Those vessels of the English squadron which happened to be in rear were some leagues astern when the fight began, and it was so dark when they entered that extreme difficulty was experienced in getting in. One of these—the Culloden (Captain Trowbridge)—sounded carefully as she went, but got aground, where she remained helpless during the action, despite the efforts of the Leander and La Mutine brig to get her off. She served, however, as a beacon to the Alexander and Swiftsure.

The latter ship, on entering the bay, fell in with the drifting and disabled Bellerophon, which was at first supposed to be one of the enemy, because she did not show the signal ordered by Nelson to be hoisted by his ships at the mizzen peak. This arose, of course, from the masts having been shot away. Captain Hallowell wisely refrained from firing on her, saying that, if she was an enemy, she was too much disabled to escape. He passed on, therefore, and, as we have said, took the station and the duty from which the other had been driven.

The huge L'Orient was now surrounded. Captain Ball, in the Alexander, anchored on her larboard quarter, and, besides raking her with his guns, kept up a steady fire of musketry on her decks. Captain Thomson also, in the Leander, took up such a position that he could fire into her and the Franklin at the same time.

Standing in the midst of death and destruction, the hero of the Nile did not escape scathless. He remained unhurt, however, until he knew that victory was certain. The first and second ships of the enemy's line were disabled, as we have said, at the commencement of the action, and the third, fourth, and fifth were taken between eight and nine; so that Nelson could not have much, if any, doubt as to the issue of the battle.

Suddenly he received a wound on the head from a piece of langridge shot, and fell into the arms of Captain Berry. A large flap of skin was cut from the bone and fell over his sound eye,—the other having been lost in a previous engagement. The flow of blood was very great, and, being thus totally blinded, he thought that he had received a mortal wound. He was immediately carried down to the cockpit.

The cockpit of a man-of-war lies in that part of the ship which is below water, and is never visited by the light of day. Being safe also from the visitation of shot or shell, it has been selected as the place to which the wounded are conveyed during an action to have their wounds dressed and limbs amputated by the surgeons—whose hands at such seasons are, as may easily be supposed, much too full. No pen can describe adequately the horrors of that dimly-lighted place, with its flickering lights, glittering knives, bloody tables and decks, and mangled men, whose groans of agony burst forth in spite of their utmost efforts to repress them. Here, in the midst of dead, dying, and suffering men, the great Admiral sat down to wait his turn.

The surgeon was engaged in dressing the wounds of a sailor when he was brought down. On learning who it was that required his services, he quitted the man who was under his hands. "No," said Nelson, refusing his proffered assistance, "no; I will take my turn with my brave fellows." Accordingly, there he remained, persistently refusing aid, until every man who had been previously wounded had been attended to! When his turn came, it was found that his wound was merely superficial and heartfelt was the joy expressed by the wounded men and the crew of the Vanguard when this was made known.

But before this had been ascertained, and while he believed himself to be dying, Nelson called the chaplain, and gave him his last remembrance to Lady Nelson, appointed a successor to Captain Berry, who was to go to England with the news of the victory, and made other arrangements in anticipation of his death. But his hour had not yet come. When the surgeon pronounced his hurt to be superficial, he refused to take the rest which was recommended, and at once sent for his secretary to write despatches.

While he was thus engaged, a cry was heard which rose above the din of battle, proclaiming that the L'Orient was on fire. In the confusion that followed, Nelson found his way upon deck unassisted, and, to the astonishment of every one, appeared on the quarter-deck, and gave orders to lower the boats, and send relief to the enemy.

But before describing the scene that followed, we shall turn aside for a little to watch more closely the proceedings of Captain Westcott in the Majestic, and the personal deeds of Bill Bowls and his messmates.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

BATTLE OF THE NILE—CONTINUED.

The Majestic was one of the four ships which sailed into action in the wake of the Admiral. Our hero, Bill Bowls, and his friend Ben Bolter, were stationed at one of the guns on the larboard side of the main deck. Flinders stood near them. Everything was prepared for action. The guns were loaded, the men, stripped to the waist, stood ready, and the matches were lighted, but as yet no order had been given to fire. The men on the larboard side of the ship stood gazing anxiously through the portholes at the furious strife in which they were about to engage.

"Ah, then! but it's hot work is goin' on," said Flinders, turning to Ben Bolter just after a crash of artillery somewhat louder than usual.

"It's hotter work ye'll see soon, when the Admiral gits into action," said Ben.

"True for ye," answered Flinders; "he's a broth of a boy for fightin'. It's an Irishman he should have been born. Hooroo, my hearties! look out!"

This latter exclamation was drawn forth by the crashing of a stray shot, which entered the ship close to the spot where they stood, and passed out on the starboard side, sending splinters of wood flying in all directions, without hurting any one.

"There goes the first!" said Bill Bowls, looking up at the ragged hole that was left.

"Faix, but it's not the last!" cried Flinders, as another stray shot hit the ship, wounding one of the men, and sending a splinter so close past the Irishman that it grazed his cheek. "Hooroo, boys! come on, the more the merrier! Sure it's death or victory we'll be havin' in half-an-hour."

At this moment of intense excitement and expectation, when every man's nerves tingled to be called into vigorous action, Ben Bolter saw fit to give Flinders a lecture.

"Ye shouldn't ought to speak misrespectful of death, boy," said he gravely. "He's a rough customer when he gits hold of 'e, an' is sartin sure to have the upper hand. It's my opinion that he'll pay this ship a pretty stiff visit to-night, so you'd better treat him with respect, an' belay yer jokin'—of which yer countrymen are over fond."

To this Flinders listened with a humorous expression about the corners of his eyes, while he stroked his chin, and awaited a pause in order to make a suitable reply, but an exclamation from Bill Bowls changed the subject abruptly.

"Ho! boys," he cried, "there goes the Admiral."

A tremendous crash followed his words, and the Vanguard was seen to pour a broadside into the Spartiate—as before related.

The men of the Majestic gazed eagerly at the Admiral's ship, which was almost enveloped in thick smoke as they passed ahead, but an order from Captain Westcott to be ready for action called the attention of every man on his duty. Whatever might have been, at that moment, the thoughts of the hundreds of men on board the Majestic, the whole soul and body of every man appeared to be concentrated on his own gun, as he awaited in stern silence the order to act.

