Chapter XI A Break for Freedom
“By Jove!” thought Jack with a chuckle as he scrambled out of the chimney, “won’t there be a rumpus when the cook misses his poker! Luckily, he’ll never think it has gone aloft!”
It was a very sooty object that descended, after pausing to make sure that all was safe, into the prisoners’ room. Jack was immediately surrounded by a group of the Fury’s men, so eager to hear what had happened that they raised their voices and provoked an angry reprimand from the sentry at the door.
“Silence, you donkeys!” whispered Jack.
“Avast your jabber!” said Babbage, scowling upon Turley. “Me and Mr. Hardy have got to lay the course for this little venture.”
After this the men behaved more discreetly, and left Jack alone with Babbage.
“Now, Babbage,” said Jack, when he had finished his story, “we’re going to escape, and I’ll tell you how.”
“Not up the chimbley, sir? I’d squeeze myself as small as I could, but I’m afeard I should stick fast and spoil the whole boiling.”
“No, no; you’re too fat for the chimney. You’ll be left in charge till you hear a hubbub below; then you’re to break open the door and make a dash for it at the head of the men.”
“Why, I’ll obey orders, sir; Ben Babbage always obeys orders; but, begging your pardon, it beats me how I’m to break the door open with a poker and a chopper—”
“Babbage, if you make any more difficulties you’ll never see your brother Sol, for here you’ll stay. You shall have other tools by and by. You understand, nothing is to be done until you hear the signal; it will be loud enough, I promise you. I shall wait until the captain’s guests have gone. That will probably be late; so there’ll be plenty of time for us to make a rope. No, don’t speak. I haven’t done yet. We’ll tear up the coverlets—they’re precious thin, but we haven’t any better—and twist up a rope long enough to reach from the top of the chimney to the bottom: about fifty feet, I should think. Then I’ll take it with me and four or five of the men, Turley for one—
“Begging your pardon, sir—
“What?”
“Begging your pardon, sir,—not Turley, but me.”
“Oh, very well! You’re too fat for the chimney at present, as you owned yourself, but we could get something off you with the chopper.”
Babbage grinned sheepishly, and made no further suggestions.
Several hours later, Jack, at the window, heard loud voices and laughter in the courtyard below. The captain’s guests were evidently departing. Allowing an hour to pass, sufficient, he thought, for the captain and the servants to have settled into their beauty sleep, he signed to his four selected men, and led the way up the chimney, Turley carrying the rope. They clambered across the roof and came to the kitchen chimney.
“Now, Turley,” said Jack, “pay out the rope as I go down. By George! ’tis a good deal hotter than when I was here before.”
He got down into the chimney, leaving the four men on the roof. It was indeed very hot; the kitchen fire, made up for cooking the supper, had evidently not yet died down. Fortunately there was little smoke; even without it the air was so stifling that Jack was surprised that he reached the bottom safely. He jumped when his feet touched the grate; they were protected only by his stockings.
There was no light in the room, but the glow of the dying fire was strong enough to show him that it was empty. He tiptoed to the three doors. The back door was locked and bolted; the door of the cook’s room was closed but not locked, and he heard snores from within; the third door, leading to the rest of the house, he supposed, was ajar, and a dim light came through the opening.
A little more light was necessary. Not without a tremor, Jack ventured to put on the embers one or two small chips of wood that were drying at the side of the grate. They kindled, and lit the room with a dancing flame, which Jack fervently hoped would not attract the attention of the sentry outside. He had already seen that the shutters of the window were closed; he trusted there was no chink to betray him.
The first thing was to get arms of some kind for his men. A poker and a chopper he had already purloined, much to the mystification of the cook, no doubt. Ah! there was a rolling-pin hanging by a loop from a nail in the wall. Down it came; in a trice he tied it to the thin rope. Giving this a gentle tug, he saw the rolling-pin disappear up the chimney.
Then he looked round quickly for more weapons. Yes; there was a cleaver, a gridiron, a frying-pan.
“I must have them,” he said to himself. By the time he had taken them down from their nails, the rope was hanging once more within reach. One by one they followed the rolling-pin. Another hunt on tiptoe round the room yielded a brass candlestick, a braizing-pan, several dish-covers which he rejected as being too clumsy to wield, a big soup-ladle, and a couple of long carving-knives. There were saucepans in plenty, but too big for his purpose. He had to be content with the ten articles he had obtained—rude weapons, indeed, but likely to be formidable in the hands of determined and desperate men. As the utensils of metal passed up the chimney they clicked more than once on the wall, and Jack’s heart beat faster as he wondered if the sounds would be heard. But no doubt there were mice and rats behind these old walls; blessed rats and mice!
