Paul and O'Grady, as they were dragged back by the villagers to the inn,
felt certain that their true character would be discovered, and that
they would be sent to prison. Paul was especially unhappy under the
belief that his bad French had betrayed him. He wished that he could
give Reuben warning to keep out of the way of the meddling villagers,
lest he also should be captured. Still, he was not a lad to give in,
and he determined to play the part he had assumed as long as he could.
When the villagers saw Francois, they shouted out to him that they had
got the young rogues fast enough. Paul at once began to expostulate
with the inn-keeper, and, with a volubility which did him credit, gave
the whole story which had been arranged by Rosalie. The traveller, who
had retired on one side, but had remained near enough to hear what Paul
said, now stepped forward, exclaiming, "Of course--all they say is true.
I know all about them. Their grandfather is a most estimable man--a
tenant of my maternal uncle, the Sieur Caudbec. I saw him when last I
was in the south of France, and these lads, I think I saw them--yes,
surely I know both of them. You know me, the son of the Baron de
Montauban--one who was always kind to the poor, and a friend of true
liberty."
Paul glanced at the speaker; he was very young. He looked again. There
could be no doubt about it. Though somewhat disguised by his travelling
costume and civilian's dress, there stood before him Alphonse Montauban.
He ran forward and took Alphonse's hand, not to shake it, however, but,
remembering their supposed relative ranks, to put it to his lips.
O'Grady, though not understanding what had been said, and wondering why
he did so, followed his example.
"Come, worthy Francois," said Alphonse; "though I had intended to
proceed across the country, I will rest here to-night; and as I take an
interest in the family of these lads, they shall spend the evening with
me, and live at my cost. Let a good supper be prepared for us all, and,
mark you, a bottle of your best wine."
Saying this, Alphonse led the way into the inn. He stopped at the door,
however, and taking some money out of his purse, handed it to the
landlord, saying, "Let some of these honest people here, after their
quick run, have wherewithal to drink my health."
Alphonse, with considerable dignity, walked into a private room in the
inn, and taking a chair, beckoned to the seeming peasant lads to sit
near him, while the landlord received his orders for supper. As soon as
Francois had retired, he burst into a fit of laughter, and, jumping up,
shook the midshipmen warmly by the hand, and begged them to tell him how
they came to be there. They gave him, as rapidly as they could, an
account of their adventures.
"And do you not know the name of the old gentleman, `mon oncle,' as you
call him, and that of the chateau? But I do. He is my dear father, and
that pretty little Rosalie is my very sweet cousin. The story is just
such as I could have supposed she would have invented. And they think
me dead. That is very natural, for when the _Alerte_ escaped from the
_Cerberus_, of course her people would have reported all on board their
consort drowned. You will be surprised that I should not have reached
home before this, but I had a long voyage, and as I had no wish to go to
sea again, when I found on landing that it was not known I had escaped,
I made the best of my way to the house of a relative near the coast, who
provided me with clothing and funds, and I have only lately been able to
commence my journey homeward. Now, however, I have a great inclination
to turn back and to see you safely embarked to cross the Channel."
The English midshipmen would not, however, hear of his carrying out such
a proposal. If caught, he would be more severely dealt with than they
would, and they felt sure that, if they were cautious, they should be
able to reach the coast by themselves. At length, Alphonse, seeing the
wisdom of their arguments, and remembering his duty to his father,
consented. He, however, said that he must first communicate with Reuben
Cole, and let him know the road they had taken, that he might follow
them. Alphonse had become quite an Englishman in his habits, and the
three old friends spent a very pleasant evening. They were up before
daylight, when Alphonse, slipping out, hurried off to the woodman's hut.
The woodman and his new mate were on foot, and Reuben, having
ascertained that the young strangers were at the auberge, was very
doubtful how to proceed. He rubbed his eyes, and hitched away
convulsively at his belt, when he saw Alphonse, for some minutes, before
he dared believe his own eyes.
