A spark of hope Latude hadn’t felt in years took hold of him. All the same, doubts preyed on his mind. Everyone knew that escape from the Bastille was impossible — wasn’t it? Maybe I’m going mad after all, he thought.
He kept his fears to himself, as he and Allègre went over all the possible exits. Their room was on the fourth floor of one of the Bastille’s eight towers. There was no getting out through the cell’s heavy double door. It was locked with iron bars, and guards were right outside, day and night. They had one tiny window, but it was too small for a child to squeeze through, never mind a grown man.
And even if they could fit inside the window opening, four sets of iron grids barred their way through the six feet of stone wall. What’s more, guards constantly checked the grids to make sure they were solid.
“The only way left is up,” Latude said, half-joking.
Latude and Allègre raised their eyes to the chimney over their fireplace — in winter it barely kept the prisoners warm in the damp tower. Guards didn’t search it often, since it was always filthy and smoke-filled.
Allègre stuck his head in the fireplace and peeked up the chimney. He quickly ducked back out and, brushing the soot off himself, shook his head. It was at least 30 feet to the top, and high up he could see layers of iron gratings, blocking the way.
“We could pry them out, one by one,” Latude suggested.
“With what? We have no tools,” Allègre answered. “And say we did, and could climb all the way up. We’d be at the top of the tower. How would we get down? It’s at least an 80-foot drop — straight into a moat! Not to mention the huge wall on the other side of that.”
Latude counted off the obstacles on his fingers. They would need to make tools to remove the gratings. Plus ladders and ropes to climb up the chimney and down the tower wall, then to climb over the wall on the far side of the moat.
And guards were always listening in at the door, surprising them with searches. They’d have to build everything in total silence, then hide it in a flash. Latude and Allègre looked around the nearly empty room and at its meager furniture. All of it was regularly searched.
“Where would we hide everything?” Allègre asked.
They both fell silent. That was where their talk of escape always ended. They had no answer.
Latude and Allègre lay on their cots, staring at the ceiling. Latude listened to the prisoner above pace back and forth, the floor creaking with every step. “What a racket,” he grumbled. “Why doesn’t he just sit down?”
Allègre didn’t answer at first. Then his eyes widened. He sat up. “But listen to the prisoner below.”
Latude shook his head. “I can’t hear a thing.”
“Neither can I,” answered Allègre. He paused. “But in my last cell, I could hear the man above me and the man below me.”
“But there’s someone down there,” said Latude, sitting up. “I saw him myself on the way back from chapel.”
So why couldn’t they hear him?
“There’s only one explanation!” Allègre whispered excitedly.
“There’s a space between the ceiling of the cell below and our own floor!” They both knew what that meant. A hiding place!
At 6:30 p.m. the guard brought their supper. The prisoners lowered the hinged table from the wall and ate in silence. As the food was taken away, Latude and Allègre exchanged glances. They knew no one would disturb them until morning. The guards were settled in their routine, and the two men were model prisoners now.
As soon as the door closed, Allègre and Latude began to wrench off the iron hinges that held the tabletop when it was down. They had their first tools! All they had to do was take their meals on their laps from now on and leave the table up.
With his hinge Allègre pried up one of the floor tiles, and the two men began to scratch at the mortar beneath. For six hours they scraped, barely noticing the aches in their arms and backs. Latude wiped his brow and glanced up — it would be dawn soon. The first guard of the day would arrive at five a.m.
Suddenly Allègre’s tool pierced through the mortar. Latude joined Allègre as he scrabbled in the dust, clearing it aside. Allègre peeked through the hole, then motioned to Latude to do the same. Latude had to stop himself from shouting out loud. There was an empty space between the floor and the ceiling below — and it was at least three feet deep.
Allègre replaced the tile and carefully dotted mortar around it. No one would be able to tell it had been moved.
The two men collapsed onto their beds, exhausted. But Latude’s head was spinning with happiness. He knew they were taking on a near-impossible task — and it would be painfully slow. But what did he have, other than time? From now on it was all he would think about by day, and toil at by night.
Each evening after the guard left they set to work. First they ripped the hems of their shirts and unraveled the threads, winding them into balls. Then they carefully braided the threads into a rope. As the rope grew longer, it began to eat up everything they could lay their hands on — shirts, underwear, stockings and breeches, napkins. As winter wore on, Latude and Allègre shivered half-dressed in their cell. They even unraveled the edges of their bed sheets, carefully stitching the hems back up and hoping the laundress wouldn’t notice that their linen was getting smaller!
And before each dawn they hid it all under the floor, carefully laying the tile back in its place. The guards shrugged when the prisoners began napping during the day. It must help them pass the long hours, they thought.
Next they needed steps for their ladder. Each day they saved a bit of the wood the guards brought for the fire, and stashed it in their hiding place. At night they filed the logs into rungs — as quietly as they could.
Latude fitted the rungs one by one onto the rope, and laid out the 20-foot ladder for inspection. “Eighteen months’ work,” he said, stretching his back.
“Time for the chimney,” said Allègre, nodding. Latude groaned — this would be the hard part!
“You first,” Allègre smiled. “You’re the nimble one.”
Latude rolled up the ladder. Tucking it under one arm, he ducked through the fireplace and wedged himself inside the narrow chimney. He tossed the ladder up over one of the bars high above and climbed up to the first layer of gratings. Hanging in the gloom, he reached out to scrape at the cement around the grids, nearly losing his balance at first. His hands chafed on the rough stone and began to bleed.
An hour later he couldn’t take it anymore, and scrambled down to give Allègre a turn.
Slowly, painfully, they pried out the chimney gratings one by one, and climbed a little higher. Each time Latude pried a bar loose, he gently placed it back in its hole on the way back down. You never knew when guards would inspect the chimney. But it was ready to be plucked out when the moment came.
And after hiding their tools each morning, Latude scanned the room for any sign of their work — the smallest chip of mortar could give them away.
Latude wound a strip of cloth around yet another rung. It had taken them six months to clear the chimney and braid a safety rope, and now he was halfway through the second ladder. This one would need at least 150 rungs to reach down the outside tower wall. Wrapping it in cloth was Allègre’s idea — that way it wouldn’t scrape noisily against the stone.
As he worked, Latude finally voiced the question that had been on his mind for months.
“What about the outer wall beyond the moat?” he blurted out. It was the most dangerous part of their exit route. Sentries patrolled the top all night long.
Allègre paused before ripping another strip of material. “There’s only one way. We’ll have to go through the wall — not over it.” He handed the cloth to Latude. “We’ll chip away the stones once we’re in the moat.”
Latude lowered his eyes, saying nothing. The doubts that had haunted him now made him turn cold. Could they do it? With a sentry walking over their heads? Maybe this was turning out to be madness after all.
Daylight was just piercing their small window as Latude slipped the last rung of the long ladder in place. He stared at it. He had thought it would go on forever! When he looked up at Allègre, he saw tears in his eyes. After seven years as a prisoner — eight for Allègre — Latude could scarcely believe this moment had come.
It was February 25, 1756, the day before Mardi Gras. The winter nights were long and dark, the river around the Bastille was high, and fog made it hard to see very far. There would never be a better time to escape. They would go that night.
The day seemed endless, but at last the guard came with their dinner and left. Latude hastily packed what clothes they had left in a watertight case. If they made it across the moat they would be soaked. And wet clothes would surely give them away in the city, if not freeze them to death first!
Allègre pulled the long rope ladder from its hiding place and began to piece it together, rung by rung. He counted as he went — 151 steps in all. They hauled everything over to the fireplace.
The prison bell tolled eight o’clock. Time to get going! As agreed, Latude began to climb up the chimney first, wedging his hands and feet against the sides, pulling out the iron gratings as he went. Let’s hope it’s for the last time, he thought. As he climbed, breathing hard, the chimney’s walls seemed to press in on him. He grimaced as the rough stone rubbed the skin off his knees and elbows. Blood trickled from his elbows to his hands, making them slip.
Almost there, he told himself. Soot stung his eyes and made him choke.
At last he grasped the chimney top. Pulling himself up with his arms, he popped his head out into the air. The cold night wind blew on his face, and it felt delicious. He was outside! With a big push Latude hoisted himself out and sat astride the opening. He looked around at the foggy night — perfect! In the distance, a band played a march.
Latude lowered a cord back down the chimney, and the two men worked fast to haul up their equipment — including two iron bars pulled from the chimney. At last Allègre sent up the short ladder, and Latude let it dangle down so the heftier Allègre could climb up.
Once Allègre had clambered to the top, the two men quickly scaled down the chimney’s outer wall, landing on the platform between the towers. Latude glanced around through the fog — no sentries! He and Allègre pulled the long rope ladder down after them, and began to roll it up. All together, the pile of rope and wood was huge — nearly five feet high. Struggling under its weight, they carried it to the neighboring Trésor Tower, which they had agreed offered the best route down.
The two men tied the long ladder to a cannon and together they heaved the rest of it over the edge. Latude’s stomach lurched as he watched it drop noiselessly down the side of the tower and disappear into the moat far below. He closed his eyes for a second to steady himself.
Allègre had already started rigging the safety rope to the cannon. It was 360 feet long, and Latude recalled how they had braided it inch by inch. Strong winds swept across the platform as Latude fastened the rope around his thigh, and he was glad they had been so careful. If the wind knocked him off the ladder, the safety rope would be his last hope.
With a nod to Allègre, Latude lowered his foot over the edge and onto the first rung of the ladder. He felt as if he were stepping into an abyss. Gripping the rope sides, he waited for his fear to pass, and then moved down rung by rung. Above him, Allègre fed the safety rope as he went. The wind whipped at his back in the darkness, and the ladder began to sway, brushing against the stones. Latude closed his eyes and held on. When it stopped rocking he took another step.
A sudden gust blew the ladder away from the wall and Latude felt himself swinging in midair like a kite, before falling against the stone again. He peered down into the blackness beneath him. It seemed to spin under his feet. Quickly he looked up again, and the dizziness left him. Step by step he kept going — down 80 feet of sheer wall.