It came at last, but somewhat differently from what had been expected. A sudden and peculiar motion was felt in the ship, and it was found that she had got entangled with the main rigging of one of the French vessels astern of the L'Orient. Instantly men were sent aloft to cut clear, but before this could be accomplished a perfect storm of shot and shell was sent into them from the towering sides of the three-decker. Men fell on all sides before they had an opportunity of firing a shot; again and again the crushing shower of metal came; spars and masts fell; the rigging was cut up terribly, and in a short time the Majestic would certainly have been sunk had she not fortunately managed to swing clear. A moment afterwards Captain Westcott, finding himself close alongside the Heureux—the ninth ship of the enemy's line—gave the word to open fire, and Bill Bowls had at last the satisfaction of being allowed to apply a light to the touch-hole of his gun. Seventy-four men had for some time past felt their fingers itching with an almost irresistible desire to do this, and now upwards of thirty of them were allowed to gratify their wish. Instantly the good ship received a shock that caused her to quiver from the trucks to the keel, as her broadside went crashing into the Heureux.

No longer was there impatient inaction on board the Majestic, for not only did the Heureux reply vigorously, but the Tonnant—the eighth of the enemy's line—opened fire on their other side. The Majestic therefore fought on both sides. Throughout the whole ship the stalwart, half-naked men heaved at the huge guns. Everywhere, from stem to stern, was exhibited in full swing the active processes of sponging out, passing along powder and ball, ramming home the charges, running out, working the handspikes, stepping aside to avoid the recoil—and the whole operation of working the guns, as only British seamen know how to work them! All this was done in the midst of smoke, flame, crashing shot, and flying splinters, while the decks were slippery with human blood, and strewn with dead men, from amongst whom the wounded were raised as tenderly as the desperate circumstances in which they were placed would admit of, and carried below. Many of those who were thus raised never reached the cockpit, but again fell, along with those who bore them.

One of the men at the gun where Bill Bowls was at work was in the act of handing a round shot to Bill, when a ball entered the port-hole and hit him on the head, scattering his brains over the gun. Bill sprang forward to catch him in his arms, but slipped on the bloody deck and fell. That fall saved his life, for at the same moment a musket ball entered the port and passed close over his head, shattering the arm of a poor boy—one of those brave little fellows called powder-monkeys—who was in the act of carrying a cartridge to Ben Bolter. Ben could not delay the loading of the piece to assist the little fellow, who used his remaining strength to stagger forward and deliver the cartridge before he fell, but he shouted hastily to a passing shipmate—

"Here, Davis, carry this poor little chap to the cockpit."

Davis turned and took the boy in his arms. He had almost reached the main hatchway when a shell entered the ship and burst close to him. One fragment killed the boy, and another almost cut Davis in two. They fell and died together.

For a long time this terrible firing at short range went on, and many men fell on both sides. Among others, Captain Westcott was killed. He was the only captain who fell in that battle, and was one who, had his life been spared, would certainly have risen to the highest rank in the service. He had "risen from the ranks," having been the son of a baker in Devonshire, and gained the honourable station in which he lost his life solely through his conspicuous abilities and courage.

Up to this point none of those who are principally concerned in this tale had received any hurt, beyond a few insignificant scratches, but soon after the death of the little boy, Tom Riggles received a severe wound in the leg from a splinter. He was carried below by Bill and Ben.

"It's all over with me," he said in a desponding tone as they went slowly down the ladders; "I knows it'll be a case o' ampitation."

"Don't you go for to git down-hearted, Tom," said Ben earnestly. "You're too tough to be killed easy."

"Well, I is tough, but wot'll toughness do for a feller agin iron shot. I feels just now as if a red-hot skewer wos rumblin' about among the marrow of my back-bone, an' I've got no feelin' in my leg at all. Depend upon it, messmates, it's a bad case."

His comrades did not reply, because they had reached the gloomy place where the surgeons were engaged at their dreadful work. They laid Tom down on a locker.

"Good-bye, lads," said Tom, as they were about to turn away, "p'r'aps I'll not see ye again, so give us a shake o' yer flippers."

Bill and Ben silently squeezed their comrade's hand, being unable to speak, and then hastened back to their stations.

It was about this time that the L'Orient caught fire, and when Bill and his friend reached the deck, sheets of flame were already leaping out at the port-holes of the gigantic ship. The sides of the L'Orient had been recently painted, and the paint-buckets and oil-jars which stood on the poop soon caught, and added brilliancy to the great conflagration which speedily followed the first outbreak of fire. It was about nine o'clock when the fire was first observed. Before this the gallant French Admiral had perished. Although three times wounded, Brueys refused to quit his post. At length a shot almost cut him in two, but still he refused to go below, and desired to be left to die on his quarter-deck. He was spared the pain of witnessing the destruction of his vessel.

Soon the flames got the mastery, and blazing upward like a mighty torch, threw a strong and appropriate light over the scene of battle. The greater part of the crew of the L'Orient displayed a degree of courage which could not be surpassed, for they stuck to their guns to the very last; continuing to fire from the lower deck while the fire was raging above them, although they knew full well the dire and instantaneous destruction that must ensue when the fire reached the magazine.

The position and flags of the two fleets were now clearly seen, for it was almost as light as day, and the fight went on with unabated fury until about ten o'clock, when, with a terrific explosion, the L'Orient blew up. So tremendous was the shock that it seemed to paralyse the combatants for a little, for both fleets ceased to fire, and there ensued a profound silence, which continued for some time. The first sound that broke the solemn stillness was the splash of the falling spars of the giant ship as they descended from the immense height to which they had been shot!

Of the hundreds of human beings who manned that ship, scarcely a tithe were saved. About seventy were rescued by English boats. The scattered and burning fragments fell around like rain, and there was much fear lest these should set some of the neighbouring vessels on fire. Two large pieces of burning wreck fell into the Swiftsure, and a port fire into the Alexander, but these were quickly extinguished.

On board the Majestic also, some portions of burning material fell. While these were being extinguished, one of the boats was ordered out to do all that was possible to save the drowning Frenchmen. Among the first to jump into this boat were Bill Bowls and Ben Bolter. Bill took the bow oar, Ben the second, and in a few moments they were pulling cautiously amid the debris of the wreck, helping to haul on board such poor fellows as they could get hold of. The work was difficult, because comparative darkness followed the explosion, and as the fight was soon resumed, the thunder of heavy guns, together with the plunging of ball, exploding of shell, and whizzing of chain-shot overhead, rendered the service one of danger as well as difficulty.

It was observed by the men of the Majestic's boat that several French boats were moving about on the same errand of mercy with themselves, and it was a strange as well as interesting sight to see those who, a few minutes before, had been bent on taking each other's lives, now as earnestly engaged in the work of saving life!

"Back your starboard oars," shouted Ben, just as they passed one of the French boats; "there's a man swimming on the port bow—that's it; steady; lend a hand, Bill; now then, in with him."

A man was hoisted over the gunwale as he spoke, and the boat passed onward. Just then a round shot from one of the more distant ships of the fleet—whether English or French they could not tell—struck the water a few yards from them, sending a column of spray high into the air. Instead of sinking, the shot ricochetted from the water and carried away the bow of the boat in passing, whirling it round and almost overturning it. At the same moment the sea rushed in and swamped it, leaving the crew in the water.

Our hero made an involuntary grasp at the thing that happened to be nearest him. This was the head of his friend Ben Bolter, who had been seated on the thwart in front of him. Ben returned the grasp promptly, and having somehow in the confusion of the plunge, taken it into his head that he was in the grasp of a Frenchman, he endeavoured to throttle Bill. Bill, not being easily throttled, forthwith proceeded to choke Ben, and a struggle ensued which might have ended fatally for both, had not a piece of wreck fortunately touched Ben on the shoulder. He seized hold of it, Bill did the same, and then they set about the fight with more precision.

"Come on, ye puddock-eater!" cried Ben, again seizing Bill by the throat.

"Hallo, Ben!"

"Why, wot—is't you, Bill? Well, now, if I didn't take 'e for a Mounseer!"

Before more could be said a boat was observed rowing close past them. Ben hailed it.

"Ho!" cried a voice, as the men rested on their oars and listened.

"Lend a hand, shipmates," cried Ben, "on yer port bow."

The oars were dipped at once, the boat ranged up, and the two men were assisted into it.

"It's all well as ends well, as I've heerd the play-actors say," observed Ben Bolter, as he shook the water from his garments. "I say, lads, what ship do you belong to?"

"Ve has de honair to b'long to Le Guillaume Tell," replied one of the men.

"Hallo, Bill!" whispered Ben, "it's a French boat, an' we're nabbed. Prisoners o' war, as sure as my name's BB! Wot's to be done?"

"I'll make a bolt, sink or swim," whispered our hero.

"You vill sit still," said the man who had already spoken to them, laying a hand on Bill's shoulder.

Bill jumped up and made a desperate attempt to leap overboard, but two men seized him. Ben sprang to the rescue instantly, but he also was overpowered by numbers, and the hands of both were tied behind their backs. A few minutes later and they were handed up the side of the French ship.

When day broke on the morning of the 2nd of August, the firing still continued, but it was comparatively feeble, for nearly every ship of the French fleet had been taken. Only the Guillaume Tell and the Genereux—the two rear ships of the enemy—had their colours flying.

These, with two frigates, cut their cables and stood out to sea. The Zealous pursued, but as there was no other British ship in a fit state to support her, she was recalled; the four vessels, therefore, escaped at that time, but they were captured not long afterwards. Thus ended the famous battle of the Nile, in regard to which Nelson said that it was a "conquest" rather than a victory.

Of thirteen sail of the line, nine were taken and two burnt; and two of their four frigates were burnt. The British loss in killed and wounded amounted to 896; that of the French was estimated at 2000.

The victory was most complete. The French fleet was annihilated. As might be supposed, the hero of the Nile was, after this, almost worshipped as a demigod. It is worthy of remark here that Nelson, as soon as the conquest was completed, sent orders through the fleet that thanksgiving should be returned, in every ship, to Almighty God, for the victory with which He had blessed His Majesty's arms.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

OUR HERO AND HIS MESSMATE GET INTO TROUBLE.

On the night after the battle, Bill Bowls and Ben Bolter were sent on board a French transport ship.

As they sat beside each other, in irons, and securely lodged under hatches, these stout men of war lamented their hard fate thus—

"I say, Bill, this is wot I calls a fix!"

"That's so, Ben—a bad fix."

There was silence for a few minutes, then Ben resumed—

"Now, d'ye see, this here war may go on for ever so long—years it may be—an' here we are on our way to a French prison, where we'll have the pleasure, mayhap, of spendin' our youth in twirlin' our thumbs or bangin' our heads agin the bars of our cage."

"There ain't a prison in France as'll hold me," said Bill Bowls resolutely.

"No? how d'ye 'xpect to git out—seein' that the walls and doors ain't made o' butter, nor yet o' turnips?" inquired Ben.

"I'll go up the chimbley," said Bill savagely, for his mind had reverted to Nelly Blyth, and he could not bear to think of prolonged imprisonment.

"But wot if they've got no chimbleys?"

"I'll try the winders."

"But if the winders is tight barred, wot then?"

"Why, then, I'll bust 'em, or I'll bust myself, that's all."

"Humph!" ejaculated Ben.

Again there was a prolonged silence, during which the friends moodily meditated on the dark prospects before them.

"If we could only have bin killed in action," said Bill, "that would have been some comfort."

"Not so sure o' that, messmate," said Ben. "There's no sayin' wot may turn up. P'r'aps the war will end soon, an' that's not onlikely, for we've whipped the Mounseers on sea, an' it won't be difficult for our lobsters to lick 'em on land. P'r'aps there'll be an exchange of prisoners, an' we may have a chance of another brush with them one o' these days. If the wust comes to the wust, we can try to break out o' jail and run a muck for our lives. Never say die is my motto."

Bill Bowls did not assent to these sentiments in words, but he clenched his fettered hands, set his teeth together, and gave his comrade a look which assured him that whatever might be attempted he would act a vigorous part.

A few days later the transport entered a harbour, and a guard came on board to take charge of the prisoners, of whom there were about twenty. As they were being led to the jail of the town, Bill whispered to his comrade—

"Look out sharp as ye go along, Ben, an' keep as close to me as ye can."

