"Nine sail of the line, and I don't know how many frigates." Was ever such ill-luck! The fugitives were clean cut off, that way, from the shores of England, while on the road behind them were hastening, or would shortly hasten, the justly-incensed officials of the town of Abbeville. La Vireville knew an instant's real despair, and his fingers tightened involuntarily on the small hand in his. They must get back to England. But they could not—at least not by the way of his choice, the most direct and obvious way, the Channel. That path was barred before them. Of course there was another road. If they could only reach that outpost of England, Jersey! But it was the deuce of a long journey, and since the sea was now denied them, they must go by land till they reached the coast of the Cotentin, a far more hazardous route, armed though La Vireville now was with the fairly extensive powers conveyed to him by M. Duchâtel's papers. . . . Well, they must make the best of a bad business, and the first step was to remove themselves from the harbour, where curious glances were already beginning to be cast at him and his small companion. He must leave as few traces as possible for the inquirers from Abbeville when they came.
La Vireville was, in fact, actually turning away from the shed by which they were standing, when his eyes fell on a vessel at the quayside which he had not previously noticed, a schooner-rigged barque of some three hundred tons burthen, on whose broad stern, surrounded by flourishes, could be read her name and port of origin—the Trois Frères of Caen. It was this legend which caused him suddenly to stay his steps and to give vent to a murmured exclamation. What if the fleet of the Republic were cruising along the coast from Dieppe to Boulogne! With his face set, not for England, but for a more westerly French port, and the tricolour floating over him, he could pass unscathed through that fleet even if it were encountered. They would go to Caen—if the barque were shortly putting to sea and if the captain would take them. And from Caen, ten or twelve hours' posting would bring them to the shore of the Cotentin, to Granville, or to Carteret, the nearest port of all France to Jersey. It was an excellent scheme, could it be put in practice, and one possessing an advantage of its own, that by taking to the water at once they would have a very good chance of breaking the scent.
La Vireville looked carefully at what he could see of the Trois Frères. A certain subdued bustle among her small crew seemed to indicate an early departure, which was good. The next problem was the mind of the captain. If that were he, red-faced, blue-eyed, standing near the rail with a pipe in his mouth and occasionally issuing an order, he looked as if he might be open to persuasion. At least the attempt should be made.
All this while Anne-Hilarion had stood patiently, his hand in his rescuer's, asking no questions, and evidently little disposed, after his unwonted night, to take an interest even in the shipping. The émigré bent down to him.
"Anne," he said in a low voice, "I am going to ask the man on that ship to take us to Caen. We cannot go straight to England, as I had hoped. Now you must be sure to bear me out in what you hear me say, even if it is not exactly true. I shall have, I think, to pretend that you are my nephew, so you must remember to call me uncle—never anything else. Very likely I shall pretend also that we live at Caen. You must not say anything about England. You understand, little one?"
"Yes," replied Anne-Hilarion, lifting a rather grimy and pallid face. Then he gave a little sigh, as one who makes a reluctant sacrifice of truth to necessity. And indeed he was a very truthful child; yet La Vireville more correctly interpreted his emotion.
"You want your breakfast, mon petit, do you not? Never mind, you shall soon have it. Only help me to soften the heart of this sea-captain."
And, approaching the Trois Frères, the émigré hailed the smoker.
"Are you the master of this ship, citizen?"
The sailor removed his pipe. "Mate," he replied laconically. "Master just coming aboard." He indicated with the stem of his pipe another mariner, also red-faced and blue-eyed, who was making his way round a pile of timber towards the gang-plank. Him La Vireville intercepted, hastily filling up in his own mind the gaps in the story designed for his edification, since here Duchâtel's papers were not likely to be of much avail.