After waiting a little to make sure that the cook and his assistants had not been disturbed, he prepared to go farther afield. Creeping to the door that stood ajar, he pushed it a little. It moved with a creak which must surely, Jack thought, be heard all over the house. He waited breathlessly; there was no sound. But he could not risk a continuous creaking. Taking his courage in both hands he pushed the door quickly, stopping it with a jerk. It made never a sound. Jack saw by the light of a small lamp that it opened into a narrow passage, with a door at the end. He crept along the wall. The farther door was not closed. He peeped in.
“The salle à manger!” he thought. There was the table at which the captain had entertained his guests.
To the left there was another passage at right angles to the first. A narrow staircase led, he supposed, to the servants’ rooms. A few steps along the passage brought him to the entrance hall, from which sprang the main staircase. He looked up. He was at the bottom of a deep well, extending, it appeared, to the top of the mansion. He shrank back into the shade of the huge post at the foot of the stairs; for if the sentries outside the prisoners’ room chanced to hear a movement below and looked over, they would certainly see him.
Then he cast back, and came to the back staircase. The steps were of stone; he might ascend without the danger of creaking; and he must see whither these stairs led. He went up the steps in pitch darkness, and found himself on a landing. Groping along the wall, he knew that he was in a stone-flagged corridor. Ah! at the end there was a streak of light. Tiptoeing along, he came to a door partly open. Dared he peep round it? He paused for a few seconds.
“Hang it!” he said to himself, “I wish my heart wouldn’t thump so!” He listened: how these Frenchmen snored! Were they all asleep? He took a step forward; then felt a sudden unreasoning fear, and stole back for several yards. In a few seconds he had collected himself and returned to the door.
Now he ventured to put his head into the room. A dozen men—he would have said a score at the first moment—were asleep on rough settles against the wall. They had their clothes on, as if in bivouac, ready for action at a moment’s notice. A smoky lamp hung from a bracket on the wall. In the corner of the fireplace, where there was a faint glow, were stacked the men’s muskets. The key of the room was on the inside.
Having taken all this in at a glance, Jack carefully withdrew, returned along the passage and down the stairs, and arrived once more at the kitchen. Two sharp tugs at the rope brought Turley to his side; at short intervals the other three appeared.
“All safe!” whispered Jack. “You’ve taken the things to Babbage, Turley?”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“That’s well. Now, Turley, that’s the cook’s room. You’ll stay and watch the door. If any one tries to break out, you’ll know what to do. You other men come with me.”
He led them quietly along the passage and up the staircase. At the landing he halted.
“The guards are in that room at the end of the corridor,” he whispered. “I’m going in to try and get their muskets. If I’m discovered, you three make a rush and get hold of the muskets. Never mind about me. You understand.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
He crept stealthily into the room. The men’s cartridge-belts lay in a heap on the table. Taking care to make no noise, Jack lifted two or three, one at a time, and handed them to his men. Then he approached the pile of arms. With the gentlest of movements he released two of the muskets, one with each hand, on opposite sides of the pile. Would the balance be disturbed? No, all was safe. He passed the weapons out of the room, and turned to remove a third and a fourth. But who had make that click? It was one of the men outside. Jack looked anxiously at the sleeping forms. Had any of them been awakened?
One of the Frenchmen turned, sat up, rubbed his eyes—and saw the English prisoner!
“Au voleur! au prisonnier! aux armes! Eveillez-vous, mes camarades!”
He was so sleepy that he scarcely knew what he was saying; but his shout roused his companions. As they turned, too heavy with sleep to have all their wits about them, Jack’s three men sprang in, and in a twinkling seized the remaining muskets and rushed back into the passage. The first Frenchman was now on his feet. Jack with a straight right-hander sent him spinning over; then he dashed to the door, slipped the key out of one side of the lock and into the other, and just as two of the other men were lurching toward him, skipped outside, slammed the door, and turned the key.
“Now, men, after me!” he cried.
He raced along the corridor, conscious of a tremendous uproar in the guard-room—cries, oaths, violent thumps and kicks on the door. Up the stairs! There were the sentries at the top, startled out of their wits. What was happening? Hubbub below, hubbub in the prisoners’ room! The prisoners were actually battering at the door! And with heavy implements: where had they got them? Crash! There was a panel half driven out. The amazed soldiers raised their muskets; they could at least fire into the room. But at this moment they caught sight of Jack and the sailors springing up the back staircase. Another crash on the door! O ciel! They waited for no more, but with a yell turned their backs and leaped down the main staircase, taking three stairs at a time.