"Well, sir, things do come about curious," he exclaimed at last. "First
I falls in with the young gentlemen, and then they falls in with you,
just in time for you to save them from being packed off to prison."
As Alphonse knew that part of the country well, he was able to fix on a
spot about three miles from the village, where he suggested that they
and Reuben should lie concealed during the remainder of the day, and
travel on, as they had proposed, at night. Having made these
arrangements with Reuben, he returned to the auberge. Once more, after
an early breakfast, the friends parted; Alphonse starting in a
wonderfully old-fashioned _caleche_ on two wheels, which gave promise of
breaking down on its way to his father's chateau, and the midshipmen
proceeding northward on their own sturdy legs. They fell in with Reuben
Cole at the spot arranged on, and then all three, plunging into the
forest, made themselves comfortable for the rest of the day. Night
after night they travelled on. Sometimes they met people during the
day, and either little notice was taken of them, or Paul easily answered
the questions put to him. Reuben always had his crutches ready, and in
a wonderfully quick time he was on his wooden leg, and hobbling along at
a rate of a mile or so an hour, so that no one would have suspected that
he had a long journey before him. The whole party were in very good
spirits, for as they had found friends when they least expected it, and
got out of difficulties when they thought that they were irretrievably
lost, so they hoped that they might be equally fortunate another time.
O'Grady declared that this life was that of a perpetual picnic. They
generally took shelter during the day in a wood, or among hills, or in
some deserted hut, or, like gipsies, under a hedge in some unfrequented
district; or, if it rained, which was not very often, they got into some
barn or shed in the outskirts of a hamlet; and twice they found caves
into which they could creep, and several times some old ruins of castles
or chateaux afforded them shelter. Their plan was to walk on till
daybreak, and then O'Grady or Paul climbed a height or a tree, and
surveyed the country ahead. If no habitations were to be seen, they
pushed on further, and then took another survey of the country, to find
a place of shelter for the day. When they required food, they generally
first passed through a village, and then Paul went back, towards the
evening to purchase it. As soon as he had bought it, they proceeded
onward, so that, should the villagers have any suspicions, they were not
likely to overtake them. They were now approaching the coast, and
greater caution than ever was, of course, necessary. Their greatest
difficulty, however, would be finding a fit boat, and getting away
unperceived.
"I suppose that it will not be wrong to steal a boat," said Paul. "I
don't quite like the thoughts of that."
O'Grady laughed, and remarked, "Why, you see, Gerrard, that necessity
has no law. The owner of the boat will not be pleased to lose it, but
then he is one of a nation with whom England is at war, and we have as
much right to run away with his boat, as his countrymen have to keep us
prisoners."
At length, after a long walk, at break of day the sea appeared in sight
in the far distance, somewhere between Cherbourg and Barfleur. With
beating hearts they went on. They could not resist the temptation of
trying to ascertain whereabouts they were, and if there was a boat near
which might serve their purpose. It might have been wiser had they, as
usual, lain by during daylight. They walked on till they reached the
top of a cliff overlooking the Channel. Across those waters was the
land they so earnestly desired to reach. To the west a blue line of
land stretched out into the sea. It was the promontory on which
Cherbourg is situated. If they were able to get to the end, they would
have much less distance to go by sea, and might, in the course of little
more than a day, reach the Isle of Wight. The great point was to find a
boat. Not one was in sight. It was a question whether they should go
east or west in search of some fishing village, where they might find
one. They carefully examined the coast, and as the sun rose in the sky,
his beams lighting up the shore on the west, they fancied that they
could make out some buildings in the distance. They at once turned in
that direction. As they advanced, they found that they were not
mistaken. Before concealing themselves, as they proposed doing, till
night, they carefully reconnoitred the place from the cliff above it.
There was a tower, and a small harbour with several small craft and
boats at anchor in it, and two or three better sort of houses, besides
numerous cottages and huts, and, at a little distance, a chateau of some
pretension to architecture. They would have preferred a place where
there were no gentlemen, who would naturally be less likely to believe
their story. In other respects, they could not have desired to reach a
more satisfactory locality. The cliffs appeared to be full of caves, in
one of which they could lie hidden till night. They calculated that
their food would last them for a couple of days, so that by husbanding
it, even if their voyage were prolonged, they would have enough to
support life. After hunting about for some time, they selected a cave
half-way up the cliff, which sailors alone, and that not without some
difficulty, could reach. The entrance was small, but there was ample
room for them to lie down, and, what was of importance, they were not at
all likely to be disturbed. As they had walked all night, and had been
scrambling about all the morning, they were very tired, and directly
they had taken some breakfast, they fell fast asleep. Paul was awoke
after some time by the roaring sound of the waves dashing against the
shore. He could see through the narrow opening dark clouds scouring
across the sky, the rain descending in torrents, while ever and anon
there came vivid flashes of lightning, followed by loud, rattling peals
of thunder, which seemed to shake the very rock above their heads. The
wind, too, blew fiercely, and the whole ocean before them was covered
with white-topped billows. Reuben awoke and looked out. He came back
and seated himself.
"Well, young gentlemen," he said quietly, "one thing is certain--we may
make up our minds to have to remain here for some days to come. That
sea won't go down in a hurry, and till it does, it will be hard to come
at a French boat which will carry us safe across."
It was very evident that Reuben's observation was correct, yet it was
very provoking to be thus, delayed when their expedition was so nearly,
as they thought, brought to a happy conclusion. Two days passed, and
the gale did not abate. It now, therefore, became necessary for Paul to
go in search of provisions. His companions wished to accompany him, but
he preferred going alone, and, if possible, to some inland village where
there was less risk of their object being suspected. He set off early
in the morning, and after walking for nearly three hours, he entered a
village where he hoped to find both bread and meat. He could not get
it, however, without being asked some rather searching questions. He
replied promptly, that he had a brother with him, and that as they had
still some way to go, and did not wish to delay on the road, he wished
to lay in a stock of provisions at once. Fortunately there were three
or four small shops in the place, at each of which he made some
purchases, filling up his wallet at a farm-house, where he got a supply
of eggs and a ham. Highly satisfied with the success of his
undertaking, he took his way back to the cave. He had got within a
couple of miles of the end of his journey, rather tired with the weight
of the provisions he carried, when, on sitting down on a bank to rest,
he saw that somebody was following him. He was puzzled what to do.
Should he go on, his retreat would be discovered; if he stopped, he
would be overtaken, and disagreeable questions might, perhaps, be asked
of him. So he got up and went on again as fast as his legs could carry
him. More than once, however, he looked back. The man he had seen was
still behind. "He may, perhaps, only be going the same way that I am,"
thought Paul. "I will take the first turning I can find to the right or
left, and he may then, perhaps, pass on and miss me."
The opportunity occurred sooner than he expected. The road made several
sharp turns. A narrow path, between high banks, led off to the right.
He turned sharp into it, and by running rapidly along, was soon out of
sight of the high road. He sat down and waited. No one came. He hoped
that he had escaped his pursuer. At last he came cautiously out and
looked about. No one was in sight. He walked on swiftly towards the
cliff. He had to descend and then to mount again to reach the cave.
His companions welcomed him on their own account as well as on his, for
they were nearly starved. There was a stream, however, of good water
close at hand, which had prevented them from suffering from thirst.
They had now provisions to last them, they hoped, till they reached
England. Paul had bought a tin saucepan, in which they could boil their
eggs and make some soup, and as O'Grady had collected a supply of drift
wood, they were able to cook their dinner and to enjoy the warmth of a
fire. Altogether, they had not much reason to complain of their
detention. Three more days passed, and the wind abating, the sea went
down, and once more the calm ocean shone in the beams of the rising sun.
