by G. A. Henty
Harry thereupon related the whole story of their adventures, concealing only the fact that the girls were not his sisters; as it was less awkward for Jeanne that this relationship should be supposed to exist.
“Sapriste, your adventures have been marvellous, monsieur, and I congratulate you heartily. You have a rare head and courage, and yet you cannot be above twenty.”
“I am just nineteen,” Harry replied.
“Just nineteen, and you succeeded in getting your friend safely out of that mob of scoundrels in the Abbaye, got your elder sister out of La Force, you fooled Robespierre and the Revolutionists in Nantes, and you carried those two girls safely through France, rescued them from the white lugger, and got them on board the Trois Freres! It sounds like a miracle.”
“The getting them on board the Trois Freres was, you must remember, my sister’s work. I had failed and was in despair. Suspicions were already aroused, and we should assuredly have been arrested if it had not been that she had won the heart of Adolphe’s wife by nursing her child in its illness.”
“That is so,” the captain agreed; “and they must have good courage too that they didn’t betray themselves all that time. And now I tell you what I will do, monsieur. If you will write a letter to your sister in Paris, saying that you and the other two have reached England in safety, I will when I return send it by sure hand to Paris. To make all safe you had better send it to the people she is staying with, and word it so that no one will understand it if they were to read it. Say, for example:
“’My dear Sister, You will be glad to hear that the consignment of lace has been safely landed in England,’ Then you can go on saying that ‘your mother is better, and that you expect to be married soon, as you have made a good profit out of the lace,’ and so on; and just sign your name—‘Your brother Henri.’
“I can trust the man who will deliver it in Paris, but it is just as well always to be on the safe side. If your letter is opened and read, anyone will suppose that it is written by a sailor belonging to one of the Nantes luggers.”
Harry thanked the captain warmly for the offer, and said that the letter would indeed be an immense comfort to his sister and friend.
“I will tell the man that he is to ask if there is any answer,” the captain said. “And if your sister is as sharp as you are she will write the same sort of letter, and I will bring it across with me to England the first voyage I make after I get it.”
Harry slept down in the forecastle with the crew, the captain keeping on deck all night. He was awoke by an order shouted down the forecastle for all hands to come on deck; and hurrying up with the rest found that the sun had just risen. The day was beautifully fine, and to Harry’s surprise he found that those on deck had already lowered the great lugsails.
“What is it, captain?” he asked.
“There is a sail there I don’t like,” the captain said. “If I am not mistaken that is an English frigate.”
There were several sails in sight, but the one to which the captain pointed was crossing ahead of the lugger. Her hull could not be seen, and indeed from the deck only her topsails and royals were visible above the water.
“I hope she will not see us,” the captain said. “We are low in the water, and these stump masts could not be seen at that distance even by a look-out at the mast-head.
“We are already somewhat astern of her, and every minute will take her further away. If she does not see us in a quarter of an hour, we shall be safe. If she does, there is nothing for it but to run back towards the French coast. We should have such a long start that with this wind she would never catch us. But she may fire her guns and bring another cruiser down upon us and cut us off. There are a dozen of them watching on different parts of the coast.”
Harry kept his eye anxiously upon the ship, but she sailed steadily on; and in half an hour the sails were again hoisted and the Trois Freres proceeded on her way. She passed comparatively near several merchantmen, but these paid no attention to her. She was too small for a privateer, and her object and destination were easily guessed at. The girls soon came on deck, and the captain had some cushions placed for them under shelter of the bulwark; for although the sun was shining brightly the wind was keen and piercing.
“Are we beyond danger?” was Virginie’s first question as Harry took his seat by her.
“Beyond all danger of being overtaken—that is to say, beyond all danger of meeting a French vessel-of-war. They very seldom venture to show themselves many miles from port, except, of course, as a fleet; for single vessels would soon get picked up by our cruisers. Yes, I think we are quite out of danger. There is only one chance against us.”
“And what is that, Harry?” Jeanne asked.
“It is not a serious one,” Harry replied; “it is only that we may be chased by English revenue cutters and forced to run off from the English coast again. But even then we should soon return. Besides, I have no doubt the captain would let us have a boat, so that we could be picked up by the cutter in pursuit of us.”
“I don’t think that would be a good plan,” Jeanne said; “because they might not stop to pick us up, and then we might have a long way to reach the shore. No, I think it will be better to stay on board, Harry; for, as you say, if she does have to run away for a time, she is sure to come back again to unload her cargo. But of course do whatever you think best.”
“I think your view is the best, Jeanne. However, I hope the opportunity will not occur, and that the Trois Freres will run her cargo without interference. The captain tells me he is making for a point on the Dorsetshire coast, and that he is expected. Of course he could not say the exact day he would be here. But he told them the day on which, if he could get his cargo on board, he should sail, and they will be looking out for him.”
Before sunset the English coast was visible.
“We could not have timed it better,” the captain said. “It will be getting dark before they can make us out even from the cliffs.”
