"Very few, I imagine. I myself did so only by swimming ashore. And even then the transport was blown up ere I had quitted it very long."
"And," asked the second, "have the—English—made many prisoners?"
"A great number, I should suppose."
"God help me!" the dark, pale man exclaimed.
"Louis will do no more. This is our last chance, Melfort."
As he spoke St. Georges knew in whose presence he was—the presence of the unhappy James. Then, because he knew also that this place was full of danger to him—some naval officers of the French fleet might by chance have got ashore as he had done, and might also come here at any moment—he saluted James, and said he must make his way onward as fast as possible.
"Where are you going to, sir?" the late King of England asked. "You will be better in the forts. They will not refuse you succour."
"Doubtless. Yet I must go on. I have to——"
As he spoke his eyes fell on the doorway of the inn, and, brave man though he was, what he saw there appalled him.
Leaning against the doorpost, regarding him fixedly, were two French sailors whom he had last seen on board the transport—two sailors who, as he had leaped on board followed by his own men, had disputed his entrance, had then been driven back to the larboard side of the ship, and had hurled themselves into the shoalwater and so escaped.