On the night after the battle, Bill Bowls and Ben Bolter were sent on board a French transport ship.
As they sat beside each other, in irons, and securely lodged1 under hatches, these stout2 men of war lamented3 their hard fate thus—
“I say, Bill, this is wot I calls a fix!”
“That’s so, Ben—a bad fix.”
There was silence for a few minutes, then Ben resumed—
“Now, d’ye see, this here war may go on for ever so long—years it may be—an’ here we are on our way to a French prison, where we’ll have the pleasure, mayhap, of spendin’ our youth in twirlin’ our thumbs or bangin’ our heads agin the bars of our cage.”
“There ain’t a prison in France as’ll hold me,” said Bill Bowls resolutely4.
“No? how d’ye ’xpect to git out—seein’ that the walls and doors ain’t made o’ butter, nor yet o’ turnips5?” inquired Ben.
“I’ll go up the chimbley,” said Bill savagely6, for his mind had reverted7 to Nelly Blyth, and he could not bear to think of prolonged imprisonment8.
“But wot if they’ve got no chimbleys?”
“I’ll try the winders.”
“But if the winders is tight barred, wot then?”
“Humph!” ejaculated Ben.
Again there was a prolonged silence, during which the friends moodily10 meditated11 on the dark prospects12 before them.
“Not so sure o’ that, messmate,” said Ben. “There’s no sayin’ wot may turn up. P’r’aps the war will end soon, an’ that’s not onlikely, for we’ve whipped the Mounseers on sea, an’ it won’t be difficult for our lobsters14 to lick ’em on land. P’r’aps there’ll be an exchange of prisoners, an’ we may have a chance of another brush with them one o’ these days. If the wust comes to the wust, we can try to break out o’ jail and run a muck for our lives. Never say die is my motto.”
Bill Bowls did not assent15 to these sentiments in words, but he clenched16 his fettered17 hands, set his teeth together, and gave his comrade a look which assured him that whatever might be attempted he would act a vigorous part.
A few days later the transport entered a harbour, and a guard came on board to take charge of the prisoners, of whom there were about twenty. As they were being led to the jail of the town, Bill whispered to his comrade—
“Look out sharp as ye go along, Ben, an’ keep as close to me as ye can.”
Ben did not suppose that Bill intended then and there to make a sudden struggle for freedom, because he knew that, with fettered wrists, in a strange port, the very name of which they did not know, and surrounded by armed enemies, such an attempt would be utterly19 hopeless; he therefore concluded, correctly, that his companion wished him to take the bearings (as he expressed it) of the port, and of the streets through which they should pass. Accordingly he kept his “weather-eye open.”
The French soldiers who conducted the seamen20 to prison, although stout athletic21 fellows, and, doubtless, capable of fighting like heroes, were short of stature22, so that the British tars23 looked down on them with a patronising expression of countenance24, and one or two even ventured on a few facetious25 remarks. Bill Bowls and Ben Bolter, who both measured above six feet in their stockings, towered above the crowd like two giants.
“It’s a purty place intirely,” said an Irish sailor, with a smiling countenance, looking round upon the houses, and nodding to a group of pretty girls who were regarding the prisoners with looks of pity. “What may be the name of it, av I may make bowld to inquire?”
The question was addressed to the soldier on his right, but the man paid no attention. So the Irishman repeated it, but without drawing forth26 a reply.
“He don’t understand Irish, Pat, try him with English,” said Ben Bolter.
“Ah, then,” said Pat, “ye’d better try that yersilf, only yer so high up there he won’t be able to hear ye.”
Before Ben had an opportunity of trying the experiment, however, they had arrived at the jail. After they had passed in, the heavy door was shut with a clang, and bolted and barred behind them.
It is probable that not one of the poor fellows who heard the sound, escaped a sensation of sinking at the heart, but certain it is that not one condescended28 to show his feelings in his looks.
They were all put into a large empty room, the window of which looked into a stone passage, which was itself lighted from the roof; the door was shut, locked, bolted, and barred, and they were left to their meditations29.
They had not remained long there, however, when the bolts and bars were heard moving again.
“What say ’e to a rush, lads?” whispered one of the men eagerly.