"Hurrah!" cried O'Grady; "we may sail to-night, and, if we're in luck
and the wind holds, we may sight the shore of old England before the
world is two days older."
The day passed very slowly away, as they had nothing with which to
employ themselves. Fortunately, midshipmen, as O'Grady boasted, have a
powerful knack of sleeping; and so they passed most of the time, in the
intervals of their meals, lost in oblivion of all sublunary matters. As
the shades of evening drew on, they roused up and were all animation.
They had reconnoitred the path to the village, and found that it would
be necessary to get down to the beach while there was still daylight to
enable them to see their way. They hoped to find shelter in some
boat-shed or out-house till the inhabitants had gone to bed. They went
on cautiously, Paul in advance, lest they should meet any one; Reuben
hobbling forward on his wooden leg and sticks. The lights in the
village were being put out as they approached. "They are early people--
so much the better for us," thought Paul. "We can easily seize a boat
and get off."
The thought had scarcely passed through his mind, when a voice
exclaimed, "Hallo! who goes there?"
"A friend," answered Paul.
"How many friends?" asked the man. "Let me see: two young lads and a
lame man--answers the description. Come along with me, my friends, for
I have more to say to you."
The two midshipmen and Reuben followed, much crest-fallen. They were in
the hands of the police; of that there could be no doubt. Should they
keep up their assumed characters, or acknowledge their true ones and
brave the worst. They could not venture to speak to consult with each
other. Paul thought that the best plan would be to keep silent till
compelled to speak. He therefore got as near O'Grady as he could, and,
pretending to stumble, put his finger against his friend's lips.
O'Grady passed on the signal soon afterwards to Reuben. This matter
arranged, they quietly followed their captor--O'Grady doing his best to
hum a tune which he had heard Rosalie sing, and forgetting that he
pretended to be deaf as well as dumb. There was still sufficient light
for them to see that their captor was a gendarme, a discovery far from
pleasant, as it led them to suppose that some person in authority was at
the place, who might dispose of them in a somewhat summary manner. The
man turned round once or twice, and told them, in no pleasant voice, to
walk quicker, while he led the way to the chateau they had observed from
the cliff. They found themselves standing before the chateau. It
looked vast and gloomy in the dark. In another minute they were in a
large hall in the presence of several persons, one of whom, a
fierce-looking bearded official, inquired who they were, where they had
come from, whither they were going.
Paul, with a fluency which surprised himself, narrated the story which
had been arranged by Rosalie, O'Grady going through his part, pointing
to his lips, and making inarticulate sounds, while Reuben imitated him
in a way which seemed to try the gravity of those before whom he stood.
Paul thought that all was going on smoothly, when he was considerably
taken aback by seeing the officer laugh, and hearing him say in fair
English:--
"You speak well, certainly, for one who has been so short a time in the
country, but I should have understood you better had you spoken in
English; and now I should like to know what your young friend here, and
your lame companion, have to say for themselves. There's a salt-water
look about them which makes me suspect that they know more about a ship
than a vineyard."
The midshipmen saw that all further disguise was useless.
"Well, sir," exclaimed O'Grady, "if you know that we are English
officers, you will understand that we were captured in a merchantman
returning home invalided, and that as we were not on our parole, we had
a full right to endeavour to make our escape."
"Granted, young sir," said the officer, blandly; "and not only had you a
right to endeavour to escape, but you shall be allowed to proceed if you
will answer me a few simple questions."
"What are they?" asked Paul and O'Grady, in a breath.
"Oh, a mere trifle," said the officer. "Who concealed you when you
first made your escape? who assisted you to obtain your disguise? who
invented your well-arranged story? and who forwarded you on your way?"
The midshipmen looked at each other.
"Shall I answer, Paddy?" asked Paul, eagerly.