“Ahoy there, Babbage; stand clear!” shouted Jack.
“Ay, ay, sir!” cried the bo’sun from within.
Putting to the lock the musket he carried, Jack fired. The lock was burst; with a touch the door gave way; and a second later the prisoners began to pour out.
“Steady, men!” cried Jack. “No crowding, or we’ll get jammed and be clapped under hatches again. Armed men in front.”
They followed Jack down the same staircase by which he had come. As they passed the locked door of the guard-room they heard the imprisoned men making a furious assault upon it. But it was a piece of good oak; they had no firearms to blow away the lock; and Jack knew that they might hammer it for an hour without making much impression.
Down they go! Here they are at the kitchen. And there is Turley, a saucepan in one hand, a huge dish-cover in the other, holding at bay the fat cook and his two assistants, who are vainly attempting, with ferocious cries, to get within his guard. When they see Jack enter the room, and behind him a swarm of seamen, they wheel round and scurry like hares into the farther apartment, the fat cook going last, squealing.
“No danger there!” said Jack. “There’s no time to lose, men. Now for the back door.”
He ran to it, drew back the bolts, and throwing it wide dashed out into the open. There was a blinding flash close by; the shot missed; and with Turley and others hard on his heels Jack dashed straight in the direction from which the shot had come. But the sentry who had fired was already scampering away. A companion had joined him; together they made for the wicket of the front gate; dashed through, and tried to close it. But Turley was just in time to slip his saucepan in and hold the gate open. The sentries waited no longer. They raced as fast as their legs would carry them toward the town.
To overtake them was impossible. In a few minutes the two companies of infantry would be on the track of the escaped prisoners. Was there time to reach the harbor before they came up? Had the shots already roused the officers of the vessels at anchor and caused them to despatch men ashore? Jack could not wait even to wonder. On he went, calling to his men to close up, straight along the road leading to the town. But to pass through the streets to the harbor would be fatal. Within half a mile of the town he halted.
“You, Mudge, and you, Folkard, cut off a quarter of a mile to port and fire your muskets. Then run as hard as you can in our wake. Quick, men!”
He hoped that the firing in that direction would mislead the enemy and give the fugitives the few minutes’ grace they needed for the next move of his plan. When the two men had gone off to the left, he led the party rapidly to the right, hoping to strike the harbor at its eastern extremity.
As the fugitives, keeping perfect silence, stumbled in the darkness over fields and across ditches toward the harbor, they heard loud shouts to their left, followed by the roll of a drum. Clearly the alarm had been raised, the soldiers were turning out. All now depended on whether the direction of the escape was discovered within the next few minutes. If not, Jack thought that he might reach the harbor with his band in time to seize some boats before they were intercepted. He listened eagerly for shots behind; they seemed long in coming, and the outskirts of the village loomed up in the darkness ahead before the expected reports at last struck his ear. Fervently he hoped that the sound would draw the soldiers off in that direction.
He wished he could go faster, but many of the men were weak from the effects of imprisonment and meager fare, and he had to accommodate his pace to the slowest.
Making a fairly wide circuit, Jack steered for the extremity of the harbor, where only a few fishermen’s cottages intervened between him and the waterside. Some fishers who had turned out of their dwellings on hearing the alarm scurried down the rutty road with loud shouts. The noise was bound to bring the soldiers to the spot within a few minutes. Jack’s heart was pumping at a great rate, but he did not lose his coolness or his nerve. He must do something to check the soldiers, that was plain. Sending twenty men to search the shore for boats, he posted the nine armed with muskets under cover of the cottages with orders to delay the soldiers at all costs. The rest of his men, some armed with the spoil of the kitchen, others with bricks and stones snatched up on the way, he placed behind the nine to support them.
A minute or two—horribly long they seemed to Jack—of anxious waiting; then the two men who had fired the shots in the rear came panting up, and from the direction of the harbor a messenger brought the good news that six large boats had been found. Almost at the same moment the clump-clump of heavy boots and sabots on the road was distinctly heard, ever growing louder. If the runners proved to be soldiers it would be impossible to escape without a fight. Jack would rather have been allowed to embark in peace, but if there must be a fight—
“Well,” he whispered to Babbage, “we’ll show them what English Jack Tars are made of.”
