Then they asked why the deserters were gagged. At this I took up the tale, explaining that they were desperate characters, and had used such terrible language against his sacred majesty the king that, as a loyal officer, I had sworn they should not speak again until they were safely jailed in St. Malo. The captain's face was distorted with rage as he listened to this libel: he flung his manacled hands about and made frantic efforts to speak, which Joe's gag was too thoroughly fixed to allow.
"Voila!" said I, with a dramatic gesture; and the simple villagers, taking the officer's writhings and gnashings as so much evidence of his desperate wickedness, poured imprecations upon him for his impiety, and declared that no punishment was too great for him. The poor people had, I daresay, no great reason themselves for loving their monarch, but they were anxious that their own loyalty should be above suspicion.
About the English prisoners they expressed their sentiments without disguise. The English were their natural enemies, and they hurled such abuse at my comrades that I felt some anxiety lest these should cast off their cords (which were by no means closely tied) and take summary vengeance on their revilers. Fortunately their patience endured the strain, being aided by their ignorance of the precise meaning of the opprobrious terms applied to them.
The peasants told us we had come far out of the direct road to St. Malo, and pressed us to stay the night in their village. But this I would by no means consent to, for I was on thorns already lest something should mar our plot, and was keeping a wary eye on our wagoner, who, though slow-witted, was clearly in a state of great uneasiness. Professing, then, that having missed our way we must needs hurry on to make up for lost time, I listened patiently to the minute and befogging directions given us for finding the St. Malo road and ordered my party to march. But when we had gone some few miles out of the village, and darkness was settling down, I called a halt, and we rested till daylight in a field, taking it in turns to watch.
During the night I talked long with Joe Punchard about our course. The good fellow was very uneasy, fearing that when it came to negotiating for a boat our scheme would break down.
"Pluck up heart, Joe," I said. "I own we are running a desperate hazard, but so far we have had good luck, and 'tis a case of grasping the nettle boldly."
"But what reason can we give for hiring a boat, sir? If this Cancale is but ten miles from St. Malo we can not say we are sailing thither; 'twould be quicker to go by road."
"Then we'll change our destination, Joe. We may do what we please in this country in the name of the king, and provided there be no soldiers in Cancale we have but to put on an impudent assurance to weather through safely."
I asked the deserters what other port besides St. Malo we might give out to be our destination, and learning that Cherbourg was some sixty or seventy miles to the northward, and by that much nearer home, I determined to make that our aim. This involved another difficulty, for the authorities in Cancale might reasonably say that the prisoners having escaped from near St. Malo, should be entrusted to them to convey back to their prison. But 'tis no good meeting troubles halfway, and I resolutely kept my thought from dwelling on the manifold dangers that bestrewed our path to liberty.
We so contrived our march next day that we arrived at the outskirts of Cancale late in the afternoon, but with time enough, as I hoped, to set sail before night. When I beheld the size of the place my heart sank. I had imagined it to be little more than a village; but found it a regular town (though small for that), its little red-tiled houses clustering thick upon a height overlooking a bay. We had already met and exchanged speech with some of the townsfolk, and to retreat now might awaken suspicion. There was nothing for it but to adventure boldly, and I made up my mind to this the more readily because I had caught a glimpse of half a dozen fishing smacks lying in the little harbor, and a larger vessel of perhaps fifty tons moored to the jetty.