"No, no, it's myself that will spake to the gentleman," exclaimed
O'Grady, in that rich brogue in which an Irishman indulges when he is
about to express a sentiment which comes up from the depth of his heart.
"If your honour is under the belief that British officers are made up
of such dirty ingredients that they would be capable of doing the vile,
treacherous, ungrateful act you have insulted us by proposing, you never
were more mistaken in your life. We are prisoners, and you have the
power of doing whatever you like with us; but at least treat us with
that respect which one gentleman has a right to demand from another."
The French officer started back with astonishment, not unmixed with
anger. "How have I insulted you? How dare you address me in that
style?" he asked.
"When one man asks another to do a dirty action, he insults him, and
that's what you've asked us to do, Mounseer," exclaimed O'Grady,
indignantly. "And just let me observe, that it is possible we may have
had wits enough in our own heads to concoct the story we told you
without being indebted to any man, woman, or child for it, especially
when we were stimulated with the desire of getting out of this
outlandish country, and being at you again; and as to the clothes, small
blame to the people who sold them when they got honest gold coins in
exchange."
"That story will not go down with me, young gentleman," observed the
officer with a sneer. "However, enough of this trifling; we shall see
in a few days whether you will alter your mind. Monsieur," he
continued, turning to an elderly gentleman standing at the side of the
hall, "we must have these persons locked up in one of your rooms. I beg
that you will send your steward to point out a chamber from whence they
cannot escape, and give us the trouble of again catching them."
"Monsieur," said the old gentleman, drawing himself up with an indignant
air, "all the rooms are occupied; my chateau is not a prison, and I have
no intention of allowing it to become one."
"Ho! ho!" cried the officer, pulling his moustache, and stamping with
rage, "is that the line you have taken up? I was ordered to respect
your chateau, and so I must; but take care, citoyen... However,
sergeant, take them to the old tower; there is a room at the top of that
where they will be safe enough. The wind and rain beat in a little, to
be sure, but for any inconvenience they may suffer, they will be
indebted to my friend here. Off with them!"
With scant ceremony the sergeant dragged them through the hall, Reuben
stumping along after them on his wooden leg. They soon reached the
tower, which was close to the little harbour. It was a very old
building of three low stories, surrounded by sand, and the stones
outside were so rough and so frequently displaced, that even by the
light of the now risen moon it seemed as if there could not be much
difficulty in climbing up to the top from the outside, or descend by the
same means.
The sergeant shoved them on before him up a winding stair, which creaked
and groaned at every step.
"En avant, en avant!" cried the sergeant when O'Grady attempted to enter
one of the lower chambers; and at length they found themselves in a room
at the very top. The sergeant, grumblingly observing that they would
not require food till the next morning, gave Reuben a push which nearly
sent him sprawling into the middle of the chamber, closed the door with
a slam, and locked and bolted it securely.
Reuben whipped off his wooden leg, and began flourishing it about and
making passes at the door whence the sergeant had disappeared,
exclaiming with a laugh, "Well, the beggars haven't found me out, and
they'll be surprised at what a man with a timber toe can do!"
He tied it on again, however, very soon, for a heavy step was heard on
the stairs, and they saw by the light of the moon that their own wallets
and a jug of water were placed on the floor just inside the door.
"We have a friend somewhere, probably the old gentleman at the chateau,
or we should not have got back those things," observed Paul; "so let's
cheer up: we might have been much worse off."
All agreed to the truth of this remark, and, as they were hungry, took
some supper, and then Paddy proposed that they should reconnoitre the
premises.
The windows were very narrow, with an iron bar down the centre, so that
it was impossible to get through them. There was not a particle of
furniture in the room, nor anything which would serve for their beds.
"It isn't cold yet, and we must make ourselves as comfortable as we can
in the least windy corner of the place," observed Paul.
"What do you think of trying to get away instead?" asked O'Grady.
"With all my heart!" answered Paul; "but what do you say to the moon?
