THE ESCAPE.
"In one respect," Geoffrey said, as they were talking over their chance
of escape, "I am sorry that the bey has behaved so kindly to us."
"What is that?" Stephen Boldero asked in surprise.
"Well, I was thinking that were it not for that we might manage to
contrive some plan of escape in concert with the galley-slaves, get
them down to the shore here, row off to the galley, overpower the three
or four men who live on board her, and make off with her. Of course we
should have had to accumulate beforehand a quantity of food and some
barrels of water, for I have noticed that when they go out they always
take their stores on board with them, and bring on shore on their
return what has not been consumed. Still, I suppose that could be
managed. However, it seems to me that our hands are tied in that
direction by the kindness of the bey. After his conduct to us it would
be ungrateful in the extreme for us to carry off his galley."
"So it would, Geoffrey. Besides I doubt whether the plan would succeed.
You may be sure the Spaniards are as jealous as can be of the good
fortune that we have met with, and were we to propose such a scheme to
them the chances are strongly in favour of one of them trying to better
his own position by denouncing us. I would only trust them as far as I
can see them. No, if we ever do anything it must be done by ourselves.
There is no doubt that if some night when there is a strong wind
blowing from the south-east we were to get on board one of these
fishing-boats, hoist a sail, and run before it, we should not be far
off from the coast of Spain before they started to look for us. But
what better should we be there? We can both talk Spanish well enough,
but we could not pass as Spaniards. Besides, they would find out soon
enough that we were not Catholics, and where should we be then? Either
sent to row in their galleys or clapped into the dungeons of the
Inquisition, and like enough burnt alive at the stake. That would be
out of the frying-pan into the fire with vengeance."
"I think we might pass as Spaniards," Geoffrey said; "for there is a
great deal of difference between the dialects of the different
provinces, and confined as you have been for the last ten years with
Spanish sailors you must have caught their way of talking. Still, I
agree with you it will be better to wait for a bit longer for any
chance that may occur rather than risk landing in Spain again, where
even if we passed as natives we should have as hard work to get our
living as we have here, and with no greater chance of making our way
home again."
During the time that they had been captives some three or four vessels
had been brought in by the corsair. The men composing the crews had
been either sold as slaves to Moors or Arabs in the interior or sent to
Algiers, which town lay over a hundred miles to the east. They were of
various nationalities, Spanish, French, and Italian, as the two friends
learned from the talk of the natives, for they always abstained from
going near the point where the prisoners were landed, as they were
powerless to assist the unfortunate captives in any way, and the sight
of their distress was very painful to them.
One day, however, they learned from the people who were running down to
the shore to see the captives landed from a ship that had been brought
in by the corsair during the night, that there were two or three women
among the captives. This was the first time that any females had been
captured since their arrival at the place, for women seldom travelled
far from their homes in those days except the wives of high officials
journeying in great ships that were safe from the attack of the Moorish
corsairs.
"Let us go down and see them," Boldero said. "I have not seen the face
of a white woman for nine years."
"I will go if you like," Geoffrey said. "They will not guess that we
are Europeans, for we are burnt as dark as the Moors."
They went down to the landing-place. Eight men and two women were
landed from the boat. These were the sole survivors of the crew.
"They are Spaniards," Boldero said. "I pity that poor girl. I suppose
the other woman is her servant."
The girl, who was about sixteen years of age, was very pale, and had
evidently been crying terribly. She did not seem to heed the cries and
threats with which the townspeople as usual assailed the newly-arrived
captives, but kept her eyes fixed upon one of the captives who walked
before her.
"That is her father, no doubt," Geoffrey said. "It is probably her last
look at him. Come away, Stephen; I am awfully sorry we came here. I
shall not be able to get that girl's face out of my mind for I don't
know how long."
Without a word they went back to their hut. They had no particular work
that day. Geoffrey went restlessly in and out, sometimes pacing along
the strand, sometimes coming in and throwing himself on the divan.
Stephen Boldero went on quietly mending a net that had been damaged the
night before, saying nothing, but glancing occasionally with an amused
look at his companion's restless movements, Late in the afternoon
Geoffrey burst out suddenly: "Stephen, we must try and rescue that girl
somehow from her fate."
