“By St. Martin, we’ve better medicine than that, apothecary!” said Lemprière of Rozel, loudly, and, turning round, summoned two serving-men. “Launch my strong boat,” he added. “We will pick these gentlemen from the brine or know the end of it all.”
The men hurried gloomily to the long boat, ran her down to the shore and into the surf.
“You are going—you are going to save him, dear seigneur?” asked the girl, tremulously.
“To save him—that’s to be seen, mistress,” answered Lemprière, and advanced to the fishermen. By dint of hard words and as hearty encouragement and promises, he got a half-dozen strong sailors to man the boat.
A moment after, they were all in. At a motion from the seigneur the boat was shot out into the surf, and a cheer from the shore gave heart to De la Forêt and Buonespoir, who were being driven upon the rocks.
The Jerseymen rowed gallantly, and the seigneur, to give them heart, promised a shilling, a capon, and a gallon of beer to each if the rescue was made. Again and again the two men seemed to sink beneath the sea, and again and again they came to the surface and battled further, torn, battered, and bloody, but not beaten. Cries of, “We’re coming, gentles, we’re coming!” from the Seigneur of Rozel came ringing through the surf to the dulled ears of the drowning men, and they struggled on.
There never was a more gallant rescue. Almost at their last gasp the two were rescued.
“Mistress Aubert sends you welcome, sir, if you be Michel de la Forêt,” said Lemprière of Rozel, and offered the fugitive his horn of liquor as he lay blown and beaten in the boat.
“I am he,” De la Forêt answered. “I owe you my life, monsieur,” he added.