"All right, my lad," muttered Ben, as he followed the soldiers who specially guarded himself.

Ben did not suppose that Bill intended then and there to make a sudden struggle for freedom, because he knew that, with fettered wrists, in a strange port, the very name of which they did not know, and surrounded by armed enemies, such an attempt would be utterly hopeless; he therefore concluded, correctly, that his companion wished him to take the bearings (as he expressed it) of the port, and of the streets through which they should pass. Accordingly he kept his "weather-eye open."

The French soldiers who conducted the seamen to prison, although stout athletic fellows, and, doubtless, capable of fighting like heroes, were short of stature, so that the British tars looked down on them with a patronising expression of countenance, and one or two even ventured on a few facetious remarks. Bill Bowls and Ben Bolter, who both measured above six feet in their stockings, towered above the crowd like two giants.

"It's a purty place intirely," said an Irish sailor, with a smiling countenance, looking round upon the houses, and nodding to a group of pretty girls who were regarding the prisoners with looks of pity. "What may be the name of it, av I may make bowld to inquire?"

The question was addressed to the soldier on his right, but the man paid no attention. So the Irishman repeated it, but without drawing forth a reply.

"Sure, yer a paltry thing that can't give a civil answer to a civil question."

"He don't understand Irish, Pat, try him with English," said Ben Bolter.

"Ah, then," said Pat, "ye'd better try that yersilf, only yer so high up there he won't be able to hear ye."

Before Ben had an opportunity of trying the experiment, however, they had arrived at the jail. After they had passed in, the heavy door was shut with a clang, and bolted and barred behind them.

It is probable that not one of the poor fellows who heard the sound, escaped a sensation of sinking at the heart, but certain it is that not one condescended to show his feelings in his looks.

They were all put into a large empty room, the window of which looked into a stone passage, which was itself lighted from the roof; the door was shut, locked, bolted, and barred, and they were left to their meditations.

They had not remained long there, however, when the bolts and bars were heard moving again.

"What say 'e to a rush, lads?" whispered one of the men eagerly.

"Agreed," said Bill Bowls, starting forward; "I'll lead you, boys."

"No man can fight with his hands tied," growled one of the others. "You'll only be spoilin' a better chance, mayhap."

At that moment the last bolt was withdrawn, and the door swung open, revealing several files of soldiers with muskets, and bayonets fixed, in the passage. This sight decided the question of a rush!

Four of the soldiers entered with the turnkey. The latter, going up to Bill Bowls and Ben Bolter, said to them in broken English:—

"You follows de soldat."

Much surprised, but in silence, they obeyed the command.

As they were going out, one of their comrades said, "Good-bye, mates: it's plain they've taken ye for admirals on account o' yer size!"

"Niver a taste," said the Irishman before mentioned, "'tis bein' led, they are, to exekooshion—"

The remainder of this consolatory suggestion was cut off by the shutting of the door.

After traversing several passages, the turnkey stopped before a small door studded with iron nails, and, selecting one of his huge keys, opened it, while the soldiers ranged up on either side.

The turnkey, who was a tall, powerful man, stepped back, and, looking at Bill, pointed to the cell with his finger, as much as to say, "Go in."

Bill looked at him and at the soldiers for a moment, clenched his fists, and drew his breath short, but as one of the guard quietly brought his musket to the charge, he heaved a sigh, bent his head, and, passing under the low doorway, entered the cell.

"Are we to stop long here, Mister Turnkey?" asked Ben, as he was about to follow.

The man vouchsafed no reply, but again pointed to the cell.

"I've always heered ye wos a purlite nation," said Ben, as he followed his messmate; "but there's room for improvement."

The door was shut, and the two friends stood for a few minutes in the centre of their cell, gazing in silence around the blank walls.

The appearance of their prison was undoubtedly depressing, for there was nothing whatever in it to arrest the eye, except a wooden bench in one corner, and the small grated window which was situated near the top of one of the walls.

"What d'ye think o' this?" asked Ben, after some time, sitting down on the bench.

"I think I won't be able to stand it," said Bill, flinging himself recklessly down beside his friend, and thrusting his hands deep into his trouser pockets.

"Don't take on so bad, messmate," said Ben, in a reproving tone. "Gittin' sulky with fate ain't no manner o' use. As our messmate Flinders used to say, 'Be aisy, an' if ye can't be aisy, be as aisy as ye can.' There's wot I calls sound wisdom in that."

"Very true, Ben; nevertheless the sound wisdom in that won't avail to get us out o' this."

"No doubt, but it'll help us to bear this with equablenimity while we're here, an' set our minds free to think about the best way o' makin' our escape."

At this Bill made an effort to throw off the desperate humour which had taken possession of him, and he so far succeeded that he was enabled to converse earnestly with his friend.

"Wot are we to do?" asked Bill gloomily.

"To see, first of all, what lies outside o' that there port-hole," answered Ben. "Git on my shoulders, Bill, an' see if ye can reach it."

Ben stood against the wall, and his friend climbed on his shoulders, but so high was the window, that he could not reach to within a foot of it. They overcame this difficulty, however, by dragging the bench to the wall, and standing upon it.

"I see nothin'," said Bill, "but the sky an' the sea, an' the prison-yard, which appears to me to be fifty or sixty feet below us."

"That's not comfortin'," observed Ben, as he replaced the bench in its corner.

"What's your advice now?" asked Bill.

"That we remain on our good behaviour a bit," replied Ben, "an' see wot they means to do with us, an' whether a chance o' some sort won't turn up."

"Well, that's a good plan—anyhow, it's an easy one to begin with—so we'll try it for a day or two."

In accordance with this resolve, the two sailors called into play all the patience, prudence, and philosophy of which they were possessed, and during the three days that followed their incarceration, presented such a meek, gentle, resigned aspect; that the stoniest heart of the most iron-moulded turnkey ought to have been melted; but the particular turnkey of that prison was made of something more or less than mortal mould, for he declined to answer questions,—declined even to open his lips, or look as if he heard the voices of his prisoners, and took no notice of them farther than to fetch their food at regular intervals and take away the empty plates. He, however, removed their manacles; but whether of his own good-will or by order they did not know.

"Now, Ben," said Bill on the evening of the third day, as they sat beside each other twirling their thumbs, "this here sort o' thing will never do. I mean for to make a dash when the turnkey comes in the mornin'; will you help me?"

"I'm yer man," said Ben; "but how d'ye mean to set about it?"

"Well, somewhat in this fashion:—W'enever he opens the door I'll clap my hand on his mouth to stop his pipe, and you'll slip behind him, throw yer arms about him, and hold on till I tie a handkerchief over his mouth. Arter that we'll tie his hands and feet with whatever we can git hold of—his own necktie, mayhap—take the keys from him, and git out the best way we can."

"H'm; but wot if we don't know the right turnin's to take, an' run straight into the jaws of other turnkeys, p'r'aps, or find other doors an' gates that his bunch o' keys won't open?"

"Why, then, we'll just fail, that's all; an' if they should scrag us for it, no matter."

"It's a bad look-out, but I'll try," said Ben.

Next morning this plan was put in execution. When the turnkey entered the cell, Bill seized him and clapped his hand on his mouth. The man struggled powerfully, but Ben held him in a grasp so tight that he was as helpless as an infant.

"Keep yer mind easy, Mounseer, we won't hurt 'e," said Ben, while his comrade was busy gagging him.

"Now, then, lift him into the corner," whispered Bill.

Ben and he carried the turnkey, whom they had tied hand and foot with handkerchiefs and neckties, into the interior of the cell, left him there, locked the door on him, and immediately ran along the passage, turned a corner, and came in sight of an iron grating, on the other side of which sat a man in a dress similar to that of the turnkey they had left behind them. They at once drew back and tried to conceal themselves, but the man had caught sight of them, and gave the alarm.

Seeing that their case was desperate, Bill rushed at the grating with all his force and threw himself heavily against it. The whole building appeared to quiver with the shock; but the caged tiger has a better chance of smashing his iron bars than poor Bill Bowls had. Twice he flung his whole weight against the barrier, and the second time Ben helped him; but their efforts were in vain. A moment later and a party of soldiers marched up to the grating on the outside. At the same time a noise was heard at the other end of the passage. Turning round, the sailors observed that another gate had been opened, and a party of armed men admitted, who advanced with levelled muskets.

Seeing this, Bill burst into a bitter laugh, and flung down the keys with a force that caused the long passage to echo again, as he exclaimed—

"It's all up with us, Ben. We may as well give in at once."

"That's so," said Ben sadly, as he suffered himself to be handcuffed, after which he and his companion in misfortune were conducted back to their cell.



CHAPTER NINE.

BILL AND BEN SET THEIR BRAINS TO STEEP WITH UNCONQUERABLE PERSEVERANCE.

In its slow but steady revolution, the wheel of fortune had now apparently brought Bill Bowls and Ben Bolter to the lowest possible point; and the former of these worthies consoled himself with the reflection that, as things could scarcely get worse with them, it was probable they would get better. His friend disputed this point.

"It's all very well," said Ben, crossing his legs and clasping his hands over his knees, as he swayed himself to and fro, "to talk about havin' come to the wust; but we've not got to that p'int by a long way. Why, suppose that, instead o' bein' here, sound in wind and limb, though summat unfort'nate in regard to the matter o' liberty,—suppose, I say, that we wos lyin' in hospital with our right legs an' mayhap our left arms took off with a round shot."

"Oh, if you go for to supposin'," said Bill, "you may suppose anything. Why not suppose at once that we was lyin' in hospital with both legs and arms took off by round shot, an' both eyes put out with canister, an' our heads an' trunks carried away by grape-shot?"

"I didn't suppose that," said Ben quietly, "because that would be the best instead o' the wust state we could come to, seein' that we'd know an' care nothin' about it. Hows'ever, here we are, low enough, an' havin' made an assault on the turnkey, it's not likely we'll get much favour at the hands of the Mounseers; so it comes to this, that we must set our brains to steep, an' see if we can't hit upon some dodge or other to escape."

"That's what we must do," assented Bill Bowls, knitting his brows, and gazing abstractedly at the blank wall opposite. "To git out o' this here stone jug is what I've set my heart on, so the sooner we set about it the better."

"Just so," said Ben. "Well, then, let's begin. Wot d'ye propose fust?"

To this Bill replied that he must think over it. Accordingly, he did think over it, and his comrade assisted him, for the space of three calendar months, without any satisfactory result. But the curious thing about it was that, while these men revolved in their minds every conceivable plan with unflagging eagerness, and were compelled to give up each, after brooding over it for a considerable time, finding that it was unworkable, they were not dispirited, but rather became more intense in their meditations, and ingenious as well as hopeful in their devisings.

"If we could only git hold of a file to cut a bar o' the winder with, an' a rope to let ourselves down with, I think we could manage to git over the walls somehow."

"If we was to tear our jackets, trousers, vests, and shirts into strips, an' make a rope of 'em, it might be long enough," suggested Bill.

"That's so, boy, but as we would be stark naked before we got it finished, I fear the turnkey would suspec' there wos somethin' wrong somehow."

Ben Bolter sighed deeply as he spoke, because at that moment a ray of sunshine shot through the little window, and brought the free fresh air and the broad blue sea vividly to his remembrance. For the first time he experienced a deep sinking of the heart, and he looked at his comrade with an expression of something like despair.

"Cheer up," said Bill, observing and thoroughly understanding the look. "Never say die, as long as there's a—shot—in—"

He was too much depressed and listless to finish the sentence.

"I wonder," resumed Ben, "if the Mounseers treat all their prisoners of war as bad as they treat us."

"Don't think they do," replied Bill. "I've no doubt it's 'cause we sarved 'em as we did when they first put us in quod."

"Oh, if they would only give us summat to do!" exclaimed Ben, with sudden vehemence.

It seemed as if the poor fellow's prayer were directly answered, for at that moment the door opened, and the governor, or some other official of the prison, entered the cell.

"You must vork," he said, going up to Bill.

"We'll be only too glad to work, yer honour, if you'll give us work to do."

"Ver' good; fat can you vork?"

"We can turn handy to a'most anything, yer honour," said Ben eagerly.

It turned out, however, after a considerable amount of talk, that, beyond steering a ship, reefing topsails, splicing ropes, tying every species of complex knot, and other nautical matters, the two seamen could not claim to be professionally acquainted with any sort of handicraft. Somewhat discomfited, Ben at last said with a perplexed air—

"Well, yer honour, we'll try anything ye choose to put us at. I had a brother once who was a sort of tinker to trade, an' great at mendin' pots, pans, old umbrellas, and the like. I wos used to help him when a boy. P'r'aps if yer honour, now, has got a old umbrella as wants refittin', I might try my hand on that."

The governor smiled. "Vell, I do tink I have von old omberilla. You sall try for to mend him."

Next day saw Bill and Ben surrounded by tools, scraps of wood and whalebone, bits of brass and tin, etcetera, busy as bees, and as happy as any two children who have invented a new game.

Ben mended the umbrella admirably. At the same time, Bill fashioned and carved two or three paper-knives of wood with great neatness. But when it was discovered that they could sew sail-cloth expeditiously and well, a quantity of that material was given to them, and they were ordered to make sacks. They set to work accordingly, and made sack after sack until they grew so wearied of the monotonous work that Ben said it made him wish to sit down in sackcloth and ashes; whereupon Bill remarked that if the Mounseers would only give them the sack altogether, it would be very much to their credit.

Soon the imprisoned mariners began again to plot and plan their escape. Of course they thought of making ropes of the sail-cloth and twine with which they wrought, but as the turnkey took the material away every night, and brought it back every morning, they gave up this idea, as they had given up many other ideas before.

At last, one afternoon, Bill looked up from his work, hit his thigh a slap which produced a pistol-shot crack that echoed up into the high ceiling of the cell, as he exclaimed, "I've got it!"

"I hope you'll give us a bit of it, then," said Ben, "if it's worth havin'."

"I'll give you the benefit of it, anyhow," said Bill, throwing down his tools and eagerly beginning to expound the new plan which had struck him and caused him to strike his thigh. It was to this effect:—

That they should beg the turnkey to let them have another old umbrella to work at by way of recreation, as the sack-making was rather monotonous; that, if they should be successful in prevailing on him to grant their request, they should work at the umbrella very slowly, so as to give them time to carry out their plan, which was to form a sort of parachute by adding sail-cloth round the margin of the umbrella so as to extend it to twice its circumference. After it should be finished they were to seize a fitting opportunity, cut the bars of their window, and, with the machine, leap down into the yard below.

"Wot!" exclaimed Ben, "jump together!"

"Ay, why not, Ben? Sink or swim, together, boy."

"Very true, but I've got my doubts about flyin' together. Better do it one at a time, and send the umbrella up by means of a piece of twine."

"Well, we might do it in that way," said Bill; "but what d'ye think o' the plan?"

"Fuss rate," said Ben, "we'll try it at once."

In accordance with this resolution, Ben made his petition that night, very humbly, to the turnkey, who at first turned a deaf ear to him, but was finally prevailed on to fetch them one of his own umbrellas to be repaired. It happened to be a very large one of the good old stout and bulgy make, and in this respect was the better suited to their purpose. All the tools necessary for the work of repair were supplied except a file. This, however, was brought to them, when Ben pointed out, with much earnestness, that if he had such an implement he could clean up and beautify the ivory handle to such an extent that its owner would not recognise it.

This device of improving the ivory handle turned out to be a happy hit, for it enabled Ben to keep the umbrella much longer by him than would otherwise have been possible, for the purpose of covering it with elaborate and really beautiful carving, the progress of which was watched by the turnkey with much interest from day to day.

Having gained their end the sailors wrought with indefatigable zeal, and resolutely overcame the difficulties that met them from time to time. Each day they dragged the bench under the window. Ben got upon it, and Bill climbed on his shoulders, by which means he could just reach the iron grating of the window, and there, for half-an-hour at a time, he cautiously used the file. They thought this enough of time to bestow on the work, because the bars could be easily filed through before the parachute was ready.

In the preparation of the umbrella, the first difficulty that met them was how they were to conceal their private work when the turnkey came in the evenings to take away their materials for sack-making. After some examination they discovered a plank in the floor, in the corner where they were wont to sleep, which was loose and easily forced up with one of Bill's unfinished paper-knives, which he made very strong for this special purpose! Beneath there was sufficient room to stow away the cloth with which they fashioned the additional breadth to the umbrella. To have cabbaged at one time all the sail-cloth that was required would have risked discovery; they therefore appropriated small scraps each day, and sewed these neatly together until they had enough. Soon they had a ring of canvas formed, into the centre of which the umbrella fitted exactly, and this ring was so cut and sewn in gores that it formed a continuation of the umbrella, which was thus made to spread out and cover a space of about nine or ten feet in diameter. All round the extremity or margin of the ring, cords of twisted twine were fixed, at intervals of about six inches. There were about sixty of these cords or stays, all of which met and were fastened at the end of the handle. A stout line, made of four-ply twine, was fastened at the top of the umbrella, and passing through a small hole in it was tied round the whalebones inside, and twisted down the stick to the handle, to which it was firmly secured. By this means the whole machine was, as it were, bound together.

All these additionals and fixings had, however, to be so constructed that they could be removed, or affixed with some rapidity, for there was always before the sailors the chance that the turnkey might look in to observe how their work was progressing.

Indeed one afternoon they were almost discovered at work on the parachute. The turnkey was heard coming along the passage when Ben was in the act of fitting on the new appendages, and the key was actually in the door before the last shred of them was thrust into the hole in the floor, and the loose plank shut down! Ben immediately flung several of the sacks over the place, and then turning suddenly round on his comrade began to pommel him soundly by way of accounting for the flushed condition of his countenance.

Thus taken by surprise, Bill returned the blows with interest, and the combatants were separated by the turnkey when in a rather breathless condition!

"If you do so more agin, you sall go separate," said the turnkey.

The mere thought of separation at such a moment struck like a chill to the hearts of the sailors, who forthwith shook hands, and vowed earnestly that they would "never do it again." In order to conciliate the man, Ben took up the umbrella, and pointing to the beautifully carved handle said—

"You see it's all but finished, and I'm very anxious to git it done, so if you'll let me keep it by me all to-night, I'll work as long as I can see, and be at it the first thing in the morning."