"I supposed that was what it was coming to," Boldero said quietly.
"Well, let me hear all about it. I know you have been thinking it over
ever since morning. What are your ideas?"
"I do not know that I have any ideas beyond getting her and her father
down to a boat and making off."
"Well, you certainly have not done much if you haven't got farther than
that," Stephen said drily. "Now, if you had spent the day talking it
over with me instead of wandering about like one out of his mind, we
should have got a great deal further than that by this time. However, I
have been thinking for you. I know what you young fellows are. As soon
as I saw that girl's face and looked at you I was dead certain there
was an end of peace and quietness, and that you would be bent upon some
plan of getting her off. It did not need five minutes to show that I
was right; and I have been spending my time thinking, while you have
thrown yours away in fidgeting.
"Well, I think it is worth trying. Of course it will be a vastly more
difficult job getting the girl and her father away than just taking a
boat and sailing off as we have often talked of doing. Then, on the
other hand, it would altogether alter our position afterwards. By his
appearance and hers I have no doubt he is a well-to-do trader, perhaps
a wealthy one. He walked with his head upright when the crowd were
yelling and cursing, and is evidently a man of courage and
determination. Now, if we had reached the Spanish coast by ourselves we
should have been questioned right and left, and, as I have said all
along, they would soon have found that we were not Spaniards, for we
could not have said where we came from, or given our past history, or
said where our families lived. But it would be altogether different if
we landed with them. Every one would be interested about them. We
should only be two poor devils of sailors who had escaped with them,
and he would help to pass it off and get us employment; so that the
difficulty that has hitherto prevented us from trying to escape is very
greatly diminished. Now, as to getting them away. Of course she has
been taken up to the bey's, and no doubt he will send her as a present
to the bey of Algiers. I know that is what has been done several times
before when young women have been captured.
"I have been thinking it over, and I do not see a possibility of
getting to speak to her as long as she is at the bey's. I do not see
that it can be done anyhow. She will be indoors most of the time, and
if she should go into the garden there would be other women with her.
Our only plan, as far as I can see at present, would be to carry her
off from her escort on the journey. I do not suppose she will have more
than two, or at most three, mounted men with her, and we ought to be
able to dispose of them. As to her father, the matter is comparatively
easy. We know the ways of the prison, and I have no doubt we can get
him out somehow; only there is the trouble of the question of time. She
has got to be rescued and brought back and hidden somewhere till
nightfall, he has got to be set free the same evening, and we have to
embark early enough to be well out of sight before daylight; and maybe
there will not be a breath of wind stirring. It is a tough job,
Geoffrey, look at it which way you will."
"It is a tough job," Geoffrey agreed. "I am afraid the escort would be
stronger than you think. A present of this kind to the bey is regarded
as important, and I should say half a dozen horsemen at least will be
sent with her. In that case an attempt at rescue would be hopeless. We
have no arms, and if we had we could not kill six mounted men; and if
even one escaped, our plans would be all defeated. The question is,
would they send her by land? It seems to me quite as likely that they
might send her by water."
"Yes, that is likely enough, Geoffrey. In that case everything would
depend upon the vessel he sent her in. If it is the great galley there
is an end of it; if it is one of their little coasters it might be
managed. We are sure to learn that before long. The bey might keep her
for a fortnight or so, perhaps longer, for her to recover somewhat from
her trouble and get up her good looks again, so as to add to the value
of the present. If she were well and bright she would be pretty enough
for anything. In the meantime we can arrange our plans for getting her
father away. Of course if she goes with a big escort on horseback, or
if she goes in the galley, there is an end of our plans. I am ready to
help you, Geoffrey, if there is a chance of success; but I am not going
to throw away my life if there is not, and unless she goes down in a
coaster there is an end of the scheme."
"I quite agree to that," Geoffrey replied; "we cannot accomplish
impossibilities."
They learned upon the following day that three of the newly-arrived
captives were to take the places of the galley-slaves who had been
killed in the capture of the Spanish ship, which had defended itself
stoutly, and that the others were to be sold for work in the interior.
