Guida’s eyes were upon the Bailly. “And the child?” she cried with a broken voice—“the child?”
“The child goes with its mother,” answered the Bailly firmly.
DURING ONE YEAR LATER
CHAPTER XL
The day that saw Guida’s restitution in the Cohue Royale brought but further trouble to Ranulph Delagarde. The Chevalier had shown him the lost register of St. Michael’s, and with a heart less heavy, he left the island once more. Intending to join Detricand in the Vendee, he had scarcely landed at St. Malo when he was seized by a press-gang and carried aboard a French frigate commissioned to ravage the coasts of British America. He had stubbornly resisted the press, but had been knocked on the head, and there was an end on it.
In vain he protested that he was an Englishman. They laughed at him. His French was perfect, his accent Norman, his was a Norman face—evidence enough. If he was not a citizen of France he should be, and he must be. Ranulph decided that it was needless to throw away his life. It was better to make a show of submission. So long as he had not to fight British ships, he could afford to wait. Time enough then for him to take action. When the chance came he would escape this bondage; meanwhile remembering his four years’ service with the artillery at Elizabeth Castle, he asked to be made a gunner, and his request was granted.
The Victoire sailed the seas battle-hungry, and presently appeased her appetite among Dutch and Danish privateers. Such excellent work did Ranulph against the Dutchmen, that Richambeau, the captain, gave him a gun for himself, and after they had fought the Danes made him a master-gunner. Of the largest gun on the Victoire Ranulph grew so fond that at last he called her ma couzaine.
Days and weeks passed, until one morning came the cry of “Land! Land!” and once again Ranulph saw British soil—the tall cliffs of the peninsula of Gaspe. Gaspe—that was the ultima Thule to which Mattingley and Carterette had gone.