The man, pleased at the unusual interest which Ben took in the worn-out piece of goods, agreed to let him keep it by him. After carrying away all the other materials, and looking round to see that all was right, he locked them up for the night.

Left to themselves, they at once began to prepare for action. They drew forth all the different parts of the parachute (for such it really was, although the machine so named had never been seen, but only heard of, by the seamen), and disposed them in such a manner beside the hole in the floor as to be ready at a moment's notice, either to be fitted on to the umbrella or thrust back into the place of concealment.

Their manacles had been taken off at the time they began to work, so that these were no longer impediments in the way.

"Now, Bill, are the bars sure to give way, d'ye think?"

"Sartin sure," said Bill; "they're holdin' by nothin' thicker than a pin."

"Very good, then, let's go to work. In an hour or so it will be dark enough to try our flyin' machine, and then good-bye to France—or to the world. It's neck or nothin', d'ye see?"

"All right," answered Bill.

They sat down to work in good earnest. The spreading rim of canvas, instead of being tagged on as on former occasions, was now sewn securely to the umbrella, and when the latter was expanded, the canvas hung down all round it, and the numerous stays hung quite loose. Ben expected that the rapidity of the descent would suddenly expand this appendage, and check the speed. The ends of the loose cords were gathered up and fastened to the handle, as was also the binding-cord before referred to—all of which was done with that thoroughness of workmanship for which sailors are celebrated.

Then a stout cord was fastened to one of the stanchions of the window, which had been left uncut for the purpose.

When everything was ready the adventurous sailors began to experience all the anxiety which is inseparable from an action involving much danger, liability to frustration, and requiring the utmost caution combined with energy.

They waited until they thought the night was at its darkest. When all sounds around them had ceased, they took off their shoes and carefully lifted the bench to the wall under the window. Ben went up first by mounting on Bill's shoulders. With one powerful wrench he pulled the iron framework of the window into the room, and handed it down to Bill, who stooped a little and placed it gently against the wall. His comrade then thrust his head and shoulders out at the window, and while in that awkward position spread his jacket over the sill. This was intended to protect the cord which was fastened to the top of the umbrella, and by which it was to be drawn up after his descent.

When this was done, Bill clambered up by the cord which hung from the uncut stanchion, and pushed the umbrella past Ben's body until he got hold of the end of it, and drew it out altogether. Bill then descended into the cell, having the small cord in his hand, and watched the motions of his comrade with intense anxiety.

The window was so small that Ben could barely get his head and shoulders through it. There was no possibility of his getting on his feet or his knees to make a leap. The only course that remained for him, therefore, was to expand the umbrella, hold on tight, and then wriggle out until he should lose his balance and fall head foremost! It was an awful position. Bold though the seaman was, and desperate the circumstances, his strong frame quivered when he gazed down and felt himself gradually toppling. The height he knew to be little short of sixty feet, but in the dark night it appeared an abyss of horrible profundity. A cold sweat broke out upon him, and for one moment he felt an almost irresistible tendency to let go the umbrella and clutch the window-sill, but he was too late. Like lightning he shot down for a couple of yards; then the parachute expanded and checked him with such violence, as he swung round, that he nearly lost his hold and was thrown into a horizontal position—first on one side, then on the other. Finally, he reached the ground with a shock that almost took away his breath. He sat still for a moment or two, then rose slowly and shook himself, to ascertain whether he were still alive and sound! Immediately after he examined the parachute, found it all right, and gave his comrade the signal—a couple of tugs at the cord—to haul up.

Bill was scarcely less agitated than his friend. He had seen Ben's legs disappear with a suddenness that told eloquently of his having taken flight, and stood in the cell above listening intently, while large drops of perspiration coursed down his face. On feeling the tug at the string, a mountain appeared to be lifted off his chest. Carefully he pulled up the umbrella. When it showed its point above the window-sill he clambered up and went through the same terrible ordeal. He was not, however, so fortunate as his friend, for, when he jumped, three of the stays gave way, which had the effect of slightly deranging the motion of the umbrella, and he came to the ground with such violence that he lay stunned and motionless, leading his horrified comrade to fear that he was killed. In a few minutes, however, he revived, and, on examination, found that no bones had been broken.

"Now, Ben, what next?" said Bill, getting up, and giving himself a shake.

"The wall," said Ben, "can't be far from where we stand. If there wos only a bit of moonshine it would help us."

"Better as it is," whispered Bill, groping about, for the night was so intensely dark that it was scarcely possible to see a yard. "I knows the way to the harbour, if we only manage to get out.—Ah, here's the wall, but it's an oncommon high one!"

This was indeed too true. The top of the wall was faintly visible like a black line across the dark sky, and when Ben mounted on Bill's shoulders, it was found that he could only reach to within three feet of the bristling iron spikes with which it was surmounted. For half-an-hour they groped about, and made the discovery that they were in a small enclosure with bare walls of fifteen feet in height around them, and not a projection of any kind large enough for a mouse to lay hold of! In these circumstances many men would have given way to despair; but that was a condition of mind which neither of our tars ever thought of falling into. In the course of their explorations they came against each other, and immediately began an animated conversation in whispers, the result of which was that they groped for the umbrella, and, having found it, cut off all the cords about it, with which they proceeded to plait a rope strong enough to bear their weight. They sat down in silence to the work, leaning against the prison wall, and wrought for a full hour with the diligence of men whose freedom depends on their efforts. When finished, the rope was found to be about a yard too short for their purpose; but this defect was remedied by means of the canvas of their parachute, which they tore up into strips, twisted into an additional piece of rope, and spliced it to the other. A large loop was made on the end of it. Going once more to the wall, Ben mounted on Bill's shoulders, and threw the loop over the top of the wall; it caught, as had been expected, on one of the iron spikes. Ben then easily hauled himself up, hand over hand, and, getting hold of two spikes, raised himself so that he could see over the wall. Immediately after he descended.

"I sees nothin', Bill, so we must just go over and take our chance."

Bill agreed. Ben folded his coat, and ascending again, spread it over the spikes, so that he could lean on them with his chest without being pierced. Having re-ascended, Bill followed; the rope was then hauled up, and lowered on the other side. In another moment they slipped down, and stood on the ground.