“Agreed,” said Bill Bowls, starting forward; “I’ll lead you, boys.”
“No man can fight with his hands tied,” growled30 one of the others. “You’ll only be spoilin’ a better chance, mayhap.”
At that moment the last bolt was withdrawn31, and the door swung open, revealing several files of soldiers with muskets32, and bayonets fixed34, in the passage. This sight decided35 the question of a rush!
Four of the soldiers entered with the turnkey. The latter, going up to Bill Bowls and Ben Bolter, said to them in broken English:—
“You follows de soldat.”
Much surprised, but in silence, they obeyed the command.
As they were going out, one of their comrades said, “Good-bye, mates: it’s plain they’ve taken ye for admirals on account o’ yer size!”
“Niver a taste,” said the Irishman before mentioned, “’tis bein’ led, they are, to exekooshion—”
The remainder of this consolatory36 suggestion was cut off by the shutting of the door.
After traversing several passages, the turnkey stopped before a small door studded with iron nails, and, selecting one of his huge keys, opened it, while the soldiers ranged up on either side.
The turnkey, who was a tall, powerful man, stepped back, and, looking at Bill, pointed37 to the cell with his finger, as much as to say, “Go in.”
Bill looked at him and at the soldiers for a moment, clenched his fists, and drew his breath short, but as one of the guard quietly brought his musket33 to the charge, he heaved a sigh, bent38 his head, and, passing under the low doorway39, entered the cell.
“Are we to stop long here, Mister Turnkey?” asked Ben, as he was about to follow.
The man vouchsafed40 no reply, but again pointed to the cell.
“I’ve always heered ye wos a purlite nation,” said Ben, as he followed his messmate; “but there’s room for improvement.”
The door was shut, and the two friends stood for a few minutes in the centre of their cell, gazing in silence around the blank walls.
The appearance of their prison was undoubtedly41 depressing, for there was nothing whatever in it to arrest the eye, except a wooden bench in one corner, and the small grated window which was situated42 near the top of one of the walls.
“What d’ye think o’ this?” asked Ben, after some time, sitting down on the bench.
“I think I won’t be able to stand it,” said Bill, flinging himself recklessly down beside his friend, and thrusting his hands deep into his trouser pockets.
“Don’t take on so bad, messmate,” said Ben, in a reproving tone. “Gittin’ sulky with fate ain’t no manner o’ use. As our messmate Flinders used to say, ‘Be aisy, an’ if ye can’t be aisy, be as aisy as ye can.’ There’s wot I calls sound wisdom in that.”
“Very true, Ben; nevertheless the sound wisdom in that won’t avail to get us out o’ this.”
“No doubt, but it’ll help us to bear this with equablenimity while we’re here, an’ set our minds free to think about the best way o’ makin’ our escape.”
At this Bill made an effort to throw off the desperate humour which had taken possession of him, and he so far succeeded that he was enabled to converse43 earnestly with his friend.
“Wot are we to do?” asked Bill gloomily.
“To see, first of all, what lies outside o’ that there port-hole,” answered Ben. “Git on my shoulders, Bill, an’ see if ye can reach it.”
Ben stood against the wall, and his friend climbed on his shoulders, but so high was the window, that he could not reach to within a foot of it. They overcame this difficulty, however, by dragging the bench to the wall, and standing44 upon it.
“I see nothin’,” said Bill, “but the sky an’ the sea, an’ the prison-yard, which appears to me to be fifty or sixty feet below us.”
“That’s not comfortin’,” observed Ben, as he replaced the bench in its corner.
“What’s your advice now?” asked Bill.
“That we remain on our good behaviour a bit,” replied Ben, “an’ see wot they means to do with us, an’ whether a chance o’ some sort won’t turn up.”
“Well, that’s a good plan—anyhow, it’s an easy one to begin with—so we’ll try it for a day or two.”
In accordance with this resolve, the two sailors called into play all the patience, prudence45, and philosophy of which they were possessed46, and during the three days that followed their incarceration47, presented such a meek48, gentle, resigned aspect; that the stoniest49 heart of the most iron-moulded turnkey ought to have been melted; but the particular turnkey of that prison was made of something more or less than mortal mould, for he declined to answer questions,—declined even to open his lips, or look as if he heard the voices of his prisoners, and took no notice of them farther than to fetch their food at regular intervals50 and take away the empty plates. He, however, removed their manacles; but whether of his own good-will or by order they did not know.
