“How did you know about that?” His mind raced; perhaps the hiding place was not as safe as he imagined. “Could you see the smoke, then? Do you think others saw it as well?”
“Nay, lad. Fear not. What smoke there was could hardly be seen: a wisp or two among the rocks, which I saw only when I brought my skiff close in.”
“Then how?” asked the prisoner anxiously.
“T’was the sea hawk that gave you away. She’s got a roost up near the top, and it seems you smoked her out proper. Wouldn’t land all day, just kept circlin’ about and looking down. If there’s one thing a beast won’t abide it’s the smell of smoke. Puts ‘em in a God’s fear, and no mistake.”
“But how did you know about the hiding place? I thought that just myself and my childhood companions.....”
“And of course you thought that I was never young. But truth to tell, I was. Lost the virgin there, I did, and haven’t seen her since.” He let out a grunt of laughter, and broke into a boyish grin. Then slowly returned to the matter at hand. “All in all, I doubt there’s half a dozen as know of it, and none of them English. You’re well enough there, and in the morning I’ll see you safely back.” He paused, relit his pipe. “But right now I’m in the mood for a story. A good one, mind. And I’m obliging you to tell it to me.”
So the man called Jamie began his tale, relating at first only the barest facts of his capture and imprisonment, leading up to the mass escape as they were being transferred from one hell-hole to another.
But as the memories and emotions rose up in their fullness before him, he found that he could no more pass over them quickly than he could forget them. The wounds were too deep, and too many, for that.
So gradually, without himself realizing the change, he spoke in greater length and detail of the trials and fears of that time, and of his desperate struggle not to be broken, or to lose sight of his dreams and yearnings, no matter how black his world became. Even his childhood, and his passionate
love for the girl, found their rightful place in his tale, so much so that his throat often swelled or shut tight, and he was unable for a time to go on.
But go on he did, far into the night, while the old man here and there nodded his understanding, or gave a timely word of encouragement. Until it had all come out, and he slumped back in the chair, exhausted, his face wet with tears.