"It is pretty certain," Boldero said, "that the trader will not be one
of the three chosen for the galley. The work would break him down in a
month. That makes that part of the business easier, for we can get him
away on the journey inland, and hide him up here until his daughter is
sent off."
Geoffrey looked round the bare room.
"Well, I do not say as how we could hide him here," Boldero said in
answer to the look, "but we might hide him somewhere among the
sand-hills outside the place, and take him food at night."
"Yes, we might do that," Geoffrey agreed. "That could be managed easily
enough, I should think, for there are clumps of bushes scattered all
over the sand-hills half a mile back from the sea. The trouble will be
if we get him here, and find after all that we cannot rescue his
daughter."
"That will make no difference," Boldero said. "In that case we will
make off with him alone. Everything else will go on just the same. Of
course, I should be very sorry not to save the girl; but, as far as we
are concerned, if we save the father it will answer our purpose."
Geoffrey made no reply. Just at that moment his own future was a very
secondary matter, in comparison, to the rescue of this unhappy Spanish
girl.
Geoffrey and his companion had been in the habit of going up
occasionally to the prison. They had won over the guard by small
presents, and were permitted to go in and out with fruit and other
little luxuries for the galley-slaves. They now abstained from going
near the place, in order that no suspicion might fall upon them after
his escape of having had any communication with the Spanish trader.
Shortly after the arrival of the captives two merchants from the
interior came down, and Geoffrey learned that they had visited the
prison, and had made a bargain with the bey for all the captives except
those transferred to the galley. The two companions had talked the
matter over frequently, and had concluded it was best that only one of
them should be engaged in the adventure, for the absence of both might
be noticed. After some discussion it was agreed that Geoffrey should
undertake the task, and that Boldero should go alone to the house where
they were now at work, and should mention that his friend was unwell,
and was obliged to remain at home for the day.
As they knew the direction in which the captives would be taken
Geoffrey started before daybreak, and kept steadily along until he
reached a spot where it was probable they would halt for the night. It
was twenty miles away, and there was here a well of water and a grove
of trees. Late in the afternoon he saw the party approaching. It
consisted of the merchants, two armed Arabs, and the five captives, all
of whom were carrying burdens. They were crawling painfully along,
overpowered by the heat of the sun, by the length of the journey, and
by the weight they carried. Several times the Arabs struck them heavily
with their sticks to force them to keep up.
Geoffrey retired from the other side of the clump of trees, and lay
down in a depression of the sand-hills until darkness came on, when he
again entered the grove, and crawling cautiously forward made his way
close up to the party. A fire was blazing, and a meal had been already
cooked and eaten. The traders and the two Arabs were sitting by the
fire; the captives were lying extended on the ground. Presently, at the
command of one of the Arabs, they rose to their feet and proceeded to
collect some more pieces of wood for the fire. As they returned the
light fell on the gray hair of the man upon whom Geoffrey had noticed
that the girl's eyes were fixed.
He noted the place where he lay down, and had nothing to do now but to
wait until the party were asleep. He felt sure that no guard would be
set, for any attempt on the part of the captives to escape would be
nothing short of madness. There was nowhere for them to go, and they
would simply wander about until they died of hunger and exhaustion, or
until they were recaptured, in which case they would be almost beaten
to death. In an hour's time the traders and their men lay down by the
fire, and all was quiet. Geoffrey crawled round until he was close to
the Spaniard. He waited until he felt sure that the Arabs were asleep,
and then crawled up to him. The man started as he touched him.
"Silence, señor," Geoffrey whispered in Spanish; "I am a friend, and
have come to rescue you."
"I care not for life; a few days of this work will kill me, and the
sooner the better. I have nothing to live for. They killed my wife the
other day, and my daughter is a captive in their hands. I thank you,
whoever you are, but I will not go."
"We are going to try to save your daughter too," Geoffrey whispered;
"we have a plan for carrying you both off."
The words gave new life to the Spaniard.
"In that case, sir, I am ready. Whoever you are whom God has sent to my
aid I will follow you blindly, whatever comes of it."
