CHAPTER XXXIX
DISCLOSES THE MANNER OF MY ESCAPE AND HOW WE SET SAIL FOR ALBION
Thurot turned the key on me with a pleasantry that was in no accordancewith my mood, and himself retired to the round house on deck where hisberth was situated. I sat on a form for a little, surrendered all tomelancholy, then sought to remove it by reading, as sleep in my presenthumour was out of the question. My reading, though it lasted for an houror two, was scarcely worth the name, for my mind continually wanderedfrom the page. I wondered if my note to Kilbride had been delivered, andif any step on his part was to be expected therefrom; the hope that rosewith that reflection died at once upon the certainty that as the Dutchseaman had not signalled as he had promised he had somehow learned thetrue nature of my condition in the frigate. Had he told Thurot? If hehad told Thurot--which was like enough--that I had communicated with anyone outside the vessel there was little doubt that the latter would takeadequate steps to prevent interference by Kilbride or any one else.
We are compact of memories, a mere bundle of bygone days, childishrecollections, ancient impressions, and so an older experience came tome, too, of the night I sat in the filthy cabin of Dan Risk's doomedvessel hearing the splash of illegitimate oars, anticipating with a mindscarcely more disturbed than I had just now the step of the officer fromthe prison at Blackness and the clutch of the chilly fetters.
There was a faint but rising nor'-east wind. It sighed among the shroudsof the frigate. I could hear it even in the cabin, pensive like the callof the curfew at a great distance. The waves washed against the timbersin curious short gluckings and hissings. On the vessel herself not asound was to be heard, until of a sudden there came a scratching at mycabin door!
It was incredible! I had heard no footstep on the companion, and I hadceased to hope for anything from the Dutchman!
"Who's there?" I asked softly, and at that the key outside was turnedand I was fronted by Kilbride!
He wore the most ridiculous travesty of the Dutchman's tarry breeksand tarpaulin hat and coarse wide jumper, and in the light of my candlethere was a humorous twinkle on his face as he entered, closed the doorsoftly after him, and sat down beside me.
"My goodness!" he whispered, "you have a face on you as if you were in agraveyard watching ghosts. It's time you were steeping the withies to goaway as we say in the Language, and you may be telling me all the storyof it elsewhere."
"Where's the Dutchman that took my letter?" I asked.
"Where," said Kilbride, "but in the place that well befits him--at thelug of an anker of Rotterdam gin taking his honest night's rest. I'mhere guizing in his tarry clothes, and if I were Paul Greig of the HazelDen I would be clapping on my hat gey quick and getting out of herewithout any more parley."
"You left him in the hoy!" said I astonished.
"Faith, there was nothing better for it!" said he coolly. "Breuer gavehim so much of the juniper for old acquaintance that when I left he wasso full of it that he had lost the power of his legs and you might aswell try to keep a string of fish standing."
"And it was you took Clancarty ashore?"
"Who else? And I don't think it's a great conceit of myself to believeI play-acted the Dutch tarry-breeks so very well, though I was insomething of a tremble in case the skipper here would make me out belowmy guizard's clothes. You may thank your stars the moon was as late ofrising this night as a man would be that was at a funeral yesterday.""And where's the other man who was on this vessel?" I asked, preparingto go.
"Come on deck and I'll show you," said Kilbride, checking a chuckle ofamusement at something.
We crept softly on deck into the night now slightly lit by a moon veiledby watery clouds. The ship seemed all our own and we were free to leaveher when we chose for the small boat hung at her stern.
"You were asking for the other one," said Kilbride. "There he is," andhe pointed to a huddled figure bound upon the waist. "When I came onboard after landing Clancarty this stupid fellow discovered I was astranger and nearly made an outcry; but I hit him on the lug with theloom of an oar. He'll not be observing very much for a while yet, butI was bound all the same to put a rope on him to prevent him disturbingCaptain Thurot's sleep too soon."
We spoke in whispers for the night seemed all ear and I was for everhaunted by the reflection that Thurot was divided from us by little morethan an inch or two of teak-wood. Now and then the moon peeped througha rift of cloud and lit a golden roadway over the sea, enticing meirresistibly home.
"O God, I wish I was in Scotland!" I said passionately.
"Less luck than that will have to be doing us," said Kilbride, fumblingat the painter of the boat. "The hoy sets sail for Calais in an houror two, and it's plain from your letter we'll be best to be taking herround that length."
"No, not Calais," said I. "It's too serious a business with me for that.I'm wanting England, and wanting it unco fast."
"_Oh, Dhe!_" said my countryman, "here's a fellow with the appetite ofPrince Charlie and as likely to gratify it. What for must it be England,_loachain?_"
"I can only hint at that," I answered hastily, "and that in a minute.Are ye loyal?"
"To a fine fellow called MacKellar first and to my king and countryafter?"
"The Stuarts?" said I.
He cracked his thumb. "It's all by with that," said he quickly and notwithout a tone of bitterness.
