiral said coldly.
"Unfortunately, it is not on the word of this Canadian that we have to
depend.
"There, sir," he said, holding out the letter; "there is the chief
witness against you. Captain Peters instantly recognized your
handwriting, as Mr. Middleton had done before him."
Richard Horton stood gazing speechlessly at the letter. So confounded
was he, by the unexpected production of this fatal missive, that he was
unable to utter a single word of explanation or excuse.
"Lay your sword on the table, sir," the admiral said, "and retire to
your cabin, where you will remain, under close arrest, till a court
martial can be assembled."
Richard Horton unbuckled his sword and laid it on the table, and left
the cabin without a word.
"It would have been better to send a guard with him," Captain Peters
said; "he might jump overboard, or blow his brains out."
"Quite so, Peters," the admiral said. "The very thing that was in my
mind, when I told him to retire to his cabin--the very best thing he
could do, for himself and for the service. A nice scandal it would be,
to have to try and hang a naval officer for treachery.
"I am sure you agree with me, general?"
"Thoroughly," the general said. "Let him blow his brains out, or
desert; but you had best keep a sharp lookout that he does not desert
at present. After we have once effected our landing, I should say keep
as careless a watch over him as possible; but don't let him go before.
It is bad enough that the French know that Captain Walsham went ashore
for the purpose of discovering a landing place; but it would be worse
were they to become aware that he has rejoined the ships, and that he
was taken off by a boat within a couple of miles of the spot where we
mean to land."
The admiral was right. Richard Horton had, when summoned to the cabin,
hastily placed a pistol in his bosom, with the intention of blowing out
his brains, should he find that the discovery he dreaded had been made.
Had the marines posted outside the cabin been ordered to accompany him,
he would at once have carried his purpose into execution; but, finding
himself free, he walked to his cabin, still determined to blow out his
brains before morning; but, the impulse once past, he could not summon
up resolution to carry his resolve into effect. He would do it, he said
to himself, before the court martial came on. That would be time
enough.
This was the decision he arrived at when the morning dawned upon him,
lying despairing in his cot.