Geoffrey crawled away a short distance, followed by the Spaniard. As
soon as they were well beyond the faint light now given out by the
expiring fire they rose to their feet, and gaining the track took their
way on the backward road. As soon as they were fairly away, Geoffrey
explained to the Spaniard who he was, and how he had undertaken to
endeavour to rescue him. The joy and gratitude of the Spaniard were too
deep for words, and he uttered his thanks in broken tones. When they
had walked about a mile Geoffrey halted.
"Sit down here," he said. "I have some meat and fruit here and a small
skin of water. We have a long journey before us, for we must get near
the town you left this morning before daybreak, and you must eat to
keep up your strength."
"I did not think," the Spaniard said, "when we arrived at the well,
that I could have walked another mile had my life depended upon it. Now
I feel a new man, after the fresh hope you have given me. I no longer
feel the pain of my bare feet or the blisters the sun has raised on my
naked back. I am struggling now for more than life--for my daughter.
You shall not find me fail, sir."
All night they toiled on. The Spaniard kept his promise, and utterly
exhausted as he was, and great as was the pain in his limbs, held on
bravely. With the first dawn of morning they saw the line of the sea
before them. They now turned off from the track, and in another half
hour the Spaniard took shelter in a clump of bushes in a hollow, while
Geoffrey, having left with him the remainder of the supply of
provisions and water, pursued his way and reached the hut just as the
sun was shining in the east, and without having encountered a single
person.
"Well, have you succeeded?" Boldero asked eagerly, as he entered.
"Yes; I have got him away. He is in hiding within a mile of this place.
He kept on like a hero. I was utterly tired myself, and how he managed
to walk the distance after what he had gone through in the day is more
than I can tell. His name is Mendez. He is a trader in Cadiz, and owns
many vessels. He was on his way to Italy, with his wife and daughter,
in one of his own ships, in order to gratify the desire of his wife to
visit the holy places at Rome. She was killed by a cannon-shot during
the fight, and his whole heart is now wrapped up in his daughter. And
now, Stephen, I must lie down and sleep. You will have to go to work
alone to-day again, and can truly say that I am still unfit for labour."
Four days later it became known in the little town that a messenger had
arrived from the merchant who bought the slaves from the bey, saying
that one of them had made his escape from their first halting-place.
"The dog will doubtless die in the desert," the merchant wrote; "but if
he should find his way down, or you should hear of him as arriving at
any of the villages, I pray you to send him up to me with a guard. I
will so treat him that it will be a lesson to my other slaves not to
follow his example."
Every evening after dark Geoffrey went out with a supply of food and
water to the fugitive. For a week he had no news to give him as to his
daughter; but on the eighth night he said that he and his companion had
that morning been sent by the bey on board the largest of the coasting
vessels in the port, with orders to paint the cabins and put them in a
fit state for the reception of a personage of importance.
"This is fortunate, indeed," Geoffrey went on. "No doubt she is
intended for the transport of your daughter. Her crew consists of a
captain and five men, but at present they are living ashore; and as we
shall be going backwards and forwards to her, we ought to have little
difficulty in getting on board and hiding away in the hold before she
starts. I think everything promises well for the success of our scheme."
The bey's superintendent came down the next day to see how matters were
going on on board the vessel. The painting was finished that evening,
and the next day two slaves brought down a quantity of hangings and
cushions, which Geoffrey and his companion assisted the superintendent
to hang up and place in order. Provisions and water had already been
taken on board, and they learnt that the party who were to sail in her
would come off early the next morning.
At midnight Geoffrey, Boldero, and the Spaniard came down to the little
port, embarked in a fisherman's boat moored at the stairs, and
noiselessly rowed off to the vessel. They mounted on to her deck
barefooted. Boldero was the last to leave the boat, giving her a
vigorous push with his foot in the direction of the shore, from which
the vessel was but some forty yards away. They descended into the hold,
where they remained perfectly quiet until the first light of dawn
enabled them to see what they were doing, and then moved some baskets
full of vegetables, and concealed themselves behind them.