When his foot touched the mire at the edge of the moat, Latude breathed a silent prayer of thanks. Allègre passed down the case and tools on a rope. Then, tying the safety rope to his own waist, he took his turn on the ladder. Latude pulled with all his might to secure the rope from below.
Once Allègre was at his side they peered across the moat. Latude could make out the silhouette of a sentry on top of the wall. As Allègre had predicted, they would have to do it the hard way — using the iron bars from the chimney to force a hole in the wall, which was four and a half feet thick.
Warily, they stepped down toward the water. Latude braced himself for the cold — but the shock was worse than he expected! They waded forward through the dirty, icy water, deeper and deeper. Soon they were up to their chests.
Once across, Latude got out their crude tools and began to pierce a hole between two stones. Suddenly a flash lit up his hands on the wall. He glanced up — the sentry was coming toward them along the wall top, swinging his lantern. Latude and Allègre sank down into the water to their chins, and listened to his footsteps pass over their heads. As soon as the steps died away, Latude stood up and kept scraping with all his strength.
The iron bar broke through the mortar, and Allègre was instantly at his side. They wedged in both iron bars and struggled to pry the stones loose, sinking down each time the sentry passed overhead.
Latude’s hands and feet started to numb. They worked fiendishly, but their progress was slow. Too slow! Panic washed over Latude when he tried to guess how many hours had passed. Dawn was not far off, but he could not work any faster. A clumsy scrape of his bar or a splash of stone in the water would easily be heard by the patrol above.
As their hole grew, stones and debris rose in a pile above the water. Latude glanced up — the sentry was coming back. They sank down, splashing as they fell against the pile. The sentry’s footsteps stopped.
Latude and Allègre froze. Had he heard them? Above, there were a few more footsteps as the sentry moved to the edge of the wall. Latude clenched his teeth to stop them from chattering. He wished he could sink underwater, but didn’t dare — the splash would signal where they were.
He’s right above us, thought Latude. Has he seen us? What is he doing?
A stream of water hit the top of his head. Latude nearly jumped out of his skin. Then it dawned on him — the sentry had stopped to relieve himself! Latude forgot to be disgusted. A few seconds later, he heard the sentry’s steps again as he backed away from the edge and walked on.
After what seemed like an eternity, their hole reached the other side of the wall. As quickly as they dared, they pulled away the broken stone to make the opening big enough to fit through.
Allègre squeezed through first. Latude pushed the case after him. As he grabbed the stone sides to pull himself through, he glanced up. The sky was lighter now. How many hours had it taken them to break through the wall — six, seven, maybe more? Daylight was practically upon them.
Latude hurled himself through the opening. In his blind rush he barely noticed the jagged stones that scraped his frozen skin. Every second counted now.
One more moat lay between them and the road. Latude tested the slope with his feet, and realized with horror that it was much steeper than the first one, and the water much deeper.
He and Allègre looked at each other. Neither of them could swim! But there was no going back. Side by side they plunged down the bank into the icy water. Latude soon lost his footing on the steep bank, and the water rushed over his head. He groped blindly forward. Suddenly he felt Allègre thrashing wildly near him, then gripping him in panic, pulling him down. Latude’s mind raced frantically — he hadn’t come this far only to drown!
With a kick he freed himself of Allègre. Then, with flailing arms, he grasped a root on the opposite bank. Reaching back into the water, he felt Allègre’s hair and closed his fist around it, pulling him up. The two men gasped for air, clinging to the slope. Latude spotted a large object floating away — the case of clothes! He reached out and grasped it by the edge just before it mo
ved out of reach.
They scrambled up the bank and collapsed onto the road above. Panting, Latude looked back at the stone walls looming behind them. Behind, he thought with sudden joy. They were outside! Free!
In the distance a church bell sounded five o’clock. Shivering, Latude fumbled to open the case. He could have wept with happiness — it was dry inside! Forcing their frozen limbs to move, he and Allègre tore off their wet clothes and pulled out the dry ones. With stiff fingers, the two men struggled with the clasps and buttons.
Then, in the pale light of morning, they set off down the rue Saint-Antoine, free men.
Latude stared into his empty coffee cup, now and then glancing up through the café window. Across the street, he could see the post office. A dozen times he’d made up his mind to get up and go in, but still he remained rooted to his seat. Would the police be waiting for him there?
He’d been on the run for nearly three and a half months. Allègre had escaped out of France first, disguised as a peasant. He’d sent Latude a message telling him he was safe in Brussels, confident that the French police couldn’t touch him in an Austrian domain. Latude had followed him there, but soon learned that Allègre had been arrested. So he wasn’t safe, even outside France. He fled even further, to Holland this time.
Now he watched the people come and go from the Rotterdam post office, not far from the city’s bustling seaport. In desperation, he had written to his mother in France, asking her to send him money under a false name. By now her letter would be waiting for him. He wondered if he had been foolish.
But if I had the money, he thought, I could go so far away they’d never find me. How big was the risk? Only a few seconds in a post office. He would do it.
His jaw set in a firm line, Latude stood up and strode across the street toward the office.
“A letter for Monsieur D’aubrespy?” he asked the clerk.
Escapes! Page 2