"Well, my son," began Captain Salt, as the Earl reascended the stairs. "Thanks be that we are alone together at last! Do I not keep my promises?"
"Indeed, father, you are kind. There is only one thing—"
"What is that?"
"I should prefer to return to Harwich alive; and seeing that I have eaten nothing for a day and a half—"
His father interrupted him by taking his arm and hurrying him off to the kitchen of the auberge, where a fat woman was basting a couple of ducks before a roaring fire.
"Pardon me, mistress," he began in Dutch; "but can you give this young man a breakfast?"
The hostess seemed to be annoyed.
"What does he want?" she inquired sharply.
The question being interpreted to Tristram, he answered that he wanted everything, but that in the meantime the ducks would serve to break the edge of his fast.
"But these are for his Majesty."
"What have you besides?"
"Salt fish."
"I will begin with salt fish."
"Bacon."
"I see," said Tristram, nodding up at a regiment of hams that depended from a rack overhead; "I will eat these also. What else?"
"Cheese."
"On second thoughts, I will begin with cheese while the fish is being prepared. Is that all?"
"Mother of God! Is it not enough?"
"How can I tell yet? Let me see your bread and cheese."
The woman left her ducks, and in a minute had dumped down a loaf and a huge round cheese of an orange colour before our hero.
"When do we start?" he asked, with his mouth full.
"Shortly after dark."
"Then I have plenty of time."
"I should hope so. Hostess, bring a bottle of wine."
"Two bottles," Tristram interrupted.
"It will get into your head."
"I hope so, for my head is something light at present."
"You propose, then, to spend the day in eating and drinking?"
"Unless you know of some better amusement with which we can beguile the time."
"None whatever. And as I must leave you for some time while I make arrangements for our return—"
"I shall not be lonely," said Tristram, with a glance at the ducks, followed by an upward look of resignation directed at the rows of hams.
It was dark when Captain Salt returned, and found his son on the settle where he had left him. Tristram was not sitting, however, but stretched at length and breathing heavily. At the farther end of the table sat the host and hostess of the inn, engaged in making out the bill.
"One—two—three—six bottles!" exclaimed his father, counting the ruins on the board. "Why, the boy is drunk!"
"No, father," Tristram interrupted, sitting up and rubbing his eyes; "not so much drunk as asleep, and not so much asleep but that I could see the landlord here add three empty bottles to the two I had finished, without counting one that came full to the table and was emptied by him for his supper."
Captain Salt shot a searching glance at the couple, who coloured and seemed confused.
"What is this?" he cried, examining the reckoning. "Two ducks!"
"Ah, I'm afraid it is true that I ate one of the ducks."
"But they were for his Majesty!"
"It appears they were cooked on the chance of pleasing his Majesty, who left, however, without inquiring for them. The landlord and his wife have just eaten the other. Is it time to start?"
"Yes."
Tristram jumped up and stretched himself, smiling amiably on the host and hostess, who returned his look with no very good will. Captain Salt, having made the proper deductions calmly, paid the reckoning, and they left the house.
Outside the weather was still dirty, and a wind, which had gradually risen since the morning, blew in their faces charged with chilly moisture. The mist, however, had cleared a little, and Tristram, as he rammed his hat tightly on his head before facing the night, could see the lights of the squadron far out upon the black and broken waters of the Maese.
"In what ship do we return?" he asked.
The wind apparently drowned his question; for Captain Salt started off without replying and led the way down across the sandbanks. It seemed to Tristram that their path lay to the left of that by which they had approached the inn early in the morning. He was straining his eyes on the look out for the wooden landing-stage, when suddenly, on climbing a ridge somewhat higher than the rest, he saw the white fringe of the waves glimmering close under his feet and the inky shadow of a boat, in which sat a couple of dark forms. One of them, hearing the low whistle uttered by Captain Salt, scrambled forward to the bows and held out a hand.
Tristram looked at his father, who nodded. They entered the boat in silence, and within a minute were being rowed rapidly across the tide. It struck our hero that the oars made remarkably little noise, in spite of the energy with which they were plied. He was about to speak, but checked himself on seeing his father raise a finger to his lips. "What is the meaning of this?" he wondered. His enormous meal had made him drowsy; and deciding that, if not allowed to speak, he might at least nod, he closed his eyes.
He opened them again with a start. From the shore behind them the roar of guns had just burst out upon the night.
This was his first impression; but the sound was not repeated, and in a moment or two he fancied he must have been dreaming of the salute he had heard in the lazarette of theGood Intent, as the squadron sailed out of Harwich. The boat was still moving with unabated speed, and the dark, choppy water stretched all round them. Through the murky night the ships' lanterns still shone steadily enough, but farther off than before, and at a sharp angle behind his right shoulder.
"It seems we are not steering very straight for the fleet," he could not help remarking.
"We are not steering for the fleet," said his father.
"But I thought—"
He broke off as a series of sharp flashes danced out in the distance, followed by the rattle of musketry and a dull, confused shouting.
"You perceive," Captain Salt remarked, "that the squadron is not the safest means of reaching Harwich."
"What are they doing out there?"
"They are killing each other."
"That sounds very unpleasant."
"And as the night is too dark to distinguish faces with any certainty, I thought you would prefer to go home by another way."
"A longer way?"
"It is certainly a trifle longer; but then, as it won't expose you to the risk of being killed—"
"That's true. I won't grudge the time."
The explosions of musketry, meanwhile, had been following each other faster and faster, and at length became incessant.
"Bravo!" muttered Captain Salt to himself; "this will take some time to quell."
"What did you say?"
"I was thinking, my son, that 'tis lucky you have somebody to look after you."
Tristram sought for his father's hand and pressed it. "I am not ungrateful, as you think."
"Why should I think so? You will have more yet to thank me for, I hope."
The boat at this moment swung to the left, around a sandy promontory that hid the jets of firearms behind them; but waves of light still flickered across the black sky and the shouting still went on, though growing fainter as they hurried forward. By one of the flashes, more vivid than the rest and accompanied by the crackle of a whole volley, Tristram saw that the boat was now being propelled down a narrow channel, both shores of which he could just perceive across the gloom.
Captain Salt suddenly raised both hands to his mouth, and hollowing the palms, uttered three mournful cries, long and loud, like the wailing of a gull.
Within half a minute the sound was echoed back from the darkness on the right shore, for which the boat immediately headed. After thirty strokes Tristram felt the sand rub beneath the keel, and they came to a stand.