Every sail was now scrutinized by the captain through his glass, but he saw nothing that looked suspicious. At nine o’clock in the evening the lugger was within three miles of the coast.
“Get ready the signal lanterns,” the captain ordered. And a few minutes later three lanterns were hoisted, one above the other. Almost immediately two lights were shown in a line on top of the cliff.
“There is our answer,” the captain said. “There is nothing to be done to-night. That means ‘The revenue men are on the look-out; come back to-morrow night.”’
“But they are always on the look-out, are they not?” Harry asked.
“Yes,” the captain said; “but when our friends on shore know we are coming they try to throw them off the scent. It will be whispered about to-morrow that a run is likely to be made ten miles along the coast, and they will take care that this comes to the ears of the revenue officer. Then to-morrow evening after dusk a fishing-boat will go out and show some lights two miles off shore at the point named, and a rocket will be sent up from the cliff. That will convince them that the news is true, and the revenue officers will hurry away in that direction with every man they can get together. Then we shall run here and land our cargo. There will be plenty of carts waiting for us, and before the revenue men are back the kegs will be stowed safely away miles inland. Of course things go wrong sometimes and the revenue officers are not to be fooled, but in nine cases out of ten we manage to run our cargoes without a shot being fired. Now I must get off shore again.”
The orders were given, and the Trois Freres was soon running out to sea. They stood far out and then lowered the sails and drifted until late in the afternoon, when they again made sail for the land. At ten o’clock the signal lights were again exhibited, and this time the answer was made by one light low down by the water’s edge.
“The coast is clear,” the captain said, rubbing his hands. “We’ll take her in as close as she will go, the less distance there is to row the better.”
Th
e Trois Freres was run on until within a hundred yards of the shore, then a light anchor was dropped. The two boats had already been lowered and were towed alongside, and the work of transferring the cargo at once began.
“Do you go in the first boat, monsieur, with the ladies,” the captain said. “The sooner you are ashore the better. There is no saying whether we may not be disturbed and obliged to run out to sea again at a moment’s notice.”
“Thank God!” he exclaimed, as after wading through the shallow water he stood on the shore, while two of the sailors carried the girls and put them beside him. “Thank God, I have got you safe on English soil at last. I began to despair at one time.”
“Thank God indeed,” Jeanne said reverently; “but I never quite despaired, Harry. It seemed to me He had protected us through so many dangers, that He must mean that we should go safely through them all, and yet it did seem hopeless at one time.”
“We had better stand on one side, girls, or rather we had better push on up the cliff. These people are all too busy to notice us, and you might get knocked down; besides, the coastguard might arrive at any moment, and then there would be a fight. So let us get well away from them.”
But they had difficulty in making their way up the cliff, for the path was filled with men carrying up tubs or coming down for more after placing them in the carts, which were waiting to convey them inland. At last they got to the top. One of the carts was already laden, and was on the point of driving off when Harry asked the man if he could tell him of any farmhouse near, where the two ladies who had landed with him could pass the night.
“Master’s place is two miles away,” the man said; “but if you like to walk as far, he will take you in, I doubt not.”
The girls at once agreed to the proposal, and in three quarters of an hour the cart drew up at a farmhouse.
“Is it all right, Bill?” a man asked, opening the door as the cart stopped.
“Yes, it be all right. Not one of them revenue chaps nigh the place. Here be the load of tubs; they was the first that came ashore.”
“Who have you got here?” the farmer asked as Harry came forward with the girls.
“These are two young ladies who have crossed in the lugger,” Harry replied. “They have narrowly escaped being murdered in France by the Revolutionists, and have gone through a terrible time. As they have nowhere to go to-night, I thought perhaps you would kindly let them sit by your fire till morning.”
“Surely I will,” the farmer said. “Get ye in, get ye in. Mistress, here are two young French ladies who have escaped from those bloody-minded scoundrels in Paris. I needn’t tell you to do what you can for them.”
The farmer’s wife at once came forward and received the girls most kindly. They had both picked up a little English during Harry’s residence at the chateau, and feeling they were in good hands, Harry again went out and lent his assistance to the farmer in carrying the tubs down to a place of concealment made under the flooring of one of the barns.
The next day the farmer drove them in his gig to a town some miles inland. Here they procured dresses in which they could travel without exciting attention, and took their places in the coach which passed through the town for London next day.
That evening Harry gently broke to the girls the news of their brothers’ death, for he thought that it would otherwise come as a terrible shock to them on their arrival at his home. Virginie was terribly upset, and Jeanne cried for some time, then she said:
“Your news does not surprise me, Harry. I have had a feeling all along that you knew something, but were keeping it from me. You spoke so very seldom of them, and when you did it seemed to me that what you said was not spoken in your natural voice. I felt sure that had you known nothing you would have often talked to us of meeting them in London, and of the happiness it would be. I would not ask, because I was sure you had a good reason for not telling us; but I was quite sure that there was something.”