Should we not be seen?"
"It might help us, and it might betray us," said O'Grady. "Let us ask
Cole."
Reuben said that he must have a look round from the windows, before he
pronounced an opinion. The midshipmen helped him up to each of them in
succession. He considered that in so bright a light they were nearly
certain to be seen; but as the moon rose later every day they would have
a fair chance of making good their escape. That they could not go at
once was very evident, so they dusted a corner, and coiled themselves up
to sleep. Daylight revealed the dirty condition of the room, and also
the rotten state of the roof. Reuben pointed it out and remarked,
"There, if we can't get through the windows, it will be hard if we do
not make our way out by the roof. If they keep us here many days, we'll
do it."
In the course of the morning a man appeared with a fresh jug of water,
and some bread and cheese, and dried figs. It was better than ordinary
prison fare, and as the man did not look very savage, Paul thought that
he would try and move him to procure them something on which to sleep.
He explained, in the most pathetic language he could command, the misery
they had suffered, and begged for bedding of some sort. The man nodded,
and returned in the evening with some bundles of straw.
"But there is nothing to cover us, and barely sufficient to keep us from
the floor," observed Paul.
The man smiled, and replied, "To-morrow, perhaps, I may find something
of more use to you."
The following day he came again, loaded with a bundle of old sails.
"Seamen have no reason to complain who can obtain such coverlids as
these," he remarked, as he threw them down, and again left the room.
Each time that he went, they heard the sound of the door being locked
and bolted. On undoing the sails they found that ropes were attached to
them, and on examining these they were found to be sound and strong.
"That man is our friend, and depend on it these ropes were not sent in
here by chance," observed O'Grady positively. "Very likely the old
gentleman at the chateau sent him."
They were confirmed in the opinion that the rope was intended for use,
by the appearance of the man, in the evening, to bring them a fresh
supply of provisions.
"I've heard it said that it's no easy matter to keep English seamen in a
cage when they have the will to get out," he remarked, as he turned
round towards the door.
"Are we likely to be kept here long?" Paul asked.
"Until directions have been received from head-quarters, and as they are
some way off, and yours is not a matter of importance, it may be a month
or more," was the answer.
"He means to say that we may select our time for escaping," said Paul
when the man had gone; "unless the rope was sent as a trap to tempt us
to try and escape."
"Oh, they would not take that trouble," observed O'Grady. "If they had
wished to treat us ill, they would have done so."
Three more days passed. The moon did not now rise till nearly midnight.
This would give them ample time to get away out of sight of land before
daylight. That evening their friend brought, with other provisions, a
small keg of water, and a bottle of brandy, which he placed under the
sails, and nodding, took his departure.
"No time to be lost," said O'Grady; "as soon as our guard has paid us
his last visit, we must commence operations."
Just before dark a gendarme as usual put his head in at the door, looked
round the room, and then stamped down-stairs again to a guard-room, in
which it seemed that three or four men were stationed.
"There is no time to be lost, if it is to be done, gentlemen," exclaimed
Reuben, stumping about the room as soon as the man was gone. "If we
can't get through a window, I have marked two or three spots where we
can through the roof, and we've rope enough to help us out either way.
We have first to make up some packs to carry our stores."
It was important to do all this while daylight remained, now fast fading
away. The packs were soon made, and the various lengths of rope
fastened together. Reuben then, with the aid of his younger companions,
climbed up to the roof, and, without difficulty, pulled down first the
wooden lining, and then the slates, which he handed to them to avoid
making a noise, and soon had a hole large enough for them to get
through. The slates and ropes and their packs were then hid under the
straw, in case any one should visit them before the hour of starting,
not that such an event was likely to occur. They then threw themselves
on their beds to be ready to pretend to be asleep at a moment's notice.
The hours passed slowly. The night was calm; that was fortunate, or any
little wind there was came from the south, which was better. They could
hear a clock strike, that probably on the tower of the little church
attached to the chateau. It was already nine o'clock, and they thought
that all chance of interruption was over, when they heard steps on the
stairs. The sergeant and a guard entered. He held a lantern in his
hand. They lay trembling lest the light should be thrown upwards, and
the hole in the roof be discovered.
"They seem to be asleep," observed the sergeant; "it is wonderful what
power of sleeping these Englishmen possess. However, I must awake them.
Rouse up, my boys, and understand that you are to march to-morrow for
Paris at an early hour; but the worthy citizen Montauban has directed me
to say that he will supply you with funds for your necessary
maintenance, and to enable you to make your defence should you be
accused, as he fears you may be, of being spies."
Paul started up on hearing this address, with as much terror as he could
assume, considering that he had hoped in a few hours to be out of the
reach of all French myrmidons of the law, and in a few words thanked the
citizen Montauban for his kind purpose, adding that a French midshipman
of the same name had long been his companion.
"Undoubtedly a nephew of citizen Montauban's, and his heir. The young
man was long supposed to be lost; but he was here a short time back, and
it is owing to the kind way he was treated by the English, that the old
gentleman takes so warm an interest in you. However, lie down; I will
tell him what you say, and he will communicate with you to-morrow,
unless something should occur to prevent him. Good night."
"I hope that something will occur," cried Paul, jumping up as soon as
the officer was gone. "Very kind of the old gentleman, and just like
Alphonse to interest his uncle in our favour."
"Yes, indeed," said O'Grady; "curious, though, that we should have
fallen in with so many of his relations."
Just then, however, they were too much engrossed with the work in hand
to talk on the subject. They considered it safer to wait another hour
or more before moving, lest they should encounter any straggler on their
way to the harbour, or be seen descending the tower.
"Time to start," cried O'Grady, who, as the senior officer, was to take
the command.
Their knapsacks were soon secured to their backs. Reuben used his
wooden leg to assist in securing the rope by driving it into the wall.
They all soon climbed up to the roof, and let down the rope, which
reached nearly to the bottom, as far as they could judge. Should it not
prove long enough, and stones be underneath, broken limbs would be the
consequence. Paul was certain that there was sand (as they had gone
nearly round the tower when looking for the door), and, as the youngest
and lightest, volunteered to go first. He without hesitation flung
himself off; but at the moment he began to descend, it occurred to him
that he might possibly have to pass before one of the windows of the
guard-room, and he half expected to find himself seized and dragged in
by a gendarme. It was too late, however, to go back. All must be
risked. So down he cautiously slid, doing his best to make no noise.
He kept his feet tightly pressed against the rope, that he might
ascertain when he had reached the end. Suddenly he felt that there was
no more rope. At all events all the windows had been avoided. He
lowered himself more cautiously than ever, till his hand grasped the
very end in which Reuben had made a knot. He hung down by it by one
hand, and looked down. He could see the ground; but it seemed still
some way below him. Should he risk a fall? He recollected the uneven
character of the wall, and hauling himself up a little, he was able to
stretch out his feet sufficiently to reach it. He put out one hand in
the same direction, and caught hold of an iron staple. He could now
clutch the wall, and feeling his way, he descended about eight feet to
the ground. It was fortunate that he had not jumped, for, instead of
sand, there was a slab of hard rock on which he would have fallen.
Scarcely had he time to get under the rope, than he saw another figure
descending.
"Try to get to the wall," he whispered, "and I will help you down."
It was Reuben. After several efforts he reached the staple, and
scrambled down. Paddy quickly followed at a much greater speed. There
was no time to warn him that the rope was too short, and had not Reuben
and Paul stretched out their arms and broken his fall, he would very
likely have broken his legs.
"I thought that I heard some one coming upstairs," he whispered. "Not
quite certain, but could not stop to learn. Away for the harbour!"