"Show the light!" his father called, jumping out into the water that hardly covered the insteps of his riding-boots.
The red glow of a lantern appeared as if by magic, and revealed a man standing but twenty yards ahead on a gentle slope of sand. He held the lantern in one hand, and his right arm was slipped through the bridles of two horses that waited, side by side, and ready saddled, their breath smoking out on the night wind.
"Dear me," Captain Salt observed, reaching a hand to Tristram, and helping him to land; "I forgot to ask if you could ride."
"A very little, my father."
"You will find it difficult, then, to trot. Therefore we will gallop."
"You intend me to climb upon one of these beasts?"
"That is easy enough."
"I do not deny it; but I suppose you also wish me to stay on."
"Come; we must lose no time."
"Luckily the soil of Holland, as far as I am acquainted with it, is soft and sandy. On the other hand—"
"Well?"
"I was about to remark that they grow an immense quantity of tulips in this country, which demand a harder soil."
"We shall pass none."
"That is fortunate. For when I reach home and they ask me, 'Well, what have you done in Holland?' it would be sad to own, 'I have done little beyond rolling on a bed of tulips.'"
With this he climbed into the saddle and thrust his feet well into the stirrups, while his father whispered a word or two to the boatmen, who were about to push off on their return journey.
"Are you ready, my son?" he asked, returning and mounting beside him.
"Quite."
"Forward, then!"
The two horses broke into a trot. "Ugh," exclaimed Tristram, bobbing up and down.
"I told you we must go faster. Stick your knees tightly into the saddle—so."
The wind and the night began to race by Tristram's ears as his horse leapt forward. The motion became easier, but the pace was terrifying to a desperate degree; for it seemed that he sat upon nothing, but was being whirled through the air as from a catapult at the heels of his father, who pounded furiously through the darkness a dozen yards ahead. For three minutes at least he felt at every stride an extreme uncertainty as to his chances of realighting in the saddle. It reminded him of cup-and-ball, and he reflected with envy that the ball in that game is always attached to the cup with a string.
At the end of ten minutes Captain Salt reined up, and Tristram's horse, after being carried past for twenty yards by his mere impetus, stopped of his own accord and to his rider's intense satisfaction.
"Look," said the Captain, pointing to the sky behind them, which was now illumined by a broad scarlet glare.
"What is that?"
"One of the ships on fire."
"Then I am better off where I am."
"Did you doubt it?"
"I was beginning to.… How much farther must we ride?"
"Two leagues."
Tristram groaned, and they set off again, but more slowly, for the road now was paved with bricks instead of the loose sand over which they had travelled hitherto, and moreover it ran, without fence or parapet, along the top of a formidable dyke, the black waters of which far beneath him caused Tristram the most painful apprehension. Captain Salt, guessing this, slackened the pace to a walk. The glare still reddened the sky behind: but either the firing had ceased or they had passed beyond sound of it. At any rate, they heard only the water lapping in the dykes and the wind that howled over the wastes around.
Tristram had long since lost his hat, and his nose was bleeding from a sharp blow against his horse's neck. He was trying to stanch the flow when the chimes of a clock pealed down the wind from somewhere ahead and upon his right. His father halted again, and after scanning the gloom for a minute uttered again the three calls that were like the wailing of a gull.
Again the signal was answered, this time from their left, and the spark of a lantern appeared. "Dismount, my son," said the Captain, setting the example and leading his horse by the bridle towards the light; "we leave our horses here."
"For others?"
"No, for a canal-boat."
"This country may be flat," thought Tristram; "but decidedly the travelling is not monotonous."
As he drew near the lantern, he saw indeed that they were on the edge of a canal, wherein lay a long black barge, with a boy on horseback waiting on the tow-path, a little ahead of it. On the barge's deck by the tiller an immensely fat boatman leant and smoked his pipe, which he withdrew placidly from his lips as Captain Salt gave the password to the man with the lantern and handed over the smoking horses.
"Modena!"
The fat man spat, stood upright and prepared for business as the passengers stumbled on board. Not a word more was spoken until Tristram found himself in a long, low cabin divided into two parts by a deal partition. By the light of a swinging lamp he saw that a bench ran along the after-compartment, and asked if he might stretch himself out to sleep.
"By all means," said his father. "I was going to propose it myself. We shall travel without halting till morning."
"Then 'good night.'"
"You appear in a hurry."
"It seems to me that it's my turn."
The barge was hardly in motion before Tristram began to snore. Nor did he awake till the sun was up and shining in through the little opening by the stern, through which he could see the legs of the fat steersman on deck. While he rubbed his eyes his father appeared at the cabin door with a bundle in one hand and a big market-basket in the other.
"You sleep late, my son. I have already been marketing, as you see."
"Then we are at a standstill."
"Yes, but we move on again in three minutes."
"What have you bought?"
"Your breakfast. See—" and the Captain spread on the cabin table an enormous sausage, two loaves of bread and a bottle of red wine.
"That is good, for I warn you I am hungry."
"But first of all you must dress."
"Am I not already dressed?"
"Let me point out that the uniform of a private soldier in his Majesty's Coldstream Guards differs in so many respects from the native costume of these parts that it can hardly fail to excite remark. Listen: I have here two suits of clothes, in which we must travel for the next day or two; I as a private gentleman and you as my lackey."
"I begin to see that this way back to Harwich has its difficulties as well as the other," sighed Tristram while they changed their suits. This reflection threw him into a melancholy which lasted throughout the day, insomuch that he hardly found heart to go on deck, but sat on his bench in the cabin, feeding his heart on the prospect of Sophia's joy at his return and listening to his father, who sat and whistled on the cabin hatch, to the thuds of the towing-horse's hoofs, and to the monotonous "huy!" and "vull!" of the boatman whenever their barge encountered another and one of the twain slackened rope to allow passage.
Occasionally they were hailed from the bank by travellers who desired to journey downstream; but the invariable answer was that this barge had been hired by a nobleman who wished to travel without company and at his leisure. As Tristram, however, knew nothing of the Dutch language, he imagined these to be but kindly salutations of the inhabitants designed to enliven a voyage which (as he judged) must be inexpressibly tedious to anyone who made it with any other purpose than that of being restored to Sophia's embrace.
Towards sunset he went on deck, and observed his father steadily gazing at the left bank of the canal, parallel to which, and at a distance of five hundred yards or less, there ran an embankment with a highroad along the top of it. Following the direction of Captain Salt's eyes, he descried a party of four horsemen about half a mile behind them advancing down this road at a steady trot. The Captain had paused in his whistling—which had been pretty continuous all day—and was regarding these horsemen with great interest.