“I thought it better to keep it from you, Jeanne, until the danger was all over. In the first place you had need of all your courage and strength; in the next place it was possible that you might never reach England, and in that case you would never have suffered the pain of knowing anything about it.”
“How thoughtful you are, Harry!” Jeanne murmured. “Oh how much we owe you! But oh how strange and lonely we seem—everyone gone except Marie, and we may never see her again!”
“You will see her again, never fear,” Harry said confidently. “And you will not feel lonely long, for I can promise you that before you have been long at my mother’s place you will feel like one of the family.”
“Yes; but I shall not be one of the family,” Jeanne said.
“Not yet, Jeanne. But mother will look upon you as her daughter directly I tell her that you have promised to become so in reality some day.”
Harry’s reception, when with the two girls he drove up in a hackney coach to the house at Cheyne Walk, was overwhelming, and the two French girls were at first almost bewildered by the rush of boys and girls who tore down the steps and threw themselves upon Harry’s neck.
“You will stifle me between you all,” Harry said, after he had responded to the embraces. “Where are father and mother?”
“Father is out, and mother is in the garden. No, there she is”—as Mrs. Sandwith, pale and agitated, appeared at the door, having hurried in when one of the young ones had shouted out from a back window: “Harry has come!”
“Oh, my boy, we had given you up,” she sobbed as Harry rushed into her arms.
“I am worth a great many dead men yet, mother. But now let me introduce to you Mesdemoiselles Jeanne and Virginie de St. Caux, of whom I have written to you so often. They are orphans, mother, and I have promised them that you and father will fill the place of their parents.”
“That will we willingly,” Mrs. Sandwith said, turning to the girls and kissing them with motherly kindness. “Come in, my dears, and welcome home for the sake of my dear boy, and for that of your parents who were so kind to him. Never mind all these wild young people,” she added, as the boys and girls pressed round to shake hands with the new-comers. “You will get accustomed to their way presently. Do you speak in English?”
“Enough to understand,” Jeanne said; “but not enough to speak much. Thank you, madame, for receiving us so kindly, for we are all alone in the world.”
Mrs. Sandwith saw the girl’s lip quiver, and putting aside her longing to talk to her son, said:
“Harry, do take them all out in the garden for a short time. They are all talking at once, and this is a perfect babel.”
And thus having cleared the room she sat down to talk to the two girls, and soon made them feel at home with her by her unaffected kindness. Dr. Sandwith soon afterwards ran out to the excited chattering group in the garden, and after a few minutes’ happy talk with him, Harry spoke to him of the visitors who were closeted with his mother.
“I want you to make them feel it is their home, father. They will be no burden pecuniarily, for there are money and jewels worth a large sum over here.”
“Of course I know that,” Dr. Sandwith said, “seeing that, as you know, they were consigned to me, and the marquis wrote to ask me to act as his agent. The money is invested in stock, and the jewels are in the hands of my bankers. I had begun to wonder what would become of it all, for I was by no means sure that the whole family had not perished, as well as yourself.”
“There are only the three girls left,” Harry said.
“In that case they will be well off, for the marquis inclosed me a will, saying that if anything should happen to him, and the estates should be altogether lost, the money and proceeds of the jewels were to be divided equally among his children. You must have gone through a great deal, old boy. You are scarcely nineteen, and you look two or three and twenty.”
“I shall soon look young again, father, now I have got my mind clear of anxiety. But I have had a trying time of it, I can tell you;
but it’s too long a story to go into now, I will tell you all the whole yarn this evening. I want you to go in with me now to the girls and make them at home. All this must be just as trying for them at present as the dangers they have gone through.”
The young ones were all forbidden to follow, and after an hour spent with his parents and the girls in the dining-room, Harry was pleased to see that the latter were beginning to feel at their ease, and that the strangeness was wearing off.
That evening, before the whole circle of his family, Harry related the adventures that they had gone through, subject, however, to a great many interruptions from Jeanne.
“But I am telling the story, not you, Jeanne,” he said at last. “Some day when you begin to talk English quite well you shall give your version of it.”
“But he is not telling it right, madame,” Jeanne protested, “he keeps all the best part back. He says about the dangers, but he says noting about what he do himself.” Then she broke into French, “No, madame, it is not just, it is not right; I will not suffer the tale to be told so. How can it be the true story when he says no word of his courage, of his devotion, of the way he watched over us and cheered us, no word of his grand heart, of the noble way he risked his life for us, for our sister, for our parents, for all? Oh, madame, I cannot tell you what we all owe to him;” and Jeanne, who had risen to her feet in her earnestness, burst into passionate tears. This put an end to the story for the evening, for Mrs. Sandwith saw that Jeanne required rest and quiet, and took the two girls up at once to the bed-room prepared for them. From this Jeanne did not descend for some days. As long as the strain was upon her she had borne herself bravely, but now that it was over she collapsed completely.
After the young ones had all gone off to bed, Harry said to his father and mother: