Our Flight—And Subsequent Mystification.
I am fully aware now that in thus persuading the commandant’s daughter and her companion to meet us in the park we were quite inexcusable, and that the fact that they were members of the family of a man who had very materially befriended us should have deterred us from tempting them to act in a clandestine manner such as the father of Inez would certainly have disapproved. And if we had been honourable men it would doubtless have done so. But we were not men, we were simply boys, and thought only of the pleasant companionship. I frankly plead guilty to the charge of deplorable heedlessness. We were as heedless as lads of our age usually are; and, thinking no harm, we at once succumbed to the temptation to neglect the task on which we were employed and to devote ourselves to the society of Inez and her companion. The consequences were, almost as a matter of course, such as an older and more experienced head would at once have foreseen—so far, at least, as Dona Inez and I were concerned—for we discovered that we were as desperately in love as ever boy and girl believed themselves to be.
But at length our rosy dream was rudely broken in upon and our souls filled with consternation by the news that in three days’ time the commandant hoped to be once more at home. We knew at once what that meant. We felt instinctively that, blameless as our love for each other might be, it would meet with no sympathy from Don Luis, nor would he tolerate its continued indulgence for a moment. At first a wild hope sprang up within my heart that such might not be the case; that the fact of my being a British officer might have some weight with the haughty don. But Inez dispelled that hope in a moment.
“No,” she sobbed, “you do not know my father or you would understand that nothing of that kind would influence him in the slightest degree in our favour. He loves me; oh, yes! he loves me more than anything else in the world; and I believe he would do almost anything to secure my happiness—but not that. My father is proud—very proud—of his birth and lineage; and whenever the idea of my marriage may suggest itself to him I am certain he will wish me to wed some noble of at least equal rank with himself. Of you, my poor Leo, he knows nothing save that you are a prisoner; and were you to go to him and plead our cause, not only would he refuse to listen to you, but I greatly fear his anger would fall heavily upon us both. Our only hope, dear Leo, lies in your speedily recovering your freedom, and gaining such distinction in your profession as shall justify you in asking him for my hand.”
“And that is precisely what I will do,” I exclaimed in an ecstasy of mingled hope and despair; “Courtenay and I will make good our escape before your father’s return, even if we have to take to the sea in an open boat.”
“And where would you go in your open boat, supposing that you could secure one, and could make good your escape from the shore?” asked Inez.
“We should head for Jamaica, and take our chance of being picked up by a friendly craft,” I replied.
“And supposing that you were not picked up by a friendly craft?” persisted my fair questioner.
“In that case,” said I rather ruefully, “we should have to push on, taking our chance as to wind and weather, and also as to our being able to hit Jamaica. It is only some twelve hundred miles or so across, and with favourable weather and a good boat we might accomplish the run in from ten days to a fortnight.”
“A fortnight! in an open boat!” exclaimed Inez. “Oh no, Leo, that would never do! You must not attempt it; the risk is far too great. It were better that you should remain here prisoners than that you should lose your lives in any such desperate attempt as that. Let me think. You want to get to Jamaica, do you not? And to get there safely you must be conveyed there in a vessel. Ha! I have it. Eugenia, when does your brother sail?”