"I do not like them," he said reflectively, and spoke a few words to the steersman, who glanced back over his shoulder.
"You have met them before?" Tristram inquired.
"Not that I know of. Nevertheless, I do not like them."
Tristram thought this odd, for it was impossible at that distance to descry the features of the riders.
"We will go below," his father announced, rising in a leisurely manner.
They did so, and stood by the cabin door, so that their forms were hidden while they could see perfectly all that passed on the bank. The four horsemen drew near and trotted by at the same pace without seeming to turn their heads towards the canal. Two rode horses of a dark bay colour, the third a dapple grey, and the fourth a sorrel. As soon as they had passed out of sight, Captain Salt ascended to the deck again and entered into a long conversation in Dutch with the fat boatman. As this did not amuse Tristram any more than the windmills of which the scenery was mainly composed, he remained below and, stretching himself again on the bench, began to dream of Sophia.
Three hours later he awoke, said his prayers, and was preparing to go to sleep again, when his father entered the cabin.
"Hullo! What are you doing?"
"I was just thanking Heaven, which, against my inclinations, makes our journey a slow one."
"You do not wish to reach home in a hurry?"
"On the contrary, I desire it ardently. But having remarked that whenever I travel fast I am either seasick or jolted raw, I feel grateful for every restraint put upon my ardour."
"In that case I almost fear to announce that we shall move faster to-morrow."
"I am willing to be coerced," said Tristram, and dropped off again.
It was but an hour after dawn when his father aroused him. The boat lay moored by a little quay, beyond which his eye travelled to clusters of red roofs glowing in the easterly sunshine, and a dominant spire, the weathercock of which dazzled the eye with its brightness. The town was just waking up, as could be perceived from the blue wreaths of smoke that poured out of the chimneys.
Captain Salt was in an evident hurry. Without giving Tristram time to wash in the fore-cabin, he hustled him on shore and up a narrow street to an inn, over the archway of which hung the sign of a White Lamb with a flag between its forelegs. Here they rang a bell, and were admitted after ten minutes by a sleepy chambermaid, who led them upstairs to a low-browed sitting-room facing the street, as they perceived when she drew back the shutters. At the back of this room lay two bedchambers; and Tristram withdrew into the nearer, while his father ordered breakfast.
It happened that these two bedrooms overlooked a broad court or stable-yard behind the White Lamb. Captain Salt, having given his instructions, retired, whistling cheerfully, to perform his toilet. He was in the best of spirits, and broke now and again into snatches of song, which he trolled out in a tenor voice of great richness and flexibility. Tristram listened in admiration on the other side of the partition. The songs were those of Tom d'Urfey and his imitators, and dealt in a strain of easy sentimentality with hay-rakes, milking-pails and all the apparatus of a country life as etherealised by a cockney fancy; but the Captain sang with such a gusto, such bravura, and such an appealing tremolo in the pathetic passages, that you might have mistaken the splashing of water in his basin, as he broke off to wash his face, for tears of uncontrollable regret that he had not been born a "swain" (as he put it). Suddenly, however, one of his roulades ceased with more abruptness than usual and the enchanted Tristram waited in vain for the ditty to be resumed. The fact was that Captain Salt had glanced out of the window and seen at a stable door across the court a man stooping with his back to the inn and washing down the legs of a dark bay horse.
The Captain contemplated this group for a moment; then hastily donning his coat and turning into the parlour looked out upon the street.
Immediately under the signboard of the White Lamb, and before the front-door, stood a couple of men who chatted as they passed a tankard of beer to each other. Captain Salt could not see their faces owing to the extreme width of their hat-brims. But he turned a shade paler, and drawing back from the window stepped to the door, which opened upon the landing. Moving softly to the balusters, he peered over. Directly beneath him, at the foot of the stairs, sat yet another man in a broad-brimmed hat, who was engaged very tranquilly in polishing a pistol with an oily rag. The barrel glimmered in the light that shone down the well of the staircase from a skylight above Captain Salt's head.
He retired to the parlour again and, after trying the lock of the door, walked to and fro in deep thought for awhile. Then, from the bedroom, he fetched his sword and belt, with the two pistols which he had carried throughout the journey. He was examining the priming of these very narrowly when Tristram appeared, red and glowing from his ablutions. Almost at the same instant footsteps were heard ascending the stairs. The Captain went quickly to the door pistol in hand.
It was only the waitress, however, with the tray containing their breakfast. He told her to set it down, looked at the tray and, announcing that he was hungrier than he had imagined, desired her to bring up a ham, another loaf, and four bottles of wine. Tristram stared.
"You seem puzzled, my son."
"It is my turn again. Let me remind you that two days ago you marvelled at my appetite."
"But this has to last us for a whole day, and perhaps longer."
"Are we not, then, to proceed farther to-day?"
"I doubt if we can."
"Decidedly this journey gets slower and slower."
The waitress came back with the additional provisions and set them on the table. As soon as she was gone Captain Salt locked the door.
"Why is that?"
"Merely that I don't wish to be interrupted."
They ate their breakfast in silence. Tristram, as soon as it was over, rose, and, strolling across the room, was about to gaze out upon the street, when his father begged him to come away from the window.
"Why?"
"My son, you should obey your father without questioning," the Captain answered somewhat tartly.
"Forgive me."
Tristram had been taught to obey, but considering the wide views for which this country was notorious, he began to reflect with astonishment on the small amount he was able to see. Also he remarked, as the morning wore on, that his father was perpetually at one window or another, moving from parlour to bedroom and back, and scanning now the street, now the stable-yard, yet always with a certain amount of caution. Captain Salt, indeed, was gradually working himself into a state of restless irritation. The man in the stable-yard groomed away at the four horses, one after another, saddled them, led them back to the stable again, then composed himself to sleep on the stool outside the stable door, with a straw in his mouth and his hat-brim well over his eyes. The others still lounged in the sunshine before the inn door. He could hear the sound of their voices and occasional laughter, but not the words of their conversation.
It was about six in the evening when the Captain was struck with an idea. At first it staggered him a little: then he thought it over and looked at it from several sides. Each time he reviewed the plan he got rid of a scruple or two, and by degrees began to like it exceedingly. His restlessness diminished, and in the end he became quite still.
Tristram, yawning before the fire, glanced up and found his father's eyes fixed upon him.
