I had now been with Mr. Williams at Belmont about twelve months when the old restless spirit began to take possession of me again. The sea was calling me, with its wild days of stress and storm, or hardships and peril, and would not be denied.
When I told Mr. Williams he did his best to dissuade me, but the call had come, so packing up my belonging’s, which included a good testimonial from Mr. Williams and a beautiful Bible from Miss Williams, I said good-bye, and set out for Newcastle, hoping to get a ship from that port.
CHAPTER XXII
A Dangerous Enterprise
I arrived at Newcastle and was fortunate enough on the first day to ship as able seaman on the barque “P.C.E.”—Captain Law—bound for Noumea, New Caledonia, with a cargo of coal. My wages were to be seven pounds a month: I felt that I had “struck oil” at once for I had never heard of seamen getting such fabulous wages. I found out, however, that colonial owners paid good wages, and required good workers for their money, no limejuice methods would suit the coast trade. But I was young, strong and healthy, and I got along famously with both officers and men. Captain Law was as rough and unpolished a specimen of the British seaman as it was possible to meet, but a sailor from the crown of his head to the sole of his feet. The mate was a most illiterate man, coarse in speech and manner, and proud of his manners, or lack of them, but a good seaman, and utterly fearless. It was generally believed on board that he would have gone to sea on a plank if the pay had been good enough.
We had a fine passage of eight days to Noumea, New Caledonia, which is a penal settlement under the French flag. At Noumea there are a large number of prisoners both political and criminal out on parole—many of them are in business and doing well for themselves, but they cannot, of course, leave the island, and naturally there are always a number of daring and eager spirits ready and willing to run any risk to obtain their freedom, if they can get anyone to assist them. The political prisoners, many of whom are well off, or have friends who are well supplied with money for such a purpose, are always on the qui vive for such a chance.
Whilst unloading our cargo, the captain spent most of his time on shore at one of the saloons. Captain Law was very fond of a glass of grog when on shore, but, to his credit be it said, he never touched liquor at sea. One day while at the saloon Captain Law was approached by a Frenchman named Balliere as to his willingness to assist some prisoners to escape, and a good round sum was offered on account of Henri Rochefort, French Communist, who was then on Ducos Peninsular. Captain Law had heard of the famous journalist and was rather in sympathy with him, but the sum of ten thousand francs won his sympathy entirely. This was the sum Henri Rochefort had offered through Balliere. Captain Law accepted the offer, stipulating that no other member of the crew should be told for fear of them informing the officials, by whom a large reward would be paid for such information. Altogether it was a dangerous undertaking, for had he failed, or been caught in the act, the vessel would have been confiscated and all the crew imprisoned, perhaps shot. It was, therefore, arranged that the exiles should board the vessel themselves at their own risk, so that in the event of failure the authorities would not confiscate the vessel. But there was another side to the question which Captain Law, apparently, had everlooked—that he was risking the lives and liberty of his officers and crew without their consent or knowledge, which, in law is a criminal offence.
There was no difficulty for the three exiles at Noumea—Jourde, Balliere and Granthille—to get on board the “P.C.E.” They were out on parole and were in business in Noumea, but for Henri Rochefort, Oliver Pain and Pascal Grousett, on the Ducos Peninsular, it was a difficult and dangerous undertaking. But these men were quite accustomed to dangerous undertakings, their very lives had been spent among risks and perils, and they were prepared to do or die. Better far better to die in a struggle for freedom than to live a hopeless, lingering life, desolate and alone in their sun-scorched island prison. All of them had wives and families in their beloved France, and to see their faces again they were prepared to risk all, feeling that they were bound to be the gainers, whichever way things went. If they were caught, they would be shot—well, their misery would be over—if they succeeded they would be free. Free men again—Oh! how their hearts throbbed at the very thought of it! The joy of liberty is seldom appreciated until it is lost.
But to return to the exiles on Ducos. It was not possible to approach the bay in a boat without being seen by the sentry on duty. Now, just off the peninsula there was a small volcanic rock about one mile from the beach and in a line between Noumea and the Bay of Ducos. On the side facing Ducos was a mass of coral reefs, the other side had a bit of sandy beach, on which the surf breaks heavily at times. The waters around the island were infested with sharks, this, to those in authority, greatly lessening the possibility of prisoners escaping.
Now on the day the barque “P.C.E.” finished unloading at Noumea, Balliere had sent word to Henri Rochefort that a boat would be off the rock at 8 p.m., and he and his two friends Oliver Pain and Pascal Grousett were to make their way to the rock. All that day they had been talking about it, and as they talked the great ugly sharks were lazily swimming about in front of them, a sight that was enough to make the stoutest heart quail and quake. Yet, in spite of this, they resolved to swim out to the rock when the time came.