As a last resource they determined to adopt this expedient, but the presence of the sergeant, in whose pouch rested the key of their leg irons, gave a new direction to their thoughts.
In the most friendly way, Roger plied him with the doctored wine. Feeling himself becoming drowsy the man would have staggered out. At this, the very crisis of a desperate situation, Sainton gave a mighty tug at his chain. The restraining staple came away, tearing with it half a plank.
In a minute or less they were free.
Startled almost into full consciousness the sergeant sprang towards him, with sword half drawn. So there was no help for it but to assist the action of the wine. Roger grabbed him by the neck and held him, wriggling, until, to say the least, he was willing to lie very still.
In a minute, or less, they were free. They knew that the hour was long past midnight. The dawn would soon be upon them and there was no time to be lost.
Walter seized the sergeant’s sword and Roger took the sentry’s halberd. They would fight for their lives now, even if they were compelled to face the whole ship’s company. But fortune still favored them. The watch on deck were mustered forward, and the clinking of a can, together with the manner of such speech as they overheard, told them that conviviality was well established there. So they crept to the after part, Roger going almost on all fours to hide his stature. Sure enough, a boat was moored there. They climbed down into her, cast off, and a strong tide quickly carried them away from the Sparta.
They looked about for the Sancta Trinidad, and guessed aright that a fine brig, moored about a cable’s length distant from the Sparta, must be the vessel spoken of by Fra Pietro.
Rowing quietly towards her they hailed her by name and were answered. They were hoisted aboard, and a stoutly built, black-bearded man, who came at the cry of the watch, met them cordially:—