They stepped lightly till they were on the soft sands, and then they ran
on as fast as their legs could move. They examined the harbour; but not
a boat could they find of any size on the shore. They had all probably
been removed by the order of the police, to prevent either prisoners of
war or refugees from escaping. A small one, however, lay moored off a
little distance from the shore.
"I will bring her in," whispered Paul; and without another word he
stripped off his clothes, and, with knife in his mouth, slipped
noiselessly into the water, and struck boldly out towards the boat.
O'Grady and Reuben anxiously watched him, or rather the phosphorescent
wake he left in the water. Even that after a time disappeared. Could
the brave boy have sunk? The hearts of both his friends trembled.
Every instant they expected to be pounced upon by gendarmes; but though
they listened earnestly as may be supposed, no sounds came from the
tower. At length the boat began to move. Paul must have got on board
all right, and cut the cable. Yes, there he was standing up on a
thwart, and working her on with a single paddle.
"Jump in," he whispered, as soon as he reached the shore; "there are
lights in the old tower, and our flight will quickly be discovered. It
may be some time, however, before they find a boat to pursue us."
O'Grady and Reuben required no second bidding. The former, however,
very nearly forgot Paul's clothes. He sprang back for them, and
narrowly escaped a tumble into the water.
"You dress while we pull out to look for a fit craft," said Paddy,
seizing a paddle. But Paul kept hold of his own, in his eagerness
declaring that he did not feel the cold.
To select a craft was easy; but it was possible that there might be
people on board who might dispute their possession. However, that must
be risked. O'Grady pointed out a small sloop of some eight or ten tons.
She was not likely to have many people on board. They must be
surprised and silenced immediately. While the boat drifted alongside,
Paul put on his clothes. It would not have been pleasant to fight as he
was; and besides, he might not have had time to dress afterwards.
Taking care that their boat should not strike against the side of the
little vessel, the three adventurers leaped on board as noiselessly as
possible. The after hatch was closed. No one could be in the cabin.
But as they crept forward they discovered that the fore hatch was open.
Reuben signed that he would go down first. The midshipmen waited an
instant, when they heard a noise, and leaping down they found their
companion struggling with a powerful man, whom a boy, who had just
leaped out of his berth, was about to assist.
"You are our prisoners," cried Paul, throwing himself on the boy; while
O'Grady assisted Reuben, and so completely turned the tables, that the
Frenchman was quickly secured. The boy who had struggled bravely with
Paul, for the purpose, it seemed, of getting his head up the hatchway to
sing out, then gave in.
"You will be well treated, my friends, if you remain quiet; but if you
make the slightest noise, I cannot answer for your lives," said Paul.
To prevent any risk of the sort the hatch was clapped on after they had
examined the vessel.
"We will get ready to make sail, while you, Gerrard, cut the cable, and
then go to the helm," said O'Grady. "Cut!" he cried, in a few seconds.
A light breeze came off the land. Paul cut, and then hurried to the
helm. He started as he turned his glance towards the shore; for there,
in the direction of the old tower, a bright light was burning. It
quickly increased in magnitude--bright flames burst forth. "It must be
the old tower itself," he thought, for there was no time to say
anything. The flames increased, and it now became evident that it was
the tower itself; for the whole building was soon wrapped in flames, the
glare reaching far down the harbour, and lighting up the sails of their
vessel.
"We shall be seen and pursued, I'm afraid," cried Paul.
"Seen, or not, we must stand on; and at all events we shall have the
start of them," answered O'Grady. "It's not impossible that they may
think we have perished in the flames. I am sorry, though, for Reuben
Cole's timber toe. Ha! ha! ha! it would have enraged the monsieurs to
find that they had been so completely duped."
All this time the little vessel was gliding out from among a number of
others, and the curious eyes of many persons were glaring at her, who
wondered whither she was going. The probabilities that the midshipmen
and Reuben would be retaken seemed very great.