"The breed of them has never been loyal to me, and if I could wipe outof my life six months of the cursedest folly in Forty-five I would goback to Scotland with the first chance and throw my bonnet for Geordieever after like the greasiest burgess ever sold a wab of cloth or acargo of Virginia in Glasgow."
"Then," I said, "you and me's bound for England this night, for I havethat in my knowledge should buy the safety of the pair of us," and Ibriefly conveyed my secret.
He softly whistled with astonishment.
"Man! it's a gey taking idea," he confessed. "But the bit is to get overthe Channel."
"I have thought of that," said I. "Here's a smuggler wanting no morethan a rag of sail in this wind to make the passage in a couple ofdays."
"By the Holy Iron it's the very thing!" he interrupted, slapping hisleg.
It takes a time to tell all this in writing, but in actual fact ourwhole conversation together in the cabin and on the deck occupied lessthan five minutes. We were both of us too well aware of the value oftime to have had it otherwise and waste moments in useless conversation.
"What is to be done is this," I suggested, casting a rapid glance alongthe decks and upwards to the spars. "I will rig up a sail of some sorthere and you will hasten over again in the small-boat to the hoy andgive Father Hamilton the option of coming with us. He may or he may notcare to run the risks involved in the exploit, but at least we owe himthe offer."
"But when I'm across at the hoy there, here's you with this doveringbody and Captain Thurot. Another knock might settle the one, but youwould scarcely care to have knocks going in the case of an old friendlike Tony Thurot, who's only doing his duty in keeping you here withsuch a secret in your charge."
"I have thought of that, too," I replied quickly, "and I will hazardThurot."
Kilbride lowered himself into the small-boat, pushed off from the sideof the frigate, and in silence half-drifted in the direction of theDutch vessel. My plans were as clear in my head as if they had beenprinted on paper. First of all I took such provender as I could get frommy cabin and placed it along with a breaker of water and a lamp in thecutter. Then I climbed the shrouds of the frigate, and cut away a smallsail that I guessed would serve my purpose, letting it fall into thecutter. I made a shift at sheets and halyards and found that with alittle contrivance I could spread enough canvas to take the cutterin that weather at a fair speed before the wind that had a blesseddisposition towards the coast of England. I worked so fast it was amiracle, dreading at every rustle of the stolen sail--at every creak ofthe cutter on the fenders, that either the captain or his unconsciousseaman would awa
ke.
My work was scarcely done when the small-boat came off again from thehoy, and as she drew cautiously near I saw that MacKellar had with himthe bulky figure of the priest. He climbed ponderously, at my signal,into the cutter, and MacKellar joined me for a moment on the deck of thefrigate.
"He goes with us then?" I asked, indicating the priest.
"To the Indies if need be," said Kilbride. "But the truth is that thisaccident is a perfect God-send to him, for England's the one placebelow the firmament he would choose for a refuge at this moment. Is allready?"
"If my sail-making's to be relied on she's in the best of trim," Ianswered.
"And--what do ye call it?--all found?"
"A water breaker, a bottle of brandy, a bag of bread--"
"Enough for a foray of fifty men!" he said heartily. "Give me meal andwater in the heel of my shoe and I would count it very good vivers for afortnight."
He went into the cutter; I released the ropes that bound her to thefrigate and followed him.
"_Mon Dieu_ dear lad, 'tis a world of most fantastic happenings," wasall the poor old priest said, shivering in the cold night air.
We had to use the oars of the frigate's small-boat for a stroke or twoso as to get the cutter round before the wind; she drifted quicklyfrom the large ship's side almost like a living thing with a cravefor freedom at last realised; up speedily ran her sail, unhandsome yetsufficient, the friendly air filled out the rustling folds and drove herthrough the night into the open sea.
There is something in a moonlit night at sea that must touch in the mostcloddish heart a spring of fancy. It is friendlier than the dawn that atits most glorious carries a hint of sorrow, or than the bravest sunsetthat reminds us life is a brief day at the best of it, and the onething sempiternal yet will be the darkness. We sat in the well of thecutter--three odd adventurers, myself the most silent because I had thedouble share of dubiety about the enterprise, for who could tell howsoon the doomster's hand would be on me once my feet were again onBritish soil? Yet now when I think of it--of the moonlit sea, theswelling sail above us, the wake behind that shone with fire--I mustcount it one of the happiest experiences of my life.
The priest looked back at the low land of France receding behind us,with its scattered lights on the harbour and the shore, mere subjectsto the queenly moon. "There goes poor Father Hamilton," said hewhimsically, "happy schoolboy, foolish lover in Louvain that had neverbut moonlit eves, parish priest of Dixmunde working two gardens, humanand divine, understanding best the human where his bees roved, butloving all men good and ill. There goes the spoiled page, the botchedeffort, and here's a fat old man at the start of a new life, and neverto see his darling France again. Ah! the good mother; _Dieu te benisse!_"