Chapter Thirty Five.
We have great hopes of not seeing the inside of a French prison, but we are disappointed.
“Well, Tom, this is a bad job,” said Bramble to me, taking his seat upon the hencoop aft. “By to-morrow at noon, unless we fall in with a cruiser—and I see little chance of that—we shall be locked-up in a French prison; ay, and Heaven knows how long we may stay there! What’s to become of poor little Bessy? I’m sure I don’t know. I must contrive to write over to lawyer Wilson, and put him in charge of everything. But I’m sorry for you, my poor lad; it’s hard for you to be locked up, perhaps for years, when you might have been making money for yourself.”
“Well, it can’t be helped, father; we must make the best of it,” replied I, with a deep sigh, for I was anything but happy at the prospect.
“If it had not been for that swaggering coward, this might not have happened,” replied Bramble. “It’s somewhat my own fault: I was so anxious to frighten him about nothing, but at last I run us into real danger, and I might have known that he never would have fought, although I certainly had no idea of falling in with a privateer. Well, Tom, we must not lose a chance.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean that if there is any possibility of getting away, I shall; and you, of course, will not stay behind. I don’t know where they are going to, but you see, Tom, our only chance of getting off is while we are on the coast; if once we are marched into the interior, why, then it will be almost hopeless. What we must try for is to get away at the port where we land. We shall see.”
“I am afraid that there’s very little chance for us,” replied I; “but I’m ready to attempt anything.”