A quarter of an hour later they heard a boat come alongside, and the
voices of the sailors. Then they heard the creaking of cordage as the
sails were let fall in readiness for a start. Half an hour later
another boat came alongside. There was a trampling of feet on the deck
above them, and the bey's voice giving orders. A few minutes later the
anchor was raised, there was more talking on deck, and then they heard
a boat push off, and knew by the rustle of water against the planks
beside them that the vessel was under way.
The wind was light and the sea perfectly calm, and beyond the slight
murmur of the water, those below would not have known that the ship was
in motion. It was very hot down in the hold, but fortunately the crew
had not taken the trouble to put on the hatches, and at times a faint
breath of air could be felt below. Geoffrey and his companion talked
occasionally in low tones; but the Spaniard was so absorbed by his
anxiety as to the approaching struggle, and the thought that he might
soon clasp his daughter to his arms, that he seldom spoke.
No plans could be formed as to the course they were to take, for they
could not tell whether those of the crew off duty would retire to sleep
in the little forecastle or would lie down on deck. Then, too, they
were ignorant as to the number of men who had come on board with the
captive. The overseer had mentioned the day before that he was going,
and it was probable that three or four others would accompany him.
Therefore they had to reckon upon ten opponents. Their only weapons
were three heavy iron bolts, some two feet long. These Boldero had
purchased in exchange for a few fish, when a prize brought in was
broken up as being useless for the purposes of the Moors.
"What I reckon is," he said, "that you and I ought to be able to settle
two apiece of these fellows before they fairly know what is happening.
The Don ought very well to account for another. So that only leaves
five of them; and five against three are no odds worth speaking of,
especially when the five are woke up by a sudden attack, and ain't sure
how many there are against them. I don't expect much trouble over the
affair."
"I don't want to kill more of the poor fellows than I can help,"
Geoffrey said.
"No more do I; but you see it's got to be either killing or being
killed, and I am perfectly certain which I prefer. Still, as you say,
if the beggars are at all reasonable I ain't for hurting them, but the
first few we have got to hit hard. When we get matters a little even,
we can speak them fair."
The day passed slowly, and in spite of their bent and cramped position
Geoffrey and Stephen Boldero dozed frequently. The Spaniard never
closed an eye. He was quite prepared to take his part in the struggle;
and as he was not yet fifty years of age, his assistance was not to be
despised. But the light-hearted carelessness of his companions, who
joked under their breath, and laughed and eat unconcernedly with a
life-and-death struggle against heavy odds before them, surprised him
much.
As darkness came on the party below became wakeful. Their time was
coming now, and they had no doubt whatever as to the result. Their most
formidable opponents would be the men who had come on board with the
bey's superintendent, as these, no doubt, would be fully armed. As for
the sailors, they might have arms on board, but these would not be
ready to hand, and it was really only with the guards they would have
to deal.
"I tell you what I think would be a good plan, Stephen," Geoffrey said
suddenly. "You see, there is plenty of spare line down here; if we wait
until they are all asleep we can go round and tie their legs together,
or put ropes round their ankles and fasten them to ring-bolts. If we
could manage that without waking them, we might capture the craft
without shedding any blood, and might get them down into the hold one
after the other."
"I think that is a very good plan," Stephen agreed. "I do not like the
thought of knocking sleeping men on the head any more than you do; and
if we are careful, we might get them all tied up before an alarm is
given. There, the anchor has gone down. I thought very likely they
would not sail at night. That is capital. You may be sure that they
will be pretty close inshore, and they probably will have only one man
on watch; and as likely as not not even one, for they will not dream of
any possible danger."
For another two hours the sound of talk on deck went on, but at last
all became perfectly quiet. The party below waited for another half
hour, and then noiselessly ascended the ladder to the deck, holding in
one hand a cudgel, in the other a number of lengths of line cut about
six feet long. Each as he reached the deck lay down flat. The Spaniard
had been told to remain perfectly quiet while the other two went about
their task.
First they crawled aft, for the bey's guards would, they knew, be
sleeping at that end, and working together they tied the legs of these
men without rousing them. The ropes could not be tightly pulled, as
this would at once have disturbed them. They were therefore fastened
somewhat in the fashion of manacles, so that although the men might
rise to their feet they would fall headlong the moment they tried to
walk. In addition other ropes were fastened to these and taken from one
man to another. Then their swords were drawn from the sheaths and their
knives from their sashes.