He at once sent the unarmed men down to the water under guidance of the messenger, bidding them get into the boats; then with the rest he prepared to fight a rear-guard action.
The Frenchmen came on helter-skelter. Not one of them imagined that they had any enemy more formidable than unarmed weaklings to deal with. Jack waited until they were within twenty yards; even in the dim starlight they could be seen distinctly enough. Then in a voice that rang clearly he gave the word “Fire!” The eleven rifles flashed; there were cries from the advancing Frenchmen; some of them, at any rate, must have been hit at this point-blank range. The head of the column was in confusion; men turned this way and that; they were apparently without leadership.
While they halted and wavered another word of command was heard above their cries and the sound of shuffling feet: “Charge!” The sailors responded with a cheer; some thirty strong, they dashed forward as one man; and in a few seconds the enemy were in full flight, struck by one of those sudden panics to which even the best troops are liable in night operations.
Jack also had his moment of alarm. Knowing the thoughtless impetuosity of the British sailor, he feared lest, with the enemy on the run, his men should forget everything else in the excitement of pursuit. But he had them soon in hand again.
“Now to the boats!” he said, “and as quickly as you can.”
He had no difficulty in finding them. One of the sloops had already opened fire upon them; and the sound of oars in that direction showed that a boat, perhaps more than one, had been lowered, no doubt to pull in to the assistance of the soldiers. It was too dark for the fire of the sloop to be effective; Jack heard one or two shots strike the harbor wall.
Here were the boats, a few yards from the beach.
“Tumble in, men,” said Jack.
In a few seconds all were aboard. Already Jack in the foremost boat was steering for a black shape almost exactly ahead, which he believed to be the Fury. Scarcely was his craft well under way before he heard oars in that direction; the cutter also, it appeared, was sending a boat.
“So much the better!” thought Jack. “There’ll be fewer men on deck to repel boarders.”
In less than a minute he saw the cutter’s boat ahead; it was turning, as if to regain the vessel—he wondered why.
“Give way, men!” he cried, and from the boat behind came Babbage’s voice urging his crew: “Pull, shipmates; pull, my hearties; Mr. Hardy ain’t a-goin’ to do it all by his lone self!” And Jack heard Turley, somewhere in his own boat, mutter: “Bust yourself, old Artichokes, but we’ll be there first!”
It was a race between them. The other boats were some distance astern, for two, being without oars, were being towed by the remaining two. In the two foremost boats the men were straining every nerve. They knew that their lives depended on success, and scarcely needed the encouraging words of Jack and the old bo’sun. They gained on the Frenchman; the three boats dashed almost together under the cutter’s counter; then there was a tussle. Rising in the boats the crews shouted and cheered and belabored their opponents, Jack’s men plying rolling-pins, gridirons, soup-ladles, frying-pans, shovels, candlesticks, with a hearty vigor that made them more formidable weapons than the Frenchmen’s cutlasses. In half a minute the Frenchmen, outnumbered and outfought, were hurled neck and crop out of their boats, and the English sailors were swarming up the side of the cutter. In the short fight the cutter’s crew had been unable to help their comrades; it was such a rough and tumble that they would as likely have hit a friend as a foe. But they gathered for a desperate resistance when the Englishmen poured on to the deck. Jack and his party boarded aft; Babbage’s men forward; but neither made easy progress, for the Frenchmen fought like tigers, rallying twice after momentary set-backs, and taking advantage of their superior numbers to press forward in the attempts to drive the boarders into the sea. The mêlée was at its fiercest when the arrival of the other boats turned the scale. Cheering British tars beset the gallant Frenchmen on all sides; man after man of the defenders fell, and in two minutes from the time when the last boat’s crew boarded, the cutter was once more in English hands.
“Secure the Frenchmen!” shouted Jack, when the enemy surrendered and cried for quarter. He himself rushed aft and cut the cable; and while Turley and some others were collecting the Frenchmen’s weapons and escorting their prisoners below, a score of willing hands had run up the mainsail, jib and foresail. Grazing the side of the fishing smack to leeward as she gathered way, the Fury moved out to sea. As she emerged from the shelter of the brig a round shot from one of the sloops struck her full amidships, and the other sloop was seen making sail in pursuit.
“Any damage done?” sang out Jack.
“Not a farden’s worth, sir,” replied Turley. “Well above water-line.”
“Here’s another! Look out!” shouted Babbage.
But the second shot whizzed harmlessly by; then the sloops and other vessels faded from sight; and the buoyant little cutter began to courtesy to the waves of the Channel, showing white-crested in the gloom.