"My company wearies you, dear lad?"
The dear lad disclaimed weariness. But Captain Salt advanced, sighed, and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Yes, Tristram; let us not deceive ourselves. I have done you a wrong, for which you must forgive me. I hoped, by delaying your return and keeping you near me—I hoped that perhaps—" Here he sighed again, and appeared to struggle with an inward grief. "Do not make it hard for me by bearing malice!" he implored, breaking off his explanation.
"I don't quite understand. Are you telling me that you have kept me here unnecessarily?"
"Alas! my boy—I hoped that your affection for me might grow with this opportunity, as mine has grown for you."
Tristram thought that to spend a morning in pacing from one window to another was an odd way of encouraging affection; but he merely answered:
"My dear father, I have a confession to make."
"A confession?"
"One that will not only explain my eagerness to get home, but also will, I trust, soothe your disappointment. The fact is, I am in love."
"Oh! that certainly alters matters. With whom?"
"With Sophia."
"Who is Sophia?"
"She is Captain Runacles' only daughter, and lives on the other side of our hedge."
"My dear lad, why did you not tell me this? Detain you! No. You shall fly on the wings of the wind. We will set out this very afternoon on the swiftest horses this inn can furnish."
Tristram winced. "There are limits even to a lover's zeal," he murmured.
"No, no. Ah, my boy!—I too have been in love—I can find the key to your feelings by searching my memory. May you be happier than I!"
He passed the back of his hand across his eyes and continued more cheerfully, hilariously almost:
"But away with an old man's memories! I was young then, and ardent as you. Nay, as I look upon you I see my very self reflected across a score of sorrowful years. We are extraordinarily alike, Tristram. Stand up and measure with me, back to back."
They did so. The Captain found himself the taller by a mere shade.
"It is the wig," he said. "Come, twist up your natural hair and let me see you in this wig."
Tristram obeyed, and his father fell back in astonishment. "It is extraordinary!"
"Certainly I perceive the likeness," admitted Tristram, contemplating himself in the mirror that hung above the mantelpiece.
"It is nothing to what could be produced by the merest touch or two of art. Give me five minutes, and I warrant you shall deceive the waitress here."
He drew the curtain, took down a candle from the mantelshelf, lit it and set it on the table; then, picking up the cork of an empty bottle, held it to the flame for two seconds or so and began to operate on his son's face.
"Ah!" he said, "to think that each wrinkle, each line, that I copy with a piece of cork has been traced in the original by a separate sorrow! Tristram, your presence makes me young again, young and childish. And in return I make you old—a pretty recompense!"
Tristram, whose nature was profoundly serious, stood up very stiff and blinked at the hand which wandered over his face, touching it here and there as softly as with a feather.
"Are we not wasting time?" he protested.
"Not at all: and to prove it, I am about to send you downstairs to order horses. It is wonderful! I wager the people of the inn shall not know you. Order a couple of fleet horses to be waiting in an hour from now: that will give us plenty of time to reach Nieupoort, and take a night's rest before sailing to-morrow. Here, kick off those clumsy boots and take mine; also my cloak here, and sword. Your breeches and stockings will do. Afterwards you can stroll out into the town, if you will, and purchase a keepsake for Sophia. I, myself, will buy a ring at Nieupoort for you to fit upon her pretty finger, if you succeed in tricking the folk below-stairs. Farewell, my son, and God bless you!—only, be back within the hour."
As the door closed upon Tristram, Captain Salt advanced to the keyhole and listened.
"A sound skin," he muttered to himself, "is better than a dull son. Moreover, at the worst he'll be taken back to The Hague, and there the Earl will keep him from me." He examined his pistols for a moment, opened the door softly, and, creeping out on the landing, began to listen with all his ears.
Meanwhile our hero marched downstairs, and, encountering the waitress in the passage below, gave the order for the horses. The waitress summoned a lethargic, round-bellied man from an inner parlour, who bowed as well as his waist would let him, and straddled out to the stables to repeat the order. Somewhat pleased to find he had not been recognised, Tristram sauntered up the dusky passage and forth at the front-door. As he passed out leisurably, he took careless note of a party of three men seated a few paces to the right of the door around a rough wooden table. On the other hand, the effect of his exit upon this party was extraordinary. For a moment they gazed after him, their faces expressing sheer amazement. Then they whispered together and stared again. Finally all three stood on their legs and buckled on their sword-belts. Two of them started off to follow Tristram, who had by this time reached the street corner, and was gazing up at the house fronts on each hand with rapt interest. The third man waited until they had gone a dozen yards, and then blew a whistle. In less than half a minute he was joined by the man from the stable-yard, and after a short colloquy this pair also linked arms and strolled up the street.
It was drawing towards sunset, and lights began to appear in several of the houses as Tristram passed along. The few foot-passengers in the street wished him "Good night" in the Dutch tongue, and he answered their salutations amiably in English, guessing the good will in their voices. He was greatly pleased, also, by the number of villas and small gardens that diversified the houses of business, each with a painted summer-house over-topping the wall and a painted motto on the gate. He longed to explore these gardens and take home to Harwich some report of the famous Dutch tulip-beds on which Captain Barker was perpetually descanting. A row of these garden-walls enticed him down a street to the right and out towards the suburbs, where the prospect at the end of the road was closed by a long line of windmills.
All this while he had been sauntering along at the idlest pace, with a score of pauses. Suddenly he bethought him that it must be time to return, and was about to do so when his eye was caught by a little shop on the other side of the road. He could not read the inscription above it; but the window was crowded with bulbs and roots of all kinds and bags of seed in small stacks. He crossed the road and entered the low door, meaning to buy a present for Sophia, whom for the last half an hour he had completely forgotten.
The proprietor of the shop sat inside behind a low counter, reading a book by the light of a defective oil-lamp, the smoke of which had smeared the rafters in a large, irregular circle. He was a little, wizened man, with a pair of horn spectacles, which he pushed high upon his brow as his customer entered.
"Since my father has engaged to buy Sophia a ring," said Tristram to himself, "I will get her a tulip. We will sit hand in hand and watch it unfold."
The prospect so engaged his fancy that he entered and began a sentence in excellent English. The shopman replied by shaking his head and uttering a few unintelligible words.
This was dashing. Tristram cast about for a few seconds, and began again in dog-Latin, a tongue which he had acquired in order to read the herbals to Captain Barker on winter evenings. To his delight the little man answered him promptly. Within a minute they were charmed with each other; within two, they had the highest opinion of each other; within ten, the counter was heaped with trays of the rarest bulbs, insomuch that Tristram found a grave difficulty in choosing that which should give the greatest pleasure to his Sophia. But, alas, in changing clothes with his son, Captain Salt had found it unnecessary to change breeches! Tristram put a hand into his pocket and discovered that it contained one coin only—the shilling with which he had been presented when forcibly enlisted in his Majesty's Coldstream Guards.
The Latin of the enthusiastic shopman was becoming almost Ciceronian, when Tristram pulled out the coin, and holding it under his nose briefly stated the case. Then the wizened face fell a full inch, and the eloquent voice broke off to explain that an English shilling, though doubtless a valid tender in England, was not worth more than a stiver, if that, to a Dutch tradesman.
Tristram apologised, adding that, if the shopman had a pennyworth of any kind of seed, he would purchase it as a small reparation for his intrusion on the time of so learned a man.
The shopman took the shilling and tossed upon the counter a packet of pepper-cress seed.
Our hero pocketed it, and was leaving the shop; but paused on the threshold and began to renew his apologies.
The little man had picked up his book again, and turned a deaf ear.
Tristram stepped out into the street. As he did so a hand was laid on his arm, and a voice said in good English:
"I arrest you in the name of King William!"
"I think there must be some mistake," said Tristram, as he turned in surprise and saw a tall man of soldierly presence, with three stalwart comrades immediately behind him.
"No mistake at all," said the tall man, with conviction. "My orders are to arrest and convey you back to The Hague."
"But I am about to leave Holland, and this will cause me considerable delay."
"Undoubtedly."
"In that case," Tristram replied, springing back a pace and whipping out his sword, "I must decline to follow you."
"Bah! This is folly."
"On the contrary, it is the conclusion of a valid syllogism which I will explain to you if you have time."
"Seize him!" was the only answer. The four men drew their swords and rushed forward together. Perceiving that he must be skewered against the shop door if he awaited their onset, Tristram contented himself with disarming his foremost assailant; then, springing wildly back on his left heel, he spun round and began to run down the street for dear life.
His movement had been so sudden that he gained a dozen yards before his enemies recovered from their surprise and set off in pursuit. Sword in hand, Tristram flew along the causeway, under the high garden-walls, for the open country and the windmills ahead. He heard the feet pounding after him, but luckily did not look behind. Therefore he was ignorant that his leading pursuer carried a brace of pistols in his belt and was pulling one out as he ran.
It was so, however; and in half a minute the pistol cracked out behind him—as it seemed, at the very back of his ear.
He sped on nevertheless, not knowing if he were wounded or not, but very wisely deciding that this was the surest way to find out.
As it happened, this pistol-shot proved of the greatest service to him. For an inquisitive burgher, hearing the outcries along the road, had popped his head out of his garden door at the very moment that Tristram whizzed by, followed by the detonation. The burgher, too, was uncertain about the bullet, but determined on the instant to take the gloomier view. He therefore fell across the pavement on his stomach and bellowed.
The distraction was so sudden that two of the pursuers tripped over his prostrate form and fell headlong. Their swords clanged on the cobbles. With the clang there mingled the sound of a muffled explosion.
"Curse the idiot! You've killed him, Dick."
The pair picked themselves up as their comrades leapt past them. Dick snatched up his second pistol, and resumed the pursuit without troubling his head about the burgher.
The burgher picked himself up and extracted the ball—from the folds of his voluminous breeches. Then he went indoors for ointment and plaster, the flame of the powder having scorched him severely. Later he had the bent guelder (which had diverted the bullet) fastened to a little gold chain, and his wife wore it always on the front of her bodice. Finally it became an heirloom in a thriving Dutch family.
But he was a very slow man, and all this took a considerable time. Meanwhile we have left Tristram running, about thirty yards ahead of his foremost enemy.
He gained the end of the quiet suburb, still maintaining his distance, and scanned the landscape in front. Evening was descending fast. To his right he saw the waters of a broad canal glimmering under the grey sky. Straight before him the high-road ran, without so much as a tree to shelter him, for miles. On the horizon a score of windmills waved their arms like beckoning ghosts. He was a good swimmer. It flashed upon him that his one hope was to make for the canal and strike for the farther bank. There was a reasonable chance of shaking off one or more of his pursuers by this device.
He leapt the narrow ditch that ran parallel with the road, and began to bear across the green meadows in a line which verged towards the canal-bank, at an angle sufficiently acute to prevent his foes from intercepting him by a short cut. By their shouts he judged that his guess was fairly correct, and the prospect of having to swim the canal daunted them somewhat. He looked over his shoulder. The pace had told upon three of them, but one man had actually gained on him, and could not be more than twenty strides behind.
"I shall have to settle with this fellow," he thought. "He is going to catch me up before I reach the bank."
His first wind was failing him, and his heart began to thump against his ribs. He spied a beaten path at this point that trended across the meadow at a blunter angle than the one he was following. Almost unconsciously he began to reason as follows:
"A beaten path is usually the shortest cut: also, to follow it is usually to escape the risk of meeting unforeseen obstacles. But if I change the angle at which I am running for one more obtuse, I give my pursuer the advantage of ten yards or so. Yes; but I shorten the distance to be covered, and, moreover, this is a long-distance man, and he is wearing me down."
Though this process of reasoning appeared to him deliberate enough, in point of fact he had worked it out and put the conclusion into practice in a couple of bounds. As he darted aside and along the footpath he could hear the momentary break in his antagonist's stride.
Tristram had hardly turned into this footpath, however, before he saw the occasion of it. Just before him lay a plank, and beneath the plank a sunken dyke, dividing the meadow so unexpectedly that at fifty yards' distance the green lips seemed to meet in one continuous stretch of turf. And yet the dyke was full forty feet wide. He leapt on to the swaying bridge and across to the farther edge, almost without a glance at the sluggish black water under his feet.
It is probable that his sudden weight jolted the plank out of its position. For hardly was he safe on the turf again when he heard a sharp cry. Throwing a look behind, he saw his pursuer totter, clutch at the slipping timber, and, still clutching at it, turn a somersault and disappear.
Tristram ran on. Then a series of shouts rang in his ear, and he looked behind again. The other three men had come up, and were running aimlessly to and fro upon the farther bank. From the pit at their feet rose a gurgling and heartrending appeal for help. It was plain the poor fellow was drowning, and equally plain that his comrades could not swim. Tristram took a couple of strides, and halted. Then he faced about and walked back towards the dyke, his heart still knocking against his ribs.
"Help! help!" resounded from the depths of the dyke.
"Gentlemen," said Tristram, "are you aware that your comrade is perishing?"
They stared at him helplessly. Without more to-do he slipped off his shoes, and sliding down the bank, flung himself forward into the icy water. In two strokes he was able to grasp the drowning man by the collar and began to tug him towards the bank.
But it appeared that the fellow had other views on the right method of being saved: for, casting his arms about Tristram's neck and wreathing them tightly, he not only resisted all efforts to drag him ashore, but began to throttle his rescuer. In the struggle both went under.
As the water closed over them the drowning man relaxed his hold a little, and Tristram, breaking free, rose to the surface coughing and spouting like a whale. Another moment, and a hand appeared above the water, its fingers hooked like a bird's talons. This grisly appeal determined Tristram to make another attempt. He kicked out, seized the uplifted arm just around the wrist, and with half a dozen fierce strokes managed to gain the bank at the feet of his enemies. While he dug a hand into the soft mud and paused for a moment to shift his hold and draw breath, one of the three unclasped a leathern belt and dangled it over the brink. Tristram reached out, caught it by the buckle, and was helped up with his burden. Two pairs of strong arms grasped and pulled him forward.
"Turn him—on his face and let the water—run out; then on his back— give him air!" he gasped, and with that fainted clean away on the green turf.
When his senses came back, the three men were bending over him.
"Where is the other one?" he asked feebly.
"Oh, Dick's all right." And indeed Dick was sitting up a few paces off, and coughing violently.
"But look here, you've played us a pretty trick!" the voice went on.
Tristram did not know that his wig had been lost in the struggle, or that the burnt cork which Captain Salt had applied was now running across his face in a vague smear. He had forgotten all about his disguise.
"I was thinking," he answered simply, "that you might give me the start I held before this happened. Fifteen yards, gentlemen, is as near as I can guess it. Don't you think that would be fair!"
"But why should we chase you at all?"
"Upon my word, sirs,Idon't know. I took it for granted that you must have some motive."
"So we had; but it appears that you are not Captain Salt."
"That is certain. A man cannot well be his own father."
"But you are disguised to resemble him."
"Ah! I remember. It was a fancy of his to dress me thus, an hour back. But stop a minute—I begin to perceive. You were after my father?"
"Yes, to arrest him. The King suspects him of carrying treasonable papers."
As the full treachery of his father's conduct began to dawn upon Tristram, they heard the clatter of hoofs on the road at their back, and turned. A thin moon hung in the twilight sky. It was just that hour before dark when the landscape looks flat to the eye, and forms at a little distance grow confused in outline. Yet they could see the horseman plainly enough to recognise him. It was Captain Salt who flew past, well out of pistol-shot, and headed southwards at a stretch-gallop, his hands down and his shoulders bent as he rode.
"Devil seize him if he hasn't got my mare!" roared the man Dick, forgetting his cough and leaping to his feet. "I can tell the sorrel a mile away!"
Then followed a dismayed silence as they watched the escaping rider.
"She's the best nag of the four, too," one of the men muttered gloomily.
"Boys," said the fellow who had first arrested Tristram, "he's done us for a certainty. In an hour or two he'll reach the French outposts. We must go back and patch up the best story we can find. Young man," he added, turning sharply, "I'd like to be certain you're as big a fool as you make out. Where d'ye come from, and where are ye bound for?"
Tristram told his story ingenuously enough.
"We'll have to search you."
They searched him and found a sealed packet.
"What is this?"
"Pepper-cress seed."
"Pepper-cress be damned!" was the only comment.
However, when the packet was opened it was found that he spoke the truth.
"Well, we can't take you along with us, or we shall have to tell his Majesty the truth; which is something more improbable than I care to risk. Moreover, you've saved a comrade—"
"And many thanks for it, my lad," Dick added, shaking Tristram by the hand.
"Therefore you're free to go. The question is, where you do want to go?"
"Harwich."
"Harwich is a long way; and you've lost your passport. However, there's a chance you may find a boat on the coast to smuggle you over. Cross the canal yonder, and bear away to the west. There's a road'll take you to Nieupoort. But first you'll have to pass this cursed dyke, unless you care to follow us back to the town and walk round."
"Thank you, no; I'll push on. I've crossed the dyke twice already this evening, and a second wetting won't matter much. Besides, I see my sword and shoes lying on the other bank."
He said farewell, slid down into the dyke again, and swam across. Then, regaining his property, he turned, called back another "Good night!" and bore resolutely across the meadow, the water squishing in his shoes at every step. The one purpose in his head was to reach the coast. He was young and sick of heart, but his gentle mind abhorred from considering his father's baseness. He thought only of home and Sophia.
In a minute or two he began to run; for the night air searched his sodden clothes and chilled him. The sky was starless, too, but he saw the dull gleam of the canal, and made for it. Then he followed the towpath southward for half a mile, and came to a bridge, and crossing it found himself upon a firm high-road leading (as it seemed) straight towards the west, for it certainly diverged from the canal at something like a right angle. Unfortunately, Tristram could not see in the gloom that the canal here took a sharp bend inland, and in consequence he tramped on with his face set almost due south, nothing doubting of his direction, but hoping, as each hour passed, that the next would bring him within sound of the surf. The road ran straight for mile after mile. Now and again he passed a small cabaret brightly lit and merry with a noise of talk and laughter that warmed his heart for a moment. In the stretches of darkness between he met one or two wayfarers, who wished him "Good night" in gruff voices and passed on. Not understanding what they said, he made no reply, but pushed forward briskly, breaking into a run whenever the cold began to creep upon him. By and by the road was completely deserted. The lights no longer shone from the lower floors of the wayside cottages, but, after lingering for a while in the bedroom windows, vanished altogether. The whole country slept. Then followed hour after hour of dogged walking. A thick haze encircled the moon, and under it a denser exhalation began to creep up from the sodden land. In the silence the fog gathered till it seemed to bar the way like a regiment of white ghosts, wavering and closing its ranks as the wind stirred over the levels. This wind breathed on his right cheek steadily. He never guessed that it came from the sea, nor remembered that when he ran towards the canal it had been blowing full in his face.
It was in the chilliest hour—the one before dawn—that a voice suddenly called out from the fog ahead:
"Qui va la?"
Tristram halted, then took another step forward in some uncertainty.
The voice repeated its challenge in an angrier tone; and this time our hero stood stock-still. The misfortune was that he knew not a word of the French language.
Once more the voice called. Then a trigger clicked, a yellow flare leapt out on the fog with a roar, and something sang by Tristram's ear. He jumped off the road and pelted across the meadow to his right. A second shot was sent after him, but this time very wide of its mark. Then, as it seemed, at his very feet a dozen black forms rose out of the earth. He tripped over one and went floundering on to his nose. As his hands touched the ground, a score of bright sparks flew up and were extinguished. With a cry of pain he rolled upon his back, and was at once pinned to the ground by a dozen firm hands.
He had blundered full-tilt across the embers of a French camp-fire.
A lantern was lit and thrust close to his face. He blinked painfully for a moment or two, and then perceived that he lay within a circle of fierce, grey-coated soldiers, who were putting him a score of questions in a tongue which he felt sure it would take him a year to master.
He endeavoured to say so.
"Ar-r-rh!" exclaimed one of the soldiers, spitting contemptuously, "C'est un Anglais."
"Espion!"
"J'en reponds." He gave an order, and in a trice Tristram's wrists were strapped together with a handkerchief. Then he was heaved up on his feet, and a couple of men took him, each by an arm. They were about to march him off, when a voice hailed them, and up rode a general officer, with two dragoons cantering behind him for escort.
"Qu'y a-t-il, mes enfants?" He had plainly been disturbed by the noise of the firing.
The soldiers murmured, "M. de Soisson!" and presented arms. Then they explained matters, and thrust Tristram forward, holding the lantern uncomfortably near his face.
M. de Soisson began an interrogatory in good French. As the prisoner shook his head, he harked back and repeated his questions in extremely bad English. Tristram answered them truthfully, which had the effect of raising disbelief in M. de Soisson's breast. After ten minutes this disbelief grew to such an extent that the peppery officer turned to the sergeant and ordered Tristram to be taken off to the barn where the deserters were kept under guard.
This barn lay a mile to the rear, across half a dozen meadows, over which Tristram was hurried at a quick trot, with the point of a bayonet at his back to discountenance delay. On arriving at the building he was held while the sergeant unlocked the door. Then he was kicked into inner darkness. He stumbled over the legs of a man who cursed him volubly, and dropped on to a heap of straw. Within ten minutes he was asleep, utterly worn out both in body and mind.
Three hours passed, and then the door of the barn was flung open and another sergeant appeared with a squad of soldiers at his back. He strode through the barn, kicking the sleepers, among whom was our hero. Tristram sat up and rubbed his eyes. He was one of at least three dozen poor wretches, hollow-eyed, lean of cheek, and shivering with famine, whom the sergeant proceeded to drive into a small crowd near the entrance, shouting an order which was repeated outside. Six men appeared, each carrying a load of chains. With these he fastened his prisoners together, two-and-two, by the wrist and ankle, and marched them out into the open air.
Outside the rain was descending sullenly, and in this downpour the captives waited for a mortal hour. Then three men came along, bearing trays heaped up with thick hunks of brown bread. A hunk was doled out to each of the gang, and Tristram ate his portion greedily, slaking his thirst afterwards by sucking at the sleeve of his cloak. He had hardly done when the sergeant gave the word to march.
That day they tramped steadily till sunset, when they reached the town of Courtrai, and were halted on the outskirts. Here they remained for half an hour in the road while the sergeant sought for quarters. Tristram's comrade—that is to say, the man who was attached to him by the wrist and ankle—was sulky and extremely dejected. As for Tristram, his very soul shuddered as he looked back upon the journey. He was wet to the skin and aching; his teeth chattered with an ague; his legs were so weary that he could scarcely drag them along. But worse than the shiverings, the weariness, and the weight of his fetters, were the revolting sights he had witnessed along the road—men dropping with hunger and faintness, kicked to their feet again, prodded with bayonets till the blood ran, knouted with a thick whip if they broke step, jeered at when they shrieked (as some did) for mercy. There was worse to come, and he alone of all the gang was ignorant of it. Very merciful was the confusion of tongues which hid that knowledge from him for a few hours.
At length they were marched back half a mile and turned into a barn, narrower than their shelter of the previous night. Nor was there any straw in it. They slept on the hard bricks, pillowing their heads on each other's legs, or lay awake and listened to their fellows' moans. Two sentries with loaded muskets kept guard by the door, and looked in whenever a chain clanked or some unfortunate began to rave in his sleep. Before morning a third of the gang was sickening for rheumatic fever or typhus. At six o'clock the sergeant entered and examined them. Then he retired, and came back in another hour with a covered wagon, into which the sick were hoisted and packed like herrings. All who had power to move their legs were afterwards turned out and treated to a pound and a half of the "King's bread" and a drink of water before starting. Tristram was one of these. The fever had relieved him of his companion, and this day he marched with more comfort, albeit his wrists were bound together and a rope of ten yards or more tied him by the waist to a couple of fettered deserters in front.
The weather had lifted somewhat; but the roads were still heavy, and their pace was regulated by the covered wagon, which seemed to loiter malevolently, as if to get every possible jolt out of the rutted highway. With every jolt came a scream from one or more of the sick men inside. Some, however, were past screaming, and babbled continuously in high delirium; and the ceaseless, monotonous talk of these tortured Tristram's ears from Courtrai to Lille.
They reached Lille long after dark, and were driven through the streets, between the bright windows of happier men, to the gloomy tower of Saint Pierre, that at this time was set apart for galley-slaves. On entering the prison they were marshalled in a long corridor, where a couple of jailers searched them all over. Nothing was found on Tristram but his packet of pepper-cress seed, which the searchers obligingly returned. As soon as this ceremony was over, all who were not broken with fever were led up two flights of stone stairs. An iron door was opened, and the sound of heavy snoring struck their ears. Inside they perceived by the light of the jailer's lantern a dozen figures stretched on straw pallets, and between the sleepers as many more empty couches, for which the newcomers were left to scramble. Tristram secured one as the door clanged and left them in pitch-black night, but gave it up to a pitiful wretch who crept near and kissing his hand implored leave to share it. Curling himself up upon the bare floor, he was quickly asleep and dreaming of Sophia.
A hand shook his shoulder and aroused him. Looking up, he saw a couple of villainous faces, which he did not recognise as belonging to the gang he had been walking with for two days. It was morning, as he could perceive by the light that was strained through a cobwebbed grating over his head.
The two men demanded if he wished to be tossed in a blanket. Tristram, not understanding, shook his head.
They thereupon demanded money and began to threaten. Tristram hit one violently in the eye, and catching the other by the throat pounded his head against the wall of the dungeon. He was surprised at the strength left in him, and also at a fury which he had never felt before in his life. A few of the prisoners roused themselves listlessly and laughed. He kicked the two fellows out of the way and lay down again.
Later in the morning he witnessed the game they had meant to play with him. One of his comrades, a wretched boy, blue with starvation, denied them money, for the simple reason that he had none in his pocket. Four of the old hands thereupon produced a filthy counterpane of coarse cloth and stretched their victim upon it. Then each took a corner, and raising it as high as they could reach, they let the counterpane fall on the stone flooring with a horrible thud. Tristram leapt forward indignantly and caught one of these ruffians a blow on the back of the neck that sent him down like an ox. Upon this the other three dropped their sport and fell upon him, like angry women, tooth and nail. Nobody interfered. He was driven back against the wall, where he leant, just contriving to keep his adversaries at arm's length with his fists, and feeling, now that the first spurt of wrath had left him, that within three minutes he must faint from hunger and weakness.
There is no knowing how the affair would have ended had not the door been thrown open at this moment. A couple of priests advanced between the files of prisoners, who sat up at once and started to howl out a dismal litany at the top of their lungs. Tristram's assailants left him hurriedly, and, shrinking back to their pallets, began to lift their voices with the rest. The noise was like that of a cat's battle, and the priests marched to and fro while it continued, smiling to left and right and exhorting the poor devils to an increase of fervour. One of them spied Tristram and whispered to his brother; and the pair seemed about to address him, when three jailers entered with large trays, bearing the prisoners' breakfasts. The litany ceased and the singers glanced at these trays with greedy eyes.
It proved to be the best meal that Tristram had swallowed since his misfortunes began, there being a pint of soup to each man in addition to the usual brown bread. After devouring it, Tristram sat with his back to the wall, wondering if the three ruffians would renew their attack; but they appeared to have forgotten their resentment, and even his presence. Some of his fellow-miserables fell to chatting; others to plaiting ropes out of the straw on which they lay; while some occupied themselves in keeping a look out for the rats that swarmed everywhere and stole out in the dim light to gnaw the pieces of bread which the prisoners saved and hid away for future use.
About four in the afternoon the great door was flung open again and the chief jailer appeared, with four turnkeys and the soldiers of the prison guard, all armed to the teeth with pistols, swords and bayonets. Their object, it turned out, was to examine the four walls and the floor very minutely, to see if the prisoners were making any holes or planning any attempt to escape. They spent a full half an hour in routing out the prisoners and searching high and low with their lanterns, using great roughness and the most abominable talk. Tristram watched their movements for some time, but at length curled himself up in his corner, which had already been explored. He was closing his eyes, and putting a finger in each ear to shut out the riot, when a smart blow descended across his thighs.
One of the soldiers was belabouring him with the flat of a sword, as a hint to stand up.
Tristram did so, and now observed that a dozen of the men with whom he had marched during the two previous days were collected in a little group by the door. He was taken by the arms and hustled forward to join them. As he came close and could see their faces in the dingy twilight, he saw also that, though big, strapping fellows, the most of them were weeping, and shivering like conies in a trap.
He was still wondering at the cause of their agitation when the jailer reopened the door and they were marched out, down the stone stairs, then sharply to the right and along a narrow corridor. A lamp flickered at the farther end, over a small door studded with iron nails; and before this door another small company of soldiers was drawn up in two rows of six, with their backs to either wall of the corridor. Between them the prisoners were forced to defile, still cringing and weeping, as the small door opened and they passed into the chamber beyond.
And now for the first time Tristram felt thoroughly alarmed. The chamber was narrow and lofty, and without any window that he could perceive. But just now it was full of a red light that poured out through the eyes of a charcoal brazier in the far corner. Two grim figures in leathern aprons stood over this brazier, with the glare on their brutal faces—the one puffing with a pair of bellows till the room was filled with suffocating vapours, the other diving a handful of irons into the glowing centre, wherein five or six already glowed at a red heat.
Beside them, and watching these operations with a business-like air, stood a gentleman in a handsome suit and plumed hat.
"Premiree fournee!" announced the sergeant in a loud tone, marshalling the prisoners along the wall. Four or five of them had by this time broken out into loud sobs and cries for mercy. The gentleman scarcely turned his head, but continued to watch the heating of the irons. At length, satisfied that all was ready, he turned and walked in front of the line, examining each prisoner attentively with an absolutely impassive face.
Coming to Tristram—who by this time was committing his fate to Heaven—he paused for a moment, and beckoning the sergeant put a question or two. The sergeant shrugged his shoulders and spread out both palms apologetically. Then the gentleman addressed a sentence to Tristram, and receiving no answer but a shake of the head, cast about for a moment and began again in English.
"You are Englishman?"
"Yes, sir."
"Not French deserter?"
"Certainly not."
"Then what the devil you do here?"
This was a question that seemed to require a deal of answering. While Tristram was perpending how best to begin, his interrogator spoke again:
"Speak out. I am M. de Lambertie, Grand Provost of Flanders. You had better speak me the truth."
Our hero began a recital of his woes, condensing as well as he could. After a minute, M. de Lambertie interrupted him.
"I beg your pardon. I speak the English ver' well; butmordieuif I can comprehend a word as you speak it!Tenez donc—You are a spy?"
"Not a bit."
"Well, well," said the Grand Provost, altogether gravelled, "youmustbe something—come!"
He called the sergeant again; who plainly could give no information, and was quite as plainly surprised that any fuss should be made over an affair so trivial. Indeed, the sergeant ventured to suggest that Tristram should be branded on the off-chance of its turning out for his good.
"But no," said M. de Lambertie, "I am a man of justice and of logic. It is incredible that a youth who cannot speak a word but English should be a deserter from our Majesty's army. Moreover, I am a physiognomist, and his face is honest. Therefore," concluded the man of logic, "he shall go to the galleys."
This was interpreted to Tristram, who found the argument fallacious, but fell on his knees and kissed M. de Lambertie's hand.
"Take him away," said the Grand Provost. He was dragged to his feet and led to the door, followed by the desperate eyes of his comrades. He heard their sobs and outcries renewed above the steady pant of the bellows. Then the door clanged. The soldiers took him upstairs and cast him back into the great dungeon.
The next morning he started in a chain of thirty-five slaves for the galleys at Dunkirk.