The operation was a long one, as it had to be conducted with the
greatest care and caution. They then crept back to the hatchway and
told the Spaniard that the most formidable enemies had been made safe.
"Here are a sword and a knife for you, señor; and now as we are all
armed I consider the ship as good as won, for the sailors are not
likely to make much resistance by themselves. However, we will secure
some of them. The moon will be up in half an hour, and that will be an
advantage to us."
The captain and three of the sailors were soon tied up like the others.
Two men were standing in the bow of the vessel leaning against the
bulwarks, and when the moon rose it could be seen by their attitude
that both were asleep.
"Now, we may as well begin," Geoffrey said. "Let us take those two
fellows in the bow by surprise. Hold a knife to their throats, and tell
them if they utter the least sound we will kill them. Then we will make
them go down into the forecastle and fasten them there."
"I am ready," Stephen said, and they stole forward to the two sleeping
men. They grasped them suddenly by the throat and held a knife before
their eyes, Boldero telling them in a stern whisper that if they
uttered a cry they would be stabbed to the heart. Paralysed by the
sudden attack they did not make the slightest struggle, but accompanied
their unknown assailants to the forecastle and were there fastened in.
Joined now by the Spaniard, Geoffrey and his companion went aft and
roused one of the sleepers there with a threat similar to that which
had silenced the sailors.
He was, however, a man of different stuff. He gave a loud shout and
grappled with Boldero, who struck him a heavy blow with his fist in the
face, and this for a moment silenced him; but the alarm being given,
the superintendent and the two men struggled to their feet, only
however to fall prostrate as soon as they tried to walk.
"Lie quiet and keep silence!" Boldero shouted in a threatening voice.
"You are unarmed and at our mercy. Your feet are bound and you are
perfectly helpless. We do not wish to take your lives, but unless you
are quiet we shall be compelled to do so."
The men had discovered by this time that their arms had gone, and were
utterly disconcerted by the heavy and unexpected fall they had just
had. Feeling that they were indeed at the mercy of their captors, they
lay quiet.
"Now then," Boldero went on, "one at a time. Keep quiet, you rascals
there!" he broke off, shouting to the sailors who were rolling and
tumbling on the deck forward, "or I will cut all your throats for you.
Now then, Geoffrey, do you and the señor cut the rope that fastens that
man on the port side to his comrades. March him to the hatchway and
make him go down into the hold. Keep your knives ready and kill him at
once if he offers the slightest resistance."
One by one the superintendent, the three guards, the captain and
sailors were all made to descend into the hold, and the hatches were
put over it and fastened down.
"Now, señor," Geoffrey said, "we can spare you."
The Spaniard hurried to the cabin, opened the door, and called out his
daughter's name. There was a scream of delight within as Dolores
Mendez, who had been awakened by the tumult, recognized her father's
voice, and leaping up from her couch threw herself into his arms.
Geoffrey and his companion now opened the door of the forecastle and
called the two sailors out.
"Now," Boldero said, "if you want to save your lives you have got to
obey our orders. First of all fall to work and get up the anchor, and
then shake out the sails again. I will take the helm, Geoffrey, and do
you keep your eye on these two fellows. There is no fear of their
playing any tricks now that they see they are alone on deck, but they
might, if your back were turned, unfasten the hatches. However, I do
not think we need fear trouble that way, as for ought they know we may
have cut the throats of all the others."
A few minutes later the vessel was moving slowly through the water with
her head to the north-west.
"We must be out of sight of land if we can by the morning," Stephen
said, when Geoffrey two hours later came to take his place at the helm;
"at any rate until we have passed the place we started from. Once
beyond that it does not matter much; but it will be best either to keep
out of sight of land altogether, or else to sail pretty close to it, so
that they can see the boat is one of their own craft. We can choose
which we will do when we see which way the breeze sets in in the
morning."
It came strongly from the south, and they therefore determined to sail
direct for Carthagena.