"Now, the question is, where are we!" whispered Bill. "P'r'aps we're only in another yard after all."

The sound of footsteps pacing slowly towards them was heard at that moment.

"I do believe," whispered Bill, in an excited tone, "that we've got into the street, an' that's the sentry. Let's bolt."

"We can't bolt," said Ben, "'cause, if I took my bearin's right, he's between us an' the shore, an' it would be of no manner o' use boltin' into the country to be hunted down like a couple of foxes."

"Then we'll floor him to begin with," whispered Bill.

"That's so," said Ben.

The sentry approached, and the sailors drew up close against the wall. Presently his dark form became faintly visible. Bill rushed at him at once, and delivered a blow that might have felled an ox at the spot where he supposed his chest was, sending the man back almost heels over head, while his arms rattled on the pavement. Instantly there were heard the sounds of opening locks, bolts, and bars. The two friends fled, and shouts were heard behind them, while lights flashed in various directions.

"This way, Bill," cried Ben, turning down a narrow lane to avoid a lamp which came in sight when they turned a corner. A couple of belated and drunken French fishermen happened to observe them, and gave chase. "Hold on, Ben, let's drop, and trip 'em up," said Bill.

"All right," replied Ben; "down with 'e."

They stopped suddenly, and squatted as low as possible. The lane was very narrow; the fishermen were close behind; they tumbled right over them, and fell heavily on their faces. While they were rising, our heroes knocked them both insensible, and hastily appropriating their coats and red caps put them on as they ran. By this time a crowd of fishermen, sailors, and others, among whom were a few soldiers and turnkeys with lanterns, were pursuing the fugitives as fast as was possible in so dark a night. Bill suggested that they should turn into a dark corner, and dodge them. The suggestion was acted on at once. They dashed round the first corner they came to, and then, instead of continuing their flight, turned sharp to the left, and hid in a doorway. The pursuers came pouring round the corner, shouting wildly. When the thickest of the crowd was opposite their place of concealment, Bill and Ben rushed into the midst of them with a shout, imitating the tones of the Frenchmen as nearly as possible, but taking care to avoid the use of word, and thus they joined in the pursuit! Gradually they fell behind, as if out-run, and, when they found themselves in rear, turned about, and made off in the opposite direction, then, diverging to the left, they headed again towards the shore, ran down to the beach, and leaped into the first boat they came to.

It happened to be a very small one,—a sort of dinghy. Ben thought it was too small, and was about to leap out and search for a larger, when lights suddenly appeared, and the shouts of the pursuers—who had discovered the ruse—were heard as they approached.

"Shove off, Ben!"

"Hurrah, my hearties!" cried the seaman with a stentorian shout as he seized an oar.

Next moment the little boat was flying over the smooth water of the port, the silence of which was now broken by exclamations and cries from the shipping in reply to those from the shore; while the splashing of oars were heard in all directions as men leaped into boats and rowed about at random. Darkness favoured the Englishmen, but it also proved the cause of their being very nearly re-captured; for they were within two yards of the battery at the mouth of the harbour before they observed it, and swerved aside just in time to avoid a collision. But they had been seen, and a random discharge of musketry followed. This was succeeded by the sudden blaze of a blue light, which revealed the whole port swarming with boats and armed men,—a sight which acted so powerfully on the warlike spirits of the sailors that they started up simultaneously, flung their red caps into the air, and gave vent to a hearty British cheer, which Ben Bolter followed up as they resumed the oars, with "Old England for ever! farewell, Mounseers!"

The blue light went out and left everything in darkness thicker than ever, but not before a rapid though ineffective discharge of musketry had been made from the battery. Another blue light, however, showed that the fugitives were getting rapidly out to sea beyond the range of musketry, and that boats were leaving the port in chase. Before the light expired a cloud of smoke burst from the battery, and the roar of a heavy gun rushed over the sea. An instant later and the water was torn up by grape-shot all round the little boat; but not a ball touched them save one, which struck Bill Bowls on the left hand and cut off his thumb.

"I think there's a mast and sail in the bottom of the boat, and here comes a breeze," said Ben; "give me your oar, and try to hoist it, Bill."

Without mentioning his wound, our hero did as he was bid; and not until the boat was leaping over the ruffled sea did he condescend to bind up the wounded hand with his necktie. Soon they were beyond the range of blue lights and artillery.

"Have 'e any notion what course we're steerin'?" inquired Bill.

"None wotsomediver," answered Ben.

Soon after that, however, the sky cleared a little, and Bill got sight of part of the constellation of the Great Bear. Although the pole-star was not visible, he guessed pretty nearly its position, and thus ascertained that the breeze came from the south-west. Trimming the lug-sail accordingly, the tars turned the prow of the little craft to the northward, and steered for the shores of old England.

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About a year after this stirring incident, a remarkably noisy party was assembled at tea in the prim little parlour of Mrs Blyth's cottage in Fairway. Besides the meek old soul herself, there were present on that occasion our old friends Ben Bolter and Tom Riggles, the latter of whom flourished a wooden stump instead of a right leg, and wore the garb of a Greenwich pensioner. His change of circumstances did not appear to have decreased his love for tobacco. Ben had obtained leave of absence from his ship for a day or two, and, after having delighted the heart of his old mother by a visit, had called at the cottage to pay his respects to his old messmate, little thinking that he would find Tom Riggles there before him. Miss Bessy Blunt was also present; and it was plain, from the expression of her speaking countenance, that she had not forgiven Ben, but tolerated him under protest. Our hero and sweet Nelly Blyth were not of the party, however, because they happened just then to prefer a quiet chat in the summer-house in the back-garden. We will not presume to detail much of the conversation that passed between them. One or two of the concluding sentences must suffice.

"Yes, Bill," said Nelly, in reply to something that her companion had whispered in her ear, "you know well enough that I am glad to-morrow is our wedding-day. I have told you so already, fifty times at least."

"Only thrice, Nell, if so often," said Bill. "Well, that was the luckiest shot the Frenchmen ever fired at me; for if I hadn't had my thumb took off I couldn't have left the sarvice, d'ye see; and that would have delayed my marriage with you, Nell. But now, as the old song says—

"'No more I'll roam Away from home, Across the stormy sea. I'll anchor here, My Nelly dear, And live for love and thee.'"

THE END