“Now, Ben,” said Bill on the evening of the third day, as they sat beside each other twirling their thumbs, “this here sort o’ thing will never do. I mean for to make a dash when the turnkey comes in the mornin’; will you help me?”
“I’m yer man,” said Ben; “but how d’ye mean to set about it?”
“Well, somewhat in this fashion:— W’enever he opens the door I’ll clap my hand on his mouth to stop his pipe, and you’ll slip behind him, throw yer arms about him, and hold on till I tie a handkerchief over his mouth. Arter that we’ll tie his hands and feet with whatever we can git hold of—his own necktie, mayhap—take the keys from him, and git out the best way we can.”
“H’m; but wot if we don’t know the right turnin’s to take, an’ run straight into the jaws51 of other turnkeys, p’r’aps, or find other doors an’ gates that his bunch o’ keys won’t open?”
“Why, then, we’ll just fail, that’s all; an’ if they should scrag us for it, no matter.”
“It’s a bad look-out, but I’ll try,” said Ben.
Next morning this plan was put in execution. When the turnkey entered the cell, Bill seized him and clapped his hand on his mouth. The man struggled powerfully, but Ben held him in a grasp so tight that he was as helpless as an infant.
“Keep yer mind easy, Mounseer, we won’t hurt ’e,” said Ben, while his comrade was busy gagging him.
“Now, then, lift him into the corner,” whispered Bill.
Ben and he carried the turnkey, whom they had tied hand and foot with handkerchiefs and neckties, into the interior of the cell, left him there, locked the door on him, and immediately ran along the passage, turned a corner, and came in sight of an iron grating, on the other side of which sat a man in a dress similar to that of the turnkey they had left behind them. They at once drew back and tried to conceal52 themselves, but the man had caught sight of them, and gave the alarm.
Seeing that their case was desperate, Bill rushed at the grating with all his force and threw himself heavily against it. The whole building appeared to quiver with the shock; but the caged tiger has a better chance of smashing his iron bars than poor Bill Bowls had. Twice he flung his whole weight against the barrier, and the second time Ben helped him; but their efforts were in vain. A moment later and a party of soldiers marched up to the grating on the outside. At the same time a noise was heard at the other end of the passage. Turning round, the sailors observed that another gate had been opened, and a party of armed men admitted, who advanced with levelled muskets.
Seeing this, Bill burst into a bitter laugh, and flung down the keys with a force that caused the long passage to echo again, as he exclaimed—
“It’s all up with us, Ben. We may as well give in at once.”
“That’s so,” said Ben sadly, as he suffered himself to be handcuffed, after which he and his companion in misfortune were conducted back to their cell.
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1
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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3
lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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4
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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5
turnips
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| 芜青( turnip的名词复数 )； 芜菁块根； 芜菁甘蓝块根； 怀表 | |
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6
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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7
reverted
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| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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8
imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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9
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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10
moodily
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| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
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11
meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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12
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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13
bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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14
lobsters
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| 龙虾( lobster的名词复数 )； 龙虾肉 | |
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15
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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16
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17
fettered
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| v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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19
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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20
seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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21
athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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22
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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23
tars
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| 焦油，沥青，柏油( tar的名词复数 ) | |
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24
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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25
facetious
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| adj.轻浮的，好开玩笑的 | |
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26
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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27
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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28
condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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29
meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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30
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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31
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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32
muskets
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| n.火枪，（尤指）滑膛枪( musket的名词复数 ) | |
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33
musket
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| n.滑膛枪 | |
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34
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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35
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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36
consolatory
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| adj.慰问的，可藉慰的 | |
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37
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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38
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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39
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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40
vouchsafed
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
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41
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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42
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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43
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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44
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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45
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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46
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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47
incarceration
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| n.监禁，禁闭；钳闭 | |
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48
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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49
stoniest
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| 多石头的( stony的最高级 )； 冷酷的，无情的 | |